Roran moved to stand next to his brother. The Rennon lay on the floor, propped up on his elbows, and looked from one man to the other. With heavily accented Lasskyr he said, "There's an old friend of mine here that I have to kill. If you're working for him too, well then you're next in line."
Chon had his sword pointed at the Rennon's chest and paused a moment. "I don't work for anyone other than the Rangers and I'm not here to kill anyone." He stepped back and offered a hand up. "I think at least we're not at cross purposes."
The Rennon thought for a second and then took Chon's hand and got to his feet. "I imagine you're here for that thing," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "What is it? I didn't think things like that were supposed to be this far from the Center."
Chon started cleaning his sword on the remains of an overly upholstered chair. "It's a holong. Or actually a holong yon ekun in Voy Diurne." He smiled. "You know the Voy. Never say in one word what you can say in three."
The Rennon returned the smile and introduced himself. "Vennik Tarkery."
"Chon lasFieriol. My brother Roran"
Vennik looked down at Roran. "So if he's here to kill the holongathing, what are you here for?"
Before Roran could answer they all heard a long wailing like a deep brass horn. It built up in volume and seemed to vibrate the air around them before trailing off in a hollow echo.
"Damn," muttered Chon. "I was afraid of that."
Vennik raised a quizzical eyebrow.
Chon nodded grimly towards the dead heap in the room. "That holong was smaller than I was expecting."
"Damn," muttered Vennik.
