That Grand Lord half-reclined on a couch, like a slashtooth at its ease between hunts. He bore no weapons other than his teeth and claws. His only ornament was a scarf loosely draped across a frame whose black-striped orange fur was getting grizzled, but the scarf was of genuine silk, somehow brought from Earth itself. His eyes smoldered yellow, undimmed by the years.

Ghrul-Captain did not simply come to attention and salute, as he would before an ordinary superior. First he lowered his head and knees, tail between thighs. That galled him. It was meant to, he knew. He should think of it as a test. The sword blade, bent, will spring back to keen-edged straightness and ring as it does, if the steel be true.

“Ghrul-Captain of the Navy begs leave to present himself.” The request sounded flat in his ears.

Narr-Souwa peered at him for a while that grew long. “You may relax,” he answered at last. “This interview is at your plea. Justify yourself.”

Ghrul-Captain had rehearsed in his mind. “As my lord knows, I advanced my proposal”—he laid a measured weight on that word—“through proper channels. I never looked for response at this exalted level, and still less the glory of a flesh-meeting.” Which might, he thought, be the prelude to a death sentence. If so, may I be turned loose in yonder forest for him and his hunters to chase down as they would any other brave, dangerous animal. Maybe I can take one or two to the Darkness with me.

“I want to get the actual scent of you and the sense of how your blood runs,” explained Narr-Souwa. “Yours is an unusual suggestion… especially from a member of your house.”

I have nothing to gain, much to lose, by self-abasement, Ghrul-Captain knew. “Noble One, my wish is to redeem the honor of that house.”