Slave Race: 8/?
by Nan Smith and Linda Garrick
As they went out, Comishvor's shoulders slumped. He seated himself in his chair of state and bent to bury his face in his hands. Edwin took a step toward him. "M'lord Comishvor?"
"Leave me, Edwin."
In spite of himself, Edwin felt a rush of pity. "M'lord, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
"Leave me, Edwin. You also, Cornelius. All of you, go. Quickly."
"C'mon, kid." One of the pirate's had Edwin by the shoulder, pushing him toward the door. Edwin glanced back, aware suddenly that Lord Comishvor was crying.
**********
Chapter 9
Corala
December 2171
Loreen sat up straight in bed with a half scream. She muffled it quickly with her hand, glancing at Cecil, soundly asleep in the bed beside her.
She had been dreaming again, one of those frightening, vivid dreams about Edwin. They had changed since Karl's birth. Now she was in a craft of some sort, and was being pursued. Edwin's voice spoke somewhere, and so did Cory's, sounding alarmed. Their pursuers were firing at them. She felt the craft quiver from the near miss, then a jolt.
The dream always ended there. Loreen got out of bed and pulled on her robe. The air was cold. From the next room she heard Karl whimper. She went in and looked down at the sleeping child, his face dimly visible in the faint illumination from the night light on the dresser.
Eighteen months old now--a small, wiry child, his head covered with soft brown curls. His eyes had turned brown like Edwin's as he matured, and their lashes were long and curling. He was as unlike Cecil as any child could be, and Loreen knew that Cecil was aware of it.
And Loreen was pregnant again. Cecil didn't know yet, and she wasn't going to tell him--not until it was too late to do anything about it easily. Otherwise he might find some reason to terminate the pregnancy. She doubted that he wanted more children, although he had never really talked about that, either. Cecil avoided such intimate discussions. Sometimes Loreen had the impression they made him uncomfortable. His drinking, too, had increased since Karl's birth.
Sudden fear shot through her, and she heard Edwin's voice in her mind, shouting for Cory. There was an explosion of sound somewhere in the background, and again the shout. Cory's face hovered in the background, and faintly she heard the return call.
What was happening? Loreen gasped shrilly at the feel of a hand grasping her wrist. She felt the fingers, powerful and inexorable, dragging at her.
But there was nothing--nothing at all! She could hear Cecil snoring in the next room, and Karl whimpered, squirming around in his crib.
Danger! Danger everywhere! She cried out again, and felt the hand that gripped her yanking her away.
Then the fear was fading. She heard Edwin's voice call Cory's name one more time. Then nothing. The images were gone--like ghosts fading into oblivion.
It had been like a waking nightmare. Loreen stood motionless, gripping the edge of the crib. Edwin! Was it possible that Edwin was *alive*? A sudden memory of that day now more than two years ago made her raise her head, striving to remember something. When the Westside Skullrats had attacked, Edwin had run from the room, but she had continued to see his face before her, and to hear his voice. Was it possible that this was a repeat of that? Was Edwin really alive and somehow contacting her in times of danger? He was a psychic, wasn't he? But no, he couldn't be alive. The cop had said that everyone had died in the gang war, except her. If Edwin was still alive, he would have come for her.
If he could.
Perhaps he was contacting her from beyond the grave.
The thought sent a shiver through her. The hour, and her dream, were making her imagine things. Edwin was dead, and their child lay in the crib beside her. She must keep her sanity for Karl's sake.
She realized then that the little boy was sitting up in bed, watching her with grave, dark eyes.
"Mommy?" He held up his arms. She picked him up, hugging him against her. His tiny arms gripped her tightly around her neck.
With this pregnancy, Loreen once again contrived to mix up her dates. If Cecil believed that this child was also born early, perhaps it would allay some of his suspicions where Karl was concerned. The actual due date was mid-August, but Loreen let Cecil and everyone else think that the baby was due around the second week of September.
The baby, however, did not cooperate with her plan. He grew *fast*! By the seventh month he was as large as Karl had been at term.
The labor, too, was far more difficult. This time, as soon as she mentioned to her husband that she thought she was in labor, he had her in the car and heading for the hospital. But he need not have hurried. The child, another boy, wasn't born until mid morning the following day--August 17, 2172. He massed 4950 grams, and, to Loreen's great relief, resembled Cecil, except for the fact that his hair was as dark as his brother's. His eyes were bright blue--a handsome boy, with broad, chubby hands and deep dimples in both cheeks. Karl, age two and a half, was brought to the hospital to see him. He regarded his new brother in silence for a moment, then smiled a welcome.
Cecil seemed to enjoy the new arrival, too--far more than he had enjoyed Karl. But then, Loreen told herself, the circumstances were different. And, after all, he was older, now, and accustomed to being a father. Perhaps, as time went by and the two boys grew, he would forget his suspicions about Karl and treat the kids equally. Loreen hoped so, anyway.
Chapter 10
Edwin looked up from the book he was reading. Lord Comishvor's voice was speaking in his mind, commanding him to come to the control room. Cory, napping on the bed, opened his eyes as Ed stood up. "Whassa matter?"
"Lord Comishvor. He wants us."
Cory cussed softly. "Another raid, bet you anything. I felt it coming."
"Me, too. Things have been quiet for too long."
They went quickly out, down the lift, and disembarked into the control room. Comishvor was seated in his chair of state, speaking to the man at the controls. He glanced around as the two Terran psychics entered. "Ah, there you are. Come here."
Edwin and Cory approached, knelt, then stood before the Jilectan. Comishvor relaxed back in his chair, sipping from a glass of wine. "We are about to waylay a cargo ship, my psychics. It will have engine trouble and will be forced to come out of hyperspace in this section in approximately fifteen minutes. You will both board with me. Remain close to your bodyguard."
"Yes, sir."
"Be seated now."
Edwin sat down in his own chair and fastened his safety webbing. Cory did the same.
"A cargo ship, M'lord?" Cory said. "What's he carrying?"
Comishvor grinned widely. "Not precisely a cargo ship, my psychic. A smuggler."
"A smuggler!"
"Yes." Comishvor smiled as though he was very pleased with himself. "One of Lord Trashvor's contacts. In fact, he is presently on his way to Trashvor."
"What's he carrying, sir?" Edwin asked.
"That remains to be seen. My informer mentioned furs, jewels and alcohol."
"Oh." Silence fell. Comishvor finished his wine and handed the glass to his Procyon servant.
The navigator spoke. "Three minutes."
Cory glanced across at Edwin. "Wish we could see old Trashvor's face when his ship doesn't show up."
Comishvor smiled faintly.
"Sublight."
With a jolt, the ship converted. The stars re-appeared.
"Boarding party ready, sir," the disembodied voice from the com announced.
"Good. Stand by."
Edwin could feel Cory's mind within his, even though his friend wasn't looking at him. This wasn't their first raid, of course--more like their hundredth. They had been Comishvor's psychics for over four Coralan years now. The waiting before the raid commenced was always the worst part. Cory's mind felt at ease, though--a reassurance within his own. His friend was having no premonitions of disaster so far.
Perhaps ten minutes went by. Then the ship appeared in the screens before them.
"Fire," Comishvor said.
Almost at once there was the sound of their blasters. The other ship swiveled about to face the attack and their blasters sounded again.
"Vessel disabled," the pirate at the comp reported.
"Zey are requesting terms for surrender." The Arcturian at the communicator spoke Basic with heavy emphasis on his sibilants, as did all members of the species. At one time, Ed had had difficulty in understanding the speech of the pseudo-reptilian species, but that was long in the past.
"Boarding party stand ready," Comishvor ordered. "Binnor, tell them that we demand unconditional surrender."
"Yes, M'lord."
Another ten minutes passed and Edwin heard the clang of grapples and felt the vibration that rippled through the metal of their ship. Cory's mind remained within Edwin's, calm and unworried.
"Boarding party in," Binnor's voice announced. "Resistance minimal."
Cory grimaced. This was the hard part. Inevitably when there was resistance, people were hurt or killed. It was tough on Cory, who couldn't raise his shields. He was the precog, and had to be ready, discomfort notwithstanding.
Comishvor rose majestically to his feet. "Come, my psychics. They should be finished in a few minutes."
They proceeded down to the airlock, which was now fastened via an airtight tube to the other ship's lock. Half a dozen pirates were awaiting them--their escort. One of them assisted Edwin into a pressure suit, and another helped Cory, while two more assisted Comishvor. Edwin was sealing his suit when he heard the all clear signal in his earphones. The takeover was complete and they could come aboard.
The guard escorted them, three in front and three behind, with the Jilectan walking between the two psychics. They passed through the tube and into the airlock of the smuggler.
There were pirates everywhere, swarming through the ship, herding prisoners before them. Edwin remained at Comishvor's side as they ascended to the cargo level. He concentrated, scanning. "Straight ahead and to the right, sir. This door, I think."
Their guard blew out the lock and the door sagged open, revealing cases of expensive wine, soft, golden furs--stacks of them, and tiny containers which might contain perfume or dope, or both. Comishvor's eyes glowed and he started forward.
Cory's hand grabbed him by the robe. "M'lord, wait!"
Comishvor obeyed at once, glanciing quickly at the Terran. Cory looked apprehensively around. "We've got to go... now. I... think we might already be too late!"
They went out of the cargo compartment, running. Comishvor quickly outdistanced the psychics, and the lift opened at his approach.
A shivering blast jolted the ship, sending them all staggering. Edwin found himself on his knees beside a bulkhead, his ears ringing. Cory was pulling him to his feet. "C'mon, Ed! C'mon!"
"What is it, Cor?" Edwin staggered to his feet.
"We've had it! There's another ship!"
Two of their bodyguards were ushering them along after the Jilectan. Voices squawked over the com, and from ahead came the sounds of battle.
"M'lord, it's a ship!" The voice over the com was panic-stricken. "A pirate ship, and I think it's Trashvor's!" The transmission cut off abruptly with an explosion and a scream. Then the voice of a Jilectan spoke.
"This is Lord Trashvor. Greetings, my esteemed rival."
Almost at the lift, Comishvor froze. Edwin and Cory, accompanied by their bodyguard, came up beside him.
"We have your ship disabled and within our sights," the voice continued. "One of my psychics, however, informs me that you have already boarded my... associate's vessel, with your two psychics. I would rather not kill your psychics--or you, either, my Lord, but if necessary I shall do so. However, I do not believe it will be necessary. Your ship, with your Lady on board, I shall destroy now, unless you surrender immediately."
Behind his pressure suit helmet, Comishvor's face was a grim mask. "And what do I gain?" he demanded.
"Your Lady's life," came the amused reply. "And possibly your own."
"Possibly?"
"That remains to be seen. I may even return your ship, after I have taken what I desire from it. But in that area, I make no promises."
"My psychics?"
"Your psychics are mine--the spoils of war, my friend." The cool, faintly humorous voice chuckled softly. "The spoils of war."
Edwin's eyes met Cory's. Lord Trashvor? What would Lord Trashvor be like? Edwin would rather not find out. Comishvor he knew-- his likes and dislikes--his attitudes and his tolerance levels. Trashvor might be better, but he also might be a good deal worse.
He knew Cory was thinking the same thing. What could they do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. They were pawns in the hands of these larger, stronger, and far more powerful beings.
"I give you ten seconds," Trashvor said, and the humor in his voice had vanished.
Five seconds ticked by, then Comishvor spoke. "Very well, my Lord. I surrender."
"You will meet my men at the lifeboat bays. My son, Blashvar, is coming with them. Go peacefully, and command your psychics not to cause difficulties. If they do, your Lady dies."
"I understand."
The transmission ended. Comishvor turned on Edwin and Cory. "Go peacefully. Do as he says."
Edwin swallowed. "Do you think he'll kill you, sir?"
"I think it quite likely." He switched suddenly to telepathy. *Edwin, this is a time when your illusionist ability may save us all. Use it, if it is possible in such a way that it will not jeopardize us. He must not guess what you are doing.*
*He'll read me, M'lord.* Edwin knew his mental voice betrayed his nervousness, and fought to stady it. *Then he'll realize what I'm doing.*
*Perhaps the opportunity will arise before he gets the chance to read you.*
*But what if it doesn't?*
*In this you must use your own judgment. I will not be able to direct you once we are in Trashvor's custody.*
*I'll try, sir.*
They entered the lift and descended to the lifeboat bays. Lord Comishvor spoke into his communicator, commanding his men to surrender without resistance.
The passage before the lifeboat bay doors was crowded with Comishvor's pirates. They ranged themselves around their master and the Terran psychics, their hands on their weapons. Lord Comishvor's eyes swept the group. "No resistance, men, unless it becomes obvious they are going to kill me."
The lifeboat bays hissed open. Lord Blashvar stood there, surrounded by a dozen armed pirates.
"You three." He pointed to Comishvor and the two Terran psychics. "Come." He indicated the others. "You men, return to your ship."
Comishvor regarded Blashvar steadily. "I request that my bodyguard accompany me, my Lord."
Blashvar smiled mirthlessly. "Request denied. Come, Lord Comishvor."
They were herded forward into the lifeboat bays by Blashvar's men. The airlock doors slid shut.
"Search them," Blashvar said.
Edwin was turned around. Hands went through his clothing. He was, of course, unarmed. Comishvor never permitted his psychics to carry weapons. The man turned him around again. "He's clean, sir."
One of the other pirates handed Comishvor's own jeweled weapon to Blashvar. Cory was shouldered aside.
"Bring them," Blashvar said.
A large, pirate, his pressure-suit dyed an eye-popping combination of red and gold, herded Edwin into the lifeboat. It was one of the biggest lifeboats he had ever seen, capable of seating them all with even a little room to spare. He was placed between two burly pirates and one of them, a muscular, pock-marked fellow with straight, oily, dark hair, grinned at him.
"Take it easy, little guy," he advised. "Lord Trashvor's a good guy--probably better than that twerp you've been tied to."
Behind him, he heard Lord Comishvor's growl of irritation, and Blashvar spoke sharply. "Be still, Mackey!"
"Sorry, M'lord."
The lifeboat hatch slid shut and the pressure in the bay began to drop. A moment later the doors slid open and the lifeboat shot forward.
No chance of trying an illusion now, Edwin thought. They were hopelessly outnumbered. Someone would catch on, and besides, Lady Gootishville was still a hostage. He must wait until Trashvor, himself, was there, and perhaps the enemy's numbers were a little less overwhelming.
Trashvor's ship loomed ahead, a dull, gleaming silver disk against the stars. The huge lifeboat bay opened and their ship went through. The doors closed behind them. Seconds passed as the bay pressurized, then the hatch slid open.
A different pirate, this one an Arcturian clad in flamboyant red and yellow silk pantaloons, his scaled chest bare, but with a businesslike blaster shoved in his belt, met them in the hangar and ushered Edwin out the hatch and across the landing bay. He couldn't see Cory, but Comishvor's tall form was somewhere to his right, barely visible out of the corner of his eye. He was taken into a corridor, propelled down it, and pushed through a doorway into a large room.
Soft, reddish lighting revealed a large figure seated in an ornate, luxurious easy chair. A Procyon servant stood behind the Jilectan, a bottle of wine held in one clawed hand. Two guards stood behind, and on either side of the chair, blasters drawn. The room was large and gaudily furnished--the quarters of a pirate chieftain. So, Edwin thought, he was facing the infamous Lord Trashvor, the pirate genius--the Jilectan who had originated the concept of using Terran psychics for his business.
He wasn't ugly. In some ways he resembled his son, Blashvar. His hair was lighter, more a straw blond in color, but his eyes were the same, a cold, piercing blue.
He rose to his feet, towering over the Terrans. He must be nearly three meters tall, at least a head taller than his son, and heavily muscled.
Comishvor stepped forward, and Edwin saw that his master's hands were fastened behind him with a device which strongly resembled regulation Patrol restrainers. He stood straight before his captor, head up. Trashvor surveyed him coolly.
"I appreciate your cooperation, Lord Comishvor," he said whimsically. "And I am certain your Lady does, too."
Comishvor didn't reply. Trashvor slipped the jeweled weapon from his belt and fingered it. "And now, my Lord, since I no longer have reason to keep you alive..." He adjusted the setting on the blaster. Comishvor shrank back with an inarticulate sound.
Edwin hurled the illusion at Trashvor--the only illusion he could think of on the spur of the moment, to make the alien abandon his purpose. A red light was blinking on the blaster, and a tiny beeping sound pierced the air. Trashvor recoiled, pressing frantically at the buttons on the device. Edwin held the illusion , and Trashvor shouted, hurling the weapon away. "Down!" he yelled, and threw himself flat to the deck. "Blaster malfunction! Down! Get down!"
Some of the pirates obeyed. Edwin supplied Trashvor with the illusion of the blaster exploding--a prolonged, devastating explosion.
But before it was competed in his mind, other things were happening. The weapon, arching away, curved upward, and smacked into his hands. He leaped forward toward the prostrate form of Lord Trashvor.
Someone tripped him and he stumbled, going to one knee. A foot kicked his hand and the blaster flew. A heavy weight landed on his shoulders, throwing him down and crushing him flat to the deck. He heard Cory's cry of anguish, then Blashvar's deep, commanding voice.
"Do not harm him, Denny."
The pressure eased and hands grasped him, flipping him over. He blinked away the black spots that danced before his eyes, and stared up at the circle of faces that surrounded him.
Trashvor's face moved into view, his expression astounded. "*What* did you do?" he demanded.
Blashvar appeared beside his sire. "What did he do, father?"
Trashvor started to reply, then glanced at the interested faces of the other pirates around them. He hesitated, then spoke quietly to his son. "Take this Terran to your quarters, my son. I believe he has a rather intriguing ability here which must be investigated further."
"Yes, father."
"Do not be astonished by anything, and expect the unexpected to happen." He spoke to the red bearded pirate. "Secure the boy's hands."
Edwin found himself lifted upright, his hands brought behind him and secured with some kind of metal device.
Edwin found his voice. "M'lord Trashvor..."
The alien regarded him coolly. "Yes, Terran?"
"Please don't kill Lord Comishvor!"
The alien's mouth quirked. "Your psychic is pleading for you, my Lord."
Comishvor didn't respond.
"It would also appear," Trashvor continued, "that he attempted to save your life through an extremely clever trick, and very nearly succeeded. You have trained him well. My congratulations, Lord Comishvor."
"I am gratified, Lord Trashvor."
"Your other psychic--is he as gifted as this one?"
"In his own way."
Another enigmatic smile. "Blashvar, my son, take the Terran psychic out."
Blashvar placed a large hand on Edwin's shoulder. He was propelled toward the door.
"Please, Lord Blashvar, is he going to..."
"Come, Terran!" Blashvar shoved him through the opening. The door closed behind them.
He was led forcibly down the corridor and into another suite of rooms, almost as lavish as those he had just vacated. Blashvar shut the door behind them and crossed the room to lift a bottle from a carven table. He poured himself a goblet and lifted it to his lips, eyes on the Terran. "Would you like a glass of wine, little psychic?"
Edwin gulped and nodded. "Yes, please."
The Jilectan poured another glass, came over to him and held it to his lips. Edwin's heart sank. He had hoped the Jilectan would release his hands, but apparently Blashvar didn't trust him that far.
Blashvar set the glass down and seated himself. He smiled enigmatically.
"And now, little psychic, I suggest you lower your shielding."
Edwin hesitated. "Lord Comishvor wouldn't like it, sir."
"I appreciate your loyalty, Edwin, but the fact is, you no longer belong to Comishvor. You belong to my father. And to me."
"The spoils of war," Edwin said in a low voice.
Blashvar grinned broadly. "Precisely, little Terran, but do not take it wrongly. You were the property of Lord Comishvor before, were you not?"
"Yes, but...."
"And now you are the property of my family. Your status has not changed, radically. It may have even improved. Lord Trashvor, my father, is not cruel to his psychics--ask any of them. They live well, and enjoy safety, comforts and luxury--far better, I am certain, than being a fugitive on the worlds of Riskell or Corala."
"Yes, M'lord. What about Lord Comishvor? Will your father kill him?"
Blashvar regarded Edwin soberly. "I can see that the possibility disturbs you. You are fond of him, then?"
"Well..." Edwin hesitated. "He did save my life, sir--and Cory's life. He's protected us these past four years."
"For his own purposes. You are useful to him. He told you that, I do not doubt."
"Yes sir, but..."
"It would distress you to have him killed. Foolish little empath. Well, I am certain my brother would call me a sentimental, empathic fool, but..." He paused, concentrating for a moment. Then his eyes focussed again. "Be at ease, little psychic. My father will at least delay killing him until he has given it further thought."
Edwin relaxed and managed a smile. "Thank you very much, sir."
"You are quite welcome. More wine?"
"Yes, please." Edwin was beginning to feel less animosity toward his captor. Blashvar seemed amazingly kind and benevolent toward him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to change masters, after all.
"And now, Terran, I command you to lower your shields."
Again he hesitated, unreasonably reluctant. Blashvar set the goblet down. "I advise you to obey me, Edwin." His voice was soft, but there was a note in it that sent a chill over the Terran. What could he do? Nothing, except obey.
He looked down and let his shielding relax. Blashvar leaned forward eagerly, placing a hand on the side of his face. Edwin tried not to flinch.
The door swished open and Blashvar started to turn around. Edwin saw what was framed in the doorway and involuntarily cried out a warning. Blashvar flinched sideways.
A blaster cracked and the bolt caught the Jilectan in the shoulder. He voiced a high, piercing shriek and spun away to land heavily against the bulkhead.
Edwin stared in horror at the wounded Jilectan, then at the newcomer.
The being in the doorway, blaster trained on Blashvar's downed form, was another Jilectan. Edwin had a vague impression of wispy blond hair and jewel bright, slightly crazed blue eyes. The newcomer was young, taller than Blashvar, but undoubtedly a relative. Their features were similar enough to be brothers.
The door clicked shut behind the newcomer. He laughed softly, advancing on Blashvar, weapon leveled. In three steps he reached the wounded Jilectan, bent, and removed the jeweled weapon from Blashvar's holster. Then he straightened up, laughing silently, a weapon in either hand.
Edwin backed toward the bulkhead. In Blashvar's eyes he read death. The Jilectan knew his assailant was going to kill him.
"Ah, my dear brother," newcomer said. "I now bid you farewell..."
"Dishvar, what are you doing? Have you gone mad?"
"Not at all, brother dear. I simply abhor losing my status as favored son, and since you killed my mother..."
"I didn't kill Sashvill! She died in an accident!"
"No matter. You have usurped my place through her death. I now reclaim it..."
The door opened, revealing the forms of Lord Trashvor and a wide-eyed Terran. The Terran yelped something and flung himself sideways. Two blasters cracked together.
Edwin couldn't restrain a cry. Blashvar's brother was rubbing a singed area on the sleeve of his robe, but his father, Lord Trashvor, lay dead, a huge hole burned in his chest.
Dishvor bent, caught his father by the heels, dragged him into the room and closed the door. The Terran who had witnessed the killing flattened himself against the bulkhead beside the door. Dishvor strode over to him, yanking the weapon from his belt, and gave the smaller being a shove that sent him to his knees. Then the Jilectan turned back to Blashvor, caressing the blaster he held with one hand. He giggled.
"And now, brother," he whispered, "you die." He took aim.
Edwin acted on instinct, forming the image--the sound of the door opening, shouts, footfalls. Dishvor spun, and Edwin was ready. Patrolmen--a dozen Viceregal Patrolmen were charging forward, blasters drawn.
Dishvor's weapon cracked. Edwin ducked his head, keeping the illusion going as he sidled toward the door. The other Terran stared at him, wide eyed, as Dishvor blasted away the imaginary patrolmen.
The door hissed open, and half a dozen real pirates charged through, and an instant later a dozen more. Dishvor was screaming something, and Edwin saw the pirates start to shoot at each other. The little man who had entered the room with Trashvor ran to the wounded Lord Blashvor.
Edwin went through the open door in more of a scramble than an actual run. Keeping to the bulkhead, he fled down the corridor toward the room where he had left Cory and Comishvor.
It wasn't far, but there were pirates everywhere. He passed at least a dozen before one of them grabbed him, shoving him hard against the bulkhead.
"What the hell's goin' on?"
"Blashvor and Dishvor are fighting!" Edwin gasped out. "Trashvor's been killed by Dishvor--down there, in Blashvor's quarters!"
The pirate spoke a colorful series of swear words, released him and ran down the corridor. Other beings had stopped to listen, and now they followed the first pirate. As Edwin watched, the door opened and a man staggered through. Blaster fire issued from the room.
Edwin reached the room where he had left Cory and Comishvor. It was locked, but his mind located the mechanism easily. He pushed and the door swished open.
He entered, triggering the closing mechanism with telekinesis.
And stopped, staring in horror.
Cory lay face down on the deck, unmoving. Comishvor, bound to a chair, looked up. "Edwin!"
"M'lord, what happened to Cory?"
"Trashvor's men struck him before they went out. It appears that Trashvor knows of my ineffective telekinetic powers, but was not sure about Cornelius. Release me, Edwin! Quickly!"
Edwin ran to him. "Just a minute, sir. I've never seen any restraints like these."
"Close your eyes and concentrate, Edwin. They should not be difficult."
Edwin located the mechanism in his mind. He pushed, gritting his teeth, and after a moment, with a faint click, the restrainers fell away.
Comishvor surged to his feet. Edwin was already concentrating on his own bonds. It was easier the second time. He felt the fastening move, then release. He was free.
Comishvor paused beside the door, his face intent. "There seems to be great confusion out there."
Edwin nodded. "Trashvor's dead. Lord Dishvor shot him."
"Trashvor dead? What delightful news! And Blashvor?"
**********
tbc
