Kara said nothing. There was a glassy look in his eyes. His ears were back. But Tahy looked less sure of herself, motioned the others back.

“You’ve got your chance,” Pyanfar said quietly, evenly. “Listen to me: you’ve got Mahn. Tahar’s not your ally. You go on with this challenge, and Tahar’s here to take on the winner: worn down, you understand me. To take two Holdings. Their ambition’s more than yours. The Llun can tell you that — a Tahar captain, dealing with the kif—”

“Rot your impertinence,” Kahi Tahar shouted, and one of his sisters interposed an arm. “A lie,” that one said.

“Perhaps,” Pyanfar said levelly, “a misunderstanding. An… excess of zeal; a careless tongue. Back out of here. We may not pursue it. — Tahy… out of here. The Compact’s close to fracturing. It’s not the moment. Get out of here.”

’’Na Mahn,” Kohan said. “It’s not to your advantage.”

“You’ll lose Mahn,” Khym said suddenly, thrusting past Hilfy. “Hear me, whelp — you’ll lose it… to Kohan or to Kahi. Use your sense.”

Kara was past it. The eyes were wide and dark, the ears flat, nostrils wide. Of a sudden he screamed and launched himself.

And Khym did. Pyanfar flung herself about, bodily hurled herself at Kohan as her crew did, as Hilfy and Huran Faha and Rhean and her crew. He backed up, shook himself, in possession of his faculties: Pyanfar saw his eyes which were fixed on the screaming tangle behind her — herself spun about, saw Khym losing the grip that would keep Kara’s claws from his throat.

“Stop it,” she yelled at Tahy, and herself waded into it, trying to get a purchase on either struggling body, to push them apart. An elbow slammed into her head and She stumbled, hurled herself back into it, and now others were trying to part the two. “Tully!” Hilfy shouted; and suddenly a fluid spattered them, straight into Kara’s face, and over her, stinging the eyes and choking with its fumes. Kara fell back with a roar of outrage; and she did, wiping her eyes, coughing and supported by friendly hands. Chanur had hold of Tully, she saw that through streaming eyes — his arms pinned behind him, and Khym was down; and Kara was rubbing his eyes and struggling to breathe, She caught her breath, still coughing, shook off the hands which helped her, She knew the aroma; saw the small vial lying empty on the floor — the smell of flowers got past her stinging nasal membranes. “Tully,” she said, still choking, reached out a hand and pulled him to her by the back of the neck, shook him free of the Chanur who had seized him — patted his shoulder roughly and looked across at her son, whose eyes were still running water. “Break it off, na Kara. You have Mahn. Call it enough.”

“Off my land,” Kohan said. “Tahar. Be glad / don’t challenge. Get clear of Chanur Holding. Na Kara: a politer leave. Please. Priorities. I’ll not come at you now. I could. Think of that.”

Kara spat, turned, stalked out, wiping his eyes and flinging off offered help, dispossessed of his impetus, his dignity, and his advantage. Tahy remained, looked down at Khym, who had levered himself up on his elbows, head hanging. She might have flung some final insult. She bowed instead, to Pyanfar, to Kohan, last of all to Khym, who never saw it. Then she walked out, the other Mahn before her.

Tahar lingered last, na Kahi and his sisters.

“Out,” Kohan said, and the Tahar’s ears flattened. But he turned and walked out of the hall, out the door, and took his sisters and his partisans with him.

Kohan’s breath sighed out, a gusty rumble. He reached for Hilfy, laid his arm about her shoulders and ruffled her mane, touched the ring which hung on her left ear — looked at Pyanfar, and at Khym, who had struggled to his knees. Khym flinched from his stare and gathered himself up, retreated head down and slouching, without looking at him.

“Got no time,” Pyanfar said. “Well done. It was well done.”

Kohan blew a sigh, nodded, made a gesture with his free hand toward the rest. Nodded toward the door. “Ker Llun.”

“Na Chanur,” the Llun murmured. “Please. The station—”

“Going to be fighting up there?”

“No small bit,” Pyanfar said.

“You handle it?”

“Might use some of the house.”

“I’ll go,” Kohan said. “/’// go up there.”

“And leave Tahar to move in on the boys? You can’t. Give me Rhean and Anfy and their crews; whoever else can shoot. We’ve got to move.”

Kohan made a sound deep in his throat, nodded. “Rhean; Anfy; Jofan — choose from the house and hurry it.” He patted Hilfy on the shoulder, went and touched Haral and Chur in the same way — lingered staring at Tully, reached and almost touched… but not quite. He turned then and walked back. “Hilfy,” he said.

“My ship,” Hilfy said. “My ship, father.”

It cost him, as much as the other yielding. He nodded. Hilfy took his massive hand, turned and took the hands of Huran Faha, who nodded likewise.

“Come on,” Pyanfar said. “Come on, all of you. Move. — I’ll get her back, Kohan.”

“All of you,” he said. The others gathered themselves and headed for the door in haste, some delaying to go back after weapons. Pyanfar stayed an instant, looked at Kohan, his :eyes, his golden, shadowed eyes; his ears were pricked up, he managed that. “That matter,” she said, “this Outsider of mine — I’ll be back down to explain it. Don’t worry. Get Chanur back in order. We’ve got an edge we haven’t had before, hear me?”

“Go,” he said softly. “I’ll get it settled here. Get to it, Pyanfar.”

She came back and touched his hand, turned for the door, crossing the room in a dozen wide strides and headed off the porch, where no sign remained of the attack but the trampled garden and a passing of vehicles headed down the road beyond the wall, clearing out in haste.

And Khym. Khym was there, by the gate, crouched there with his head on his folded arms. Fresh wounds glistened on his red-brown shoulders. He survived. He went on surviving, out of his time and his reason for living.

“Khym,” she said. He looked up. She motioned toward the side of the house, that pathway which the others had taken to the back, where they could find transport. He stood up and came, limping in the first steps and then not limping at all. “I’m filthy,” he said. “No polite company.”

She wiped her beard and smelled her hand, sneezed. “Gods, I reek for both of us.”

“What is he?”

“Our Outsider? Human. Something like.”

“Huh,” Khym said. He was panting, out of breath, and the limp was back. They came along the side of the house, down the path by the trees at the back, and latecomers from the house reached them and fell in at their pace, carrying rifles. Khym looked back nervously. “It’s all right,” Pyanfar said. “You want to go, Khym? Want to have a look at station?”

“Yes,” he said.

They reached the bottom of the hill, where Haral and Chur had started up two of the trucks, where a great number from Chanur were boarding, a good thirty, forty of them, besides those ten or so behind. Tully was by the side of one, with Hilfy. Pyanfar reached and cuffed Tully’s arm. “Good,” she said. “Up, Tully.”

He scrambled up into the bed, surprisingly agile for clawless fingers. Hilfy came up after him, and Khym vaulted up with a weight that made the truck rock. Others followed.

Pyanfar went around to the cab, climbed in. “Go,” she said to Haral, and the truck lurched into motion, around the curve and onto the road, toward the outer gates, flinging up a cloud of dust as they careened between the hedges, jolting into near-collision with the far post of the outer gate before they headed off across the field on the direct course toward the waiting ship.

Gods help us, Pyanfar thought, looking back at the assortment which filled the bed of the truck, young and old Chanur, armed with rifles; and a one-time lord; and Tully; and the Llun, who had decided to come back with them after all.