"Lord Nehmon!"
The dancer threw back her head sharply, eyes wide, her body frozen in mid-air, and then, abruptly, she was gone, leaving only the barest flickering image of her fiery hair. The music slowed, singing softly, and Ravdin could see the old man waiting in the room. Nehmon rose, his gaunt face and graying hair belying the youthful movement of his body. Smiling, he came forward, clapped Ravdin on the shoulder, and took his hand warmly. "You're too late for the concert—it's a shame. Mischana is the master tonight, and the whole city is there."
Ravdin's throat tightened as he tried to smile. "I had to let you know," he said. "They're coming, Nehmon! I saw them, hours ago."
The last overtones of the music broke abruptly, like a glass shattered on stone. The room was deathly still. Lord Nehmon searched the young man's face. Then he turned away, not quite concealing the sadness and pain in his eyes. "You're certain? You couldn't be mistaken?"
"No chance. I found signs of their passing in a dozen places. Then I saw them, their whole fleet. There were hundreds. They're coming, I saw them."
"Did they see you?" Nehmon's voice was sharp.
"No, no. The Warp is a wonderful thing. With it I could come and go in the twinkling of an eye. But I could see them in the twinkling of an eye."
"And it couldn't have been anyone else?"
"Could anyone else build ships like the Hunters?"
Nehmon sighed wearily. "No one that we know." He glanced up at the young man. "Sit down, son, sit down. I—I'll just have to rearrange my thinking a little. Where were they? How far?"