《Frays in the Weave》


 Prologue, Belgera

    "You stand accused of treason. How do you plead, Count Successor Karia Graig?"


    "Why, guilty of course." What an incredibly idiotic question! Karia groaned silently as the accusations droned on, all of them true. But get to it! Yes, I stole the seal to falsify a council order. Yes, I falsely ceded command to Imperial Colonel Trindai de Laiden when our capital was under attack.


    He nodded to the presiding greybeard between accusations. It wouldn''t do to add insubordination to the charges as well. Not any that could be seen at least. Yes, I was quite aware Colonel de Laiden was not, is not and will not become a sworn man. And that''s probably why he organized a coherent defence of Belgera rather than fighting for who should be in command.


    And that was probably the single most important reason they were at all able to hold this trial, Karia knew. The fighting had been bad. Faced with outworlder weapons only battlemages stood any chance. But the defenders hadn''t known that at the time of the attack. City guards attacking with spears went down like just so much grain late in summer. It really had been like harvest with constant outworlder hammering in the background and invisible scythes cutting down sworn men and citizens alike.


    He turned his attention to the tirade once more. They were getting to the more dangerous part now. He had consorted with an enemy and he had shown her the secret tunnels under Belgera. What else was he supposed to do? The khragan mindwalker had been the only thing between total annihilation of his entire command and survival. No sworn man had ever taken such risks as she did to keep him alive.


    Karia shook his head and stared ahead. First at grey stone walls, then up at an equally grey ceiling. We didn''t build with beauty in mind, did we? He was proud of the walled capital nonetheless. Then he allowed his eyes to wander over the presiding council. His accusers and judges alike. Only the king was absent, but he was about as powerless as kings ever came and didn''t bother with affairs of state.


    Karia followed a long table with his eyes, drank heavy bread and fortified wine with his mind and wished he could taste some for real. Then he let his gaze leave the food and settled on the present guests. In one corner some, but not all persons involved in the madness, stood and watched impassively.


    Colonel de Laiden, from Keen. Old, but age had yet to bend him. That face had probably been shaved until recently. In Belgera that was about as outlandish as it got. He still wore a torn linen uniform under his winter clothes. Yellow cloth with black leather refused to stay hidden under the furs he''d draped over his shoulders. To his right, Mindwalker Hwain. The golden came and went, always exotic but their visits always frequent enough for people to take for granted another visit not too far in the future. Silver hair and golden eyes, and only the gods knew what their clothes were made of. Khanati silk with the magic of Ira sewed into the very fabric if rumours were true. Karia grinned. They probably weren''t. He failed to stifle a laugh which bought him another disapproving glare from old Tanaihac who paused reading the long list of wrongs Karia was guilty of.


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    He nodded acceptance to yet another accusation while he studied the reason for it. Clean shaved and a full head taller than all but one. Clothes glimmering with a metallic sheen hugging close to his body he belied Colonel de Laiden''s looks as the most outlandish. Outworlder Major Heinrich Goldberger made an utterly failed attempt to look as if he belonged here. He had arrived, with his men, in outworlder moving armour to tip the scales. Had been jumped inside the city walls, and that took a dragon to do if legends were true. Outworlder armour and outworlder weapons. Belgera had turned into a screeching abyss of fire and death when two armed outworlder forces clashed, one eating the other and both eating whomever was caught in the middle.


    Karia shook his head as a long tirade about his responsibility for damages done to buildings reached him. Not his fault. Neither he nor his men commanded the kind of weapons that could rip stone walls apart. That blame had to be placed squarely with Christina Ulfsdotir, yet another outworlder, who descended on Belgera with her mercenaries on a manhunt.


    How had he even managed to get involved in something like this? Life was supposed to be much easier, like fighting for his life high up among the mountains each summer campaign. Fighting khraga. Because fighting khraga was what they did, and Gring ghara Khat was very much a khraga and she was also present at the behest of Colonel de Laiden and Mindwalker Hwain both.


    A khraga in the royal castle. Standing here among them. A few eightdays earlier he would have been among those who cried bloody murder, and now, now his heart swelled with pride watching her. Jet black fur oiled and combed so it glittered in the lamplight, tusks polished to shine as bright as her fur. Taller even than the outworlder.


    And a taleweaver had been here. The target of Ulfsdotir''s madness, but he was gone. Gone as well was Harbend de Garak, the head of the caravan still trading for all it was worth in Downtown. And so was Khar Escha from Khanati. A pity. I would have wanted to talk with him. Khanati was a legend, a land where winter was supposedly unknown.


    He turned his attention back the council members. The list of evil deeds was long but it was coming to an end. "Yes, I have understood what I stand accused of," Karia said. Whatever the verdict was it couldn''t possibly be more exciting than the events he had lived through during one, single mad day. Probably a boring execution, with him as the main attraction.


    Life, however, refused to be so easy. Karia choked down his reply when he heard his sentence.

 Prelude

    Ken Leiter de Ghera, taleweaver and lord over a dominion only present in legends, grabbed the gunwale with both hands and gazed over the water. For a moment he paused the recounting of the tale he was telling. The audience would wait a few moments more.


    He was going back home, even though he was less certain of where home was than he had been for more than five hundred years. Half a millennium, had it been that long? He smiled bitterly as he admitted it had been more, much more. There was a certain irony in how life played its jokes on people. He''d sailed here in search of his own and a tale had him frantically returning as fast as sailing vessels could bring him. He wiped a smile from his lips and turned.


    Someone, somewhere, knew a legend from Earth, and that somewhere was close to Verd.


    It was time to wrap up his tale. "And that was how a hero came to a hero''s end, with a grand funeral where all his friends were present, knowing that friendship, if strong enough, surpasses death." He bowed deeply enough to almost fall over and rose on wobbly legs to the amusement of his onlookers. "Now, on your way children. You have parents waiting. Go on!"


    Laughs and shrieks of joy and a few complaints aimed at coercing him into telling them another story followed him on his way to his cabin, and not a few envious stares from the adults as well. The fathers and mothers being too old to voice their want of a tale, but, he noted with a more genuine smile this time, not too old to let their faces show their want.


    "That was a fitting description of the events, fitting for children, that is." An old woman with friendly eyes peering out from a face so wrinkled it was almost as if she was bearded sat in his way. She looked up at him as she spoke before shading her face from the sun with a leathery hand.


    "They are but children, honoured old mother," Ken said, using the honorific he''d gotten used to the last two decades.


    "They are, but why lie to them. Horrible times those were, filled with death."


    Ken looked at her with growing interest. He hadn''t said anything giving away the period of his tale, at least nothing the people this side of the ocean should know.


    Ken drew a deep breath of salty air and studied her more closely. There was a strength hidden behind all that frailty. The hand she kept in her lap could have wielded a sword in an earlier life for all he knew.


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    "How so, honoured old mother? What about those times?"


    She peered back at him. "Any time with a High Priestess of Cor is a long time ago, but with a queen present as well you tell tales from Dragonwrath."


    Ken searched his memories for references. Twice only in Kordic history when the queen was not also High Priestess, and little was known about the times before World War, or Dragonwrath as some called it.


    "I think you''re right, honoured old mother. The tale was indeed from Dragonwrath. Still, why scare the children. It''s such a beautiful day after all."


    "Young man, in my days we weren''t as sheltered as the young are now. They need to show some spine before they grow up as weaklings. Just look at those doting parents! Weaklings, all of them!" The friendliness was gone from the crone in an instant, and Ken silently wondered what he''d done to earn her hostility.


    "That may be, honoured old mother. That may be, but I am only a teller of tales, and I need coins for a living, and those parents pay for my passage." He bowed to the woman and returned. He didn''t want his cabin any longer, and it had been a long time since he had last been called a young man, and that, almost, made it worth being reminded of the great war.


    She didn''t know just how horrible those times had been, and by all gods holy, she knew nothing about his part in it, his and Neritan''s. The revenge plotted, the traps laid and the awful miscalculation in the end. Neritan had saved him, but not before he had his mind read. Not before he helped his enemy to knowledge that should never have been allowed here.


    Ken shivered. The memories were coming back fast now. Ten years of war, three years of peace and plotting and half a day of nuclear holocaust. Half a day to end more lives than the entire ten disgusting years before it. Half a day, and he had given away the knowledge needed.


    He had to know where tales from a home he hadn''t seen for over seven hundred came.


    That need created another moral dilemma. Taleweavers observe. We never intervene. Not the way I did, but I wasn''t one yet when I did. How could I have known? If only I had known!

 Chapter one, Debriefing, part one

    Tomorrow, Harbend had promised, but as with all things said in haste reality seldom agreed with such an easy solution.


    Arthur had to agree upon postponing their departure indefinitely. It wasn''t as if he really minded. He needed to be that honest to himself.


    Verd, he was back in Verd again. Six months on the roads. No that wasn''t true. Half of that time he''d spent on the Sea of Grass or as a prisoner somewhere. But now he was truly back in the magical capital of a nation that saw every user of magic shot on sight. Half a year ago he''d sworn that was about as depressing a thought as they came, but now he could taste the beautiful irony in it.


    He took up rooms in Two Worlds, the very same he had lived in during his first stay in Verd. That said something about continuity.


    This morning, his second after arriving here, saw him down the stairs, out on the shiny streets of the city and away, aiming his feet toward Ming Hjil de Verd.


    He tentatively made his way between carts and wagons, crossed Erterius Street, stole a shortcut through Aran and Baran alleys which spat him out on Krante Boulevard. There he halted. Travelling with the caravan had made him forget that traffic moved in two directions within the confines of city walls.


    Gaping at coaches, riders in their yellow uniforms with leather details in contrasting colours, young men and women dressed in jackets so short he could have sworn they never reached their navels and old people frowning at the youngsters, he stood. It would take more than a few days to get used to the frantic pace of a city labelled as the centre of the world. He corrected himself. A city who considered herself the centre of the world. In De Vhatic every place was a woman, a mother raising you, a woman loving you and an old crone lamenting your passing away.


    And Verd, she had a mind of her own. Harbend had as much as admitted that. So much magic woven into her stones that she had grown sentient, or at least that was how rumours went.


    Arthur didn''t know about that, but De Vhatic was a poetic language, much more so than the Terran English he was used to from home. If the locals wanted to see their capital as a lover he wasn''t going to complain. They certainly cared for her as if she was.


    He kept to the pavement and passed spotlessly kept houses in white or red. Marble or granite, because Verd was a shining city of stone, beautiful where Belgera had been imposing, proud rather than strong and always with arms outstretched ready to embrace instead of the impenetrable grey fortification that was the capital in Braka.


    Open. He was on his way to find out if a very special place was open. Twice he had entered a Taleweaver''s Inn, and Verd should house one of her own. An outworlder taleweaver since early winter he planned to see that inn for himself, and conquer it.


    While his life had seen more change the last year than the twenty preceding it one thing stayed constant. He conquered. Facing holo cams as a newscaster or addressing an audience as a taleweaver mattered little. He thrived on adoring listeners.


    He walked on. Krante Boulevard emptied in Ming Hjil de Verd, and he allowed himself to pause and wait for the drifting morning fog to dissipate and disclose the wonders on the square. Statues. Statues made of walking glass, shifting in colour from blood red to brilliant blue as they wandered, posed and resumed their perpetual dance in a display of magecrafted arrogance and stunning artistry. Glass on white and glass on black as the man made apparitions walked the chequered square.


    In it''s centre a dozen warriors of glass were locked in eternal combat and less than halfway there another planted a banner in the ground, declaring victory for Keen in a war Arthur hadn''t heard of.


    Around them hawkers were setting up their carts and Arthur left the square before it turned into its daily bedlam of shouting peddlers and customers. He smiled as he continued down Dagd Boulevard. Less than a year earlier he''d stood frozen here, gawking at what the population took for granted, and now he was part of it all. A taleweaver. A walking wonder of this world in his own right.


    He left Dagd Boulevard for Artists Street. Whistling the signature melody that had announced his shows for two decades he passed the theatres one by one. He didn''t stop until he saw the sign he''d been watching for. The Taleweaver''s Inn.


    Stopping once more, to let a cart laden with dried fruit through, he exchanged insults with the driver and headed for the door.


    It was an insignificant wooden door set slightly off centre in an equally anonymous stonewall. Almost as if someone had wanted people to fail finding their way here. But there was a sign. In the De Vhatic letters Arthur had never fully mastered, but this combination he knew by heart. Taleweaver''s Inn. A door to the history of this world, to tales of wonder and to the Weave itself.


    Late autumn, barely half a year ago he had entered through a door like this for the first time, and his life had forever changed. That night he became a taleweaver. After that he''d spun the Weave almost every evening, and he suspected legend already grew around his tales.


    Hesitantly he stood facing the door. Watching it while horses, wagons and people on foot passed behind his back. Then he rapped the door hard and waited some more.


    It eventually swung open and a man with a face like parchment challenged him. That face could have belonged to the guardian in The Roadhouse Taleweaver''s Inn, or the one in Belgera, and as identical twins didn''t come in threes Arthur simply accepted that even the guardians were part of the magic that seeped through each inn.


    "What is your errand?" came the expected question.


    "To Weave, but first I want to see this place," Arthur answered.


    "To watch and Weave. Enter."


    Arthur bent his head and crossed the threshold. People here were a full head shorter than he on average, and while furniture was simply too often uncomfortable, door frames, and in the worst of cases ceilings, were outright painful.


    He passed through a corridor and opened the door at the other end. He didn''t even bother to turn. The guardian would be gone only to appear well inside the inn. Arthur knew that by now. That this was the only way in didn''t matter. One learned to take the impossible for granted on Otherworld.


    Once inside he threw the stage a cursory glance and headed for the table a servant was already setting. She would return with a breakfast he''d only realize he''d longed for first when he put eyes on it. Another impossibility, another thing to take for granted.


    He did wonder how such flamboyant use of magic could exist inside the walls of great Verd. Capital of magic and Inquisition alike, but taleweavers were sacrosanct, and maybe some of that rubbed off to the inns that carried their names. He would eat and then he would scout the inn to find out how an audience were most likely to stand and sit. Weaving might allow him to share his tale with those listening, but that wasn''t an excuse to cheat on preparations. That was what had made him the greatest newscaster in the federation in living memory and, if he had anything to say about it, that was what would make him the greatest of taleweavers.


    He entered the stage wondering how Harbend had spent his morning.


    ***


    Harbend woke up stiff and cold. Early spring had yet to bring any real warmth to the city, and the quarters he lived in would need several days of heating to banish winter from its stone walls.


    Back home in the office he called home he hadn''t had time to hire servants to clean the rooms out and even less to bring fresh bedclothes in. He simply had to do with cleaning away the worst of the dust gathered there and hanging out his bedding for airing. For the second night since his arrival he made do with four chairs in a row as a bed. It wasn''t comfortable, but half a year on the road had made him used to discomfort.


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    He was still yawning when he bent over his small stove. He was heating water into which he planned to throw in some of the dried herbs that had survived his absence to get something resembling a cup of hot tea. A rap on the door caught his attention. Harbend stifled a yawn before he walked over and opened the it. It wouldn''t do to look like an idiot if it was a customer who, for some reason, didn''t know that Harbend de Garak, newest trading house in Keen wasn''t expected back for yet another half a year. Opening it Harbend regretted he hadn''t kept on yawning. The bad breath of a full nights uneasy sleep might have scared away the man who stood waiting there.


    "Harbend de Garak?"


    "Yes I am. How did you find out I was back?"


    Harbend didn''t even bother inviting the man in. During the best of days Arden de Krante was an uncouth and unpleasant acquaintance, and this wasn''t an especially good day to begin with.


    Arden halted, almost tripping on his feet, and tried not to show he had been expected to be let in. Behind him Harbend could see the gloomy morning covering the street in sheets of fog. Maybe if he made the entire situation awkward enough Arden would reconsider and just be on his way? Maybe not, and it was a childish thought, and definitely not one worthy of a professional trader with his own house being registered for less than a year.


    "Why come in, and try not to bring the weather with you, please," Harbend said with a voice he hoped wasn''t grumpy enough to be offensive. He didn''t have to like the master merchant, but he could definitely do with some information on whatever had occurred during his time with the caravan.


    "Thank you. I think I''ll do just that." Arden crossed the threshold as Harbend stepped back and closed the door.


    A yell whistling and a cloud of steam had Harbend sprinting for his pot. As an afterthought he got a second cup which he wiped with his arm sleeve before offering it to Arden.


    "Tea?"


    Arden gave the concoction offered a suspicious look. "You call that piss tea?"


    "That piss, Master de Krante, is the same as I have." Ah, you could always trust Arden to behave like the peasant he was. "I have been here for but a couple of days and have not had time to cater for my pleasures yet," Harbend added as an explanation. No matter how much he would have liked to see the back of the man vanish out the door he would gain nothing by matching the lack of etiquette that was something of a trademark of the master trader.


    "I see. Believe I''ll have to do with this, eh, tea then."


    "I believe so as well," Harbend said with what he hoped was a pleasant tone. "Anything interesting happening in these parts?" he asked after sipping a little of his tea. Arden was unfortunately right¡ªit didn''t taste like any proper herbal tea should do, Harbend noted sourly. He flashed a smile to Arden and made a show of taking another mouthful of the swill.


    Arden grimaced and put his cup down on the table they shared. "Apart from Hasselden burning and rumours of the imperial engineers bombarding raider ships at the south coast, no."


    Hasselden burning, well he knew that to be true. How could he not? Memories of shipwrecks littering the harbour and the ghostlike shells of houses behind it still lingered in Harbend''s mind. They had been forced to make land north of the port when the ship''s captain, sensibly enough, refused to risk his ship in a harbour turned reef.


    "I know," Harbend murmured. "We sailed there from Chach, or would have. Had to find temporary port elsewhere."


    "I was going to ask about that. From Chach you said?"


    "Yes. Should have come back the same way we went, but there were some trouble in Belgera and we were jumped from there."


    "Magic! How could you resort to such foulness?"


    Harbend sighed. He didn''t want to start a discussion about magic, especially not in the capital of Keen. "We were not given a choice," he said. "They wanted us out of Belgera as fast as possible." Well, that was almost true. Neritan Hwain had wanted Arthur and him out of there as fast as possible, but he was definitely not going to explain why he had trusted a golden mindwalker without even asking for an explanation.


    "What did you do?" Arden gasped.


    "We did not do very much, but there was some kind of conflict involving Gaz, and, ah, as we had arrived with a lot of valuables there was a clear risk that I, as the head of the caravan, would be directly targeted." Now that was taking a wide berth around the truth, but Harbend droned on, "They could not risk it evolving into a conflict with an official merchant expedition from Keen involved. Bad for future trade." Neritan couldn''t risk it exploding into a full blown war if it ever became known that a taleweaver had been hunted down like an animal inside the capital of an allied nation, was closer to the truth Harbend guessed. He fervently hoped that Arden couldn''t read the truth from the thin but involuntary smile spreading on his face. "Look, Master de Krante, I am here. The caravan is safely on its way back by now and I can prepare for the sales before it even arrives. Should we not just be happy that things took such a happy turn instead?"


    Arden didn''t look convinced, but Harbend knew he would not start prying. Not yet anyway.


    They shared the rest of the tea, or rather Harbend drank it himself while Arden looked on with ill disguised distaste in his eyes, and during the time it took Harbend to down the awful tasting drink as it cooled, something that did nothing to enhance its taste, they did exchange news in a sense. Harbend said nothing that would reveal what had really happened, and Arden didn''t give away any information that Harbend could possibly have used to gain any kind of trading advantage.


    In the end Harbend had his wish to see the back of Arden de Krante vanish out the door fulfilled, and could start planning to meet Arthur in a more pleasant environment.


    Ordering a coach didn''t take long, and during the ride to Two Worlds, watching the last strands of drifting fog clear away from the busy streets, Harbend had time just enough to realize that with Arden''s visit over the word would be out that Harbend de Garak was back. More were bound to come asking for him and for news about the caravan. Some he could avoid, and those he wanted to meet he''d already contacted the very day they arrived, but a few would come he neither wanted to meet nor could afford to avoid.


    He climbed down the wooden block of stairs placed at the side of the coach and continued to the hotel entrance. As always they opened for him just as he was about to knock, and he passed the liveried guards, made his way up three stories and, surprised at his lack of panting, promptly knocked on Arthur''s door. Half a year on the road may not have been comfortable, but it had apparently been good exercise.


    He stood there in the marble corridor enjoying the view of overdecorated walls, cluttered statues and general gaudiness of the place. It grew on you, especially if the only decoration you had had for an entire season was a white blanket of snow with a thin, blue line of mountains as an added artistic touch. After that, nothing that broke the monotony seemed to be too much.


    He smirked. It would be, he admitted to himself, only a matter of time before he came to his senses again. The smirk turned into a wide grin. He intended to enjoy every moment of that time.


    He knocked again, but when the door still refused to open he returned down the stairs and left a message telling Arthur that he could be found in The Tree.

 Chapter one, Debriefing, part two

    Arthur stretched his arms and legs like a satisfied child and burped rudely. He was sitting in a tree house, one of several in The Tree, his favourite, very exclusive, very expensive and absolutely marvellous restaurant in Verd.


    He fondly remembered the restaurant from the first time he''d been here. After that he''d made it an almost daily routine dining here, but that was half a year or an eternity earlier.


    Arthur was enjoying a gorgeous wine; rounded, full bodied and without any sharpness at all. The food had, as he''d fervently hoped when he ordered it, been exquisite and the company was one he never seemed to tire of¡ªand he had had plenty of time doing so sharing cramped rooms and more often an even more cramped wagon with the man since early autumn.


    Harbend was in short nothing like the businessmen Arthur had met during his years behind and in front of a camera back on Earth. Not that Harbend wasn''t a businessman, quite the opposite, but he had none of the tired arrogance of the too rich to enjoy their wealth that flocked around the money Arthur generated. It had been more like a game the already successful had to participate in rather than a real competition¡ªwell with one ghastly exception. At least Arthur suspected Christina Ulfsdotir to be behind the murder of his wife and two children. He had never been able to prove it. Had fled from it all rather than try to prove it, Arthur corrected himself with a guilty grin.


    Harbend proved to be a good friend, even though they didn''t always agree with each other and sometimes made their decisions from a very different moral and ethic viewpoint.


    Arthur toasted his friend again. They were both getting a little bit drunk, he more so than Harbend, but then he had his med kit available should he need to sober up immediately for one reason or another. Harbend didn''t have that benefit.


    Arthur studied the face in front of him. Stubbled in a way that didn''t agree with the strangely Asian features and topped by an unruly hair that should, if Arthur recalled correctly, be gathered in a knot to one side and otherwise mostly be shaved. Harbend was younger than Arthur, which showed, yet old enough to be to be middle aged, something that didn''t show. Somehow, though, Arthur suspected him of having experienced more during his life, with the possible exception of tragedy perhaps, but then that wasn''t a kind of experience Arthur cared to see any friend carry around.


    Still, life back on Earth, or anywhere else in the parts of the Terran Federation he had visited for that matter, in general seemed simpler, more prepared and orderly. The only exciting event concerning all of humanity Arthur could recall was the finding of the Gate fourteen years earlier, and Otherworld behind it. Otherworld with secrets of magic and legend, and most of those legends only rumours carefully filtered through the official channels on both sides of the Gate. Now he was a part, a very small part, of those legends, and the reality he had seen was both more complex and at the same time more mundane than what he''d been left to believe. Hell, he''d even made holo shows about what was to be expected once Otherworld was finally opened for tourism.


    Arthur frowned, drawing a questioning look from Harbend, and swallowed a sip of wine. The memories made it taste bleak, as if he didn''t want to make it justice any longer.


    "Harbend," Arthur began, "what will happen now when I''m a taleweaver?"


    Harbend stared back across the table. The difference in height between the men wasn''t as accentuated when they were sitting down. "I do not know. The Weave is a part of you." Harbend grinned, looking very much like a younger man than he was. "Your problem, or opportunity, not mine."


    "And your problem is more personal in nature, I guess," Arthur countered mischievously. "Or have you forgotten her?"


    Harbend had the decency to blush, but the blush soon turned into a satisfied grin. The boyish smile was contagious, and Arthur joined a silent laughter that for a time banished his tired thoughts.


    They finished their meal in silence, both men leaving the wine in favour of clear water, and it wasn''t until they rose and left the restaurant Arthur spoke the question that had been lingering in his mind.


    "We can''t leave Verd, can we?"


    Harbend''s face gave away that he was mulling over the question carefully before he voiced his answer. "We can. I honestly believe we can, but not until we have done the duty others would have placed on us." He gazed over the garden, eyes more thoughtful than sad, even though his voice had carried a tired quality that would have been easy to mistake for sadness by anyone who hadn''t shared the time they had spent together.


    "People who deserve to know what has happened, and those who would demand to know?" Arthur asked when they entered the garden surrounding the restaurant.


    "Yes, I think that is about right," Harbend answered.


    "But how could we tell when we haven''t even told each other all about it?"


    Harbend winced at first. So, I was right about that, Arthur noted for himself and grimaced. "I was going to," Harbend started, but Arthur interrupted him.


    "Please, don''t. Whatever you truly believed I needed to know you have already told me. I think our friendship can stand a tweaked version of events or two."


    "Thank you." A silent reply, but filled with genuine relief nonetheless.


    Arthur waited for Harbend to leave the garden and closed the gate behind them after he entered the side walk as well.


    "You know that when we are interrogated..." Harbend started to protest, but Arthur continued without pausing to listen. "... we need to tell them stories conforming to each other enough to keep us out of a second interrogation."


    Harbend looked unhappy. "I do not like it."


    "I know, and I agree," Arthur said. Then he smiled. "Damn it, there are things I don''t want to share with you, but we need to fill each other in and agree on one version." He shot his friend a grin before continuing. "It''ll take close to half a year before the caravan returns, and by then I hope I''m far enough away from here it won''t matter any longer."


    Harbend shivered in the afternoon cool. "When the truth is known here we need to be away," he agreed. He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. It was, Arthur noticed, the same, rugged one he''d worn during warmer days. In as much as any winter day on the Sea of Grass could ever be called warm.


    Arthur shrugged. He''d made a living of distributing half lies mixed with stunning truths all over Federation controlled space. A very good living at that.


    ***


    Mairild de Felder, minister of culture and spy master of Keen, waited for the servants to leave before she turned to her guest.


    "Admiral Radovic, please be seated."


    "After you, Madame."


    She nodded and pulled out a chair for herself before he had a chance to offer it to her. The outworlder was polite as always, sometimes a bit too much so for her taste.


    "Admiral," she said after they were both seated and both had a small sip of the watered wine the servants had left on a tray together with some dried fruit. "I would want you to know that the taleweaver is back with Master de Garak."


    Admiral Radovic frowned. "That''s excellent news, but I assume that by giving Arthur Wallman a title like that you still consider him an, ah, permanent guest of yours."


    Mairild smiled back. "Prisoner? No, not at all. He''s free to return to your world." She dropped the smile and mustered her haughtiest voice. "You, however, are not free to force him to."


    She watched the admiral, Rear Admiral Erwin Radovic and outworlder diplomatic envoy, force a smile to his face. "There''s no need any longer," he said with an uncertainty that for once matched his years. How did one so young rise so high in rank where he belonged? "It''s too late anyway. He''s already done the harm we wanted to prevent."


    Mairild licked her lips. "He hasn''t done any harm to us," she said, careful not to anger Erwin too much. She had got her message through anyway.


    Erwin shook his head in disagreement. "He has. In ways you don''t know. For the sake of protocol, though, you have my promise we''ll not attempt to capture him again."


    She sighed and raised her glass to get a few moments to think. With this problem solved they''d need to continue rebuilding the relations between Keen and the outworlders. She didn''t know how much power the man facing her had, but she did know he represented a government with enough power at their disposal to have massacred a full regiment of imperial cavalry ten years earlier. That was, as far as she could recall, the one single major mistake blackening the career of her colleague and Minister of War, Olvar de Saiden. Mistake or not, how did you coerce that kind of power to increase the amount of metal sold in Verd? Metal that was desperately needed by a nation starved by naval blockade for four years.


    "We''re willing to allow you to land more of the sky ships you use, even to the degree of granting you more land," she said knowing fully well she was resorting to bribes.


    "Why, thank you." There was genuine surprise in Erwin''s eyes now. He raised his own glass in a toast, something she''d learned he usually only did when he was embarrassed, or grateful. That had to mean the outworlders wanted the increased traffic almost as much as Keen did. She smirked. As much as the ruling body of Keen wanted. Most of the population wouldn''t care. Not any longer when the novelty of outworlders had worn off somewhat and sightings of them were still rare enough not to cause consternation among those living outside the capital.


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    That would change, she knew, when the outworlders were commonplace, and with that change there would be new fears. There were always new fears.


    Mairild turned her attention back to her guest. He had been watching her. Young maybe, but definitely not stupid. He''s wondering what I''m thinking, what I want from him, what I fear of him. She shrugged, as much in apology for not being a perfect hostess as to banish the concerns she had.


    "Oh, my, I see your glass is almost empty. Please, let me remedy that." Aw, what a stupid thing to say. If I keep this up he''ll start believing I''m flirting with him, and he''s younger than my youngest. She blushed a little at the unwanted thought.


    "Madame, thank you," Erwin answered. "Ah, that''s enough," he said as she filled his glass. "I am, you know, authorized to disclose some information, especially now when Arthur Wallman is, if you excuse my expression, running rampant giving his view of what we are and what we want to anyone who''s willing to listen."


    Mairild sat up straighter. So, there was going to be a gift in return for the promised land? "You have my attention."


    "It''s come to my knowledge that you are constructing rail roads of your own. We could help you with rail cars that don''t require the burning of wood."


    "Thank you," she said nonplussed, "but why would you want to do that?"


    "We have some concerns about environmental matters." When it was clear she hadn''t fully understood what he mean Erwin continued, "We have our own history of mistakes. The steam engine I assume that you plan to copy was never meant to be put to use in any large scale."


    Mairild grinned despite her attempts not to. She''d known the engineers going through the machine would be seen of course, but the artillery commanders wanted the knowledge for other reason than to propel wagons on a rail. Olvar himself had said they desperately needed a weapon that could throw missiles far enough to protect their harbours from the raiders.


    "I''ll think about this offer of yours," she said. "We all will," she added.


    "Please do. And, by the way, you do understand that I will report the return of one of our citizens to my superiors?"


    "I never doubted that," Mairild admitted with a laugh. "It''s been a pleasure meeting you."


    "The pleasure is entirely mine," he said and rose acknowledging that the meeting was at an end.


    She rose as well, and they shook hands; another of the peculiar customs the outworlders had.


    Erwin bowed, wheeled and marched out of the room. He was definitely a military man, she thought when she had her chair and table for herself again.


    ***


    Harbend had guessed that questions would be asked. He''d even expected to see more than his fair share of guests, but a delegation from the Council of Twelve waiting in his small office when he returned home was beyond his wildest imagination. Or nightmare, he added grimly after he''d recovered somewhat from the sight of liveried servants, four imperial guards in their yellow and black and two high ranking officials from the council in expensive silks glistering as if alive in yellow and red.


    Harbend reached for the key in his pocket, uncertain if he''d locked the door on his way out, but the glittering stone set in its handle was still a bright yellow rather than the dull grey telling him the door was unlocked.


    "How?" he asked into the air and pointed to the door he''d just left behind him to make his question clear.


    A smug smile but no answer was the only reaction he received.


    "Would you mind answering why you are in my office, which I locked before going out?" Harbend asked, feeling surprise slowly give way to irritation.


    "Answering questions are not our department. You''re called to attend a meeting with Mairild de Felder within the day. We expect to see you there at dusk."


    Harbend''s colour rose. "Now you..." A hard stare from one of the guards brought his words to a halt. He was very recently made a full trading house, but he still hadn''t brought the proof of his value to a gathering. He could still lose his standing, and the council wasn''t anything he wanted to aggravate, no matter his status among the merchants in Keen. "I will be there," Harbend said when the silence threatened to stretch too long.


    "Good, and bring the outworlder with you."


    Harbend could only stare in bewilderment as they all marched out of his office.


    What do I do now? What do they want, he wondered as he closed the door. He''d done nothing to warrant the interest of the ruling body in Keen. He couldn''t imagine anything they would be interested in, at least nothing they could know of, but that was an impossibility unless the very council ruling a nation where magic was banned itself made use of the gift.


    That was a distracting thought if any.


    Harbend shrugged off his discomfort and started to rummage through the contents of the shelves in his small kitchen in search of some tea, remembered the horror he had brewed the day before and gave up in disgust. Nothing decent to drink and yet a sour taste in his mouth as if he''d indeed been taking a mouthful of cheap wine.


    Harbend swallowed, but the taste refused to go away, and with a feeling of defeat he made his way to the door and went out. He locked the door behind him and swore silently between his teeth. The small sense of security the office had always given him was gone with the knowledge that there were people who could make their way into it without his knowing. It was a little bit like being duped, but with a lingering feeling of uncertainty bordering on fear clinging to him in a way a trade gone sour never did. He felt, he realized as he rounded a corner, helpless. Staring down the street he noticed in dismay how each and every stranger he met suddenly loomed like an unknown threat, and he avoided meeting their eyes as he walked.


    It was later, how much later Harbend didn''t know, that he halted, and not until he looked up did he recognize the entrance to Two Worlds. Maybe his legs had given him the direction his mind refused to yield. He waited for the doors to open and entered. Now he had a goal, and he resolutely climbed the stairs, passed a corridor and knocked on Arthur''s door. There was no response for a while, and Harbend started to worry if Arthur had already left for his daily excursions in the city. Then the door opened and Arthur peered out at him.


    Harbend bowed slightly and received a raised brow at the formality.


    "Welcome Harbend. I''m sorry. Is it that late already?"


    Harbend frowned. "No, no you are not late," he answered remembering that he was the one who usually picked Arthur up for their meal at The Tree. "I am here on a different errand."


    "Please come in." Arthur backed away from the door and let Harbend inside. "I was afraid I had overslept." He smiled sheepishly. "As if I had a time to keep anyway."


    Harbend smiled as well. A grimmer smile. "You do. We both do."


    "What''s happened?" There was worry in Arthur''s face now, and concern.


    Gods, I bring bad news and scare my friend at the same time, Harbend thought. He waved an apology to Arthur and remembered the expression from Khi probably was unfamiliar to the outworlder. "I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you."


    "Harbend, I''m not upset, but you look like darkness come alive. What is it?"


    The friendly outburst shook Harbend back to reality. "I have... we have been called to the Council of Twelve."


    "I don''t understand," Arthur said giving Harbend a nonplussed stare. "Why would the city council want to meet with us?"


    The misunderstanding brought the first laugh from Harbend for a long time. "Council of Twelve, Arthur, not city council."


    "I don''t... oh... oh!"


    "Yes. They want us there by dusk, or at least one of them."


    Arthur stared at Harbend, a crooked grin spreading over his face. "And being late is not an option, I guess?"


    "Being late is not an option," Harbend confirmed.


    Arthur spat a few words in English, and it took Harbend a few moments to recall that the sexual activities mentioned were strong profanities where Arthur came from. "My thoughts exactly," Harbend said, which brought yet another stream of curses from Arthur.

 Intermezzo

    Pope Innocentius the thirteenth dismissed his aides with a wave of his and motioned for the visitor to come forward.


    Over a year had passed since the last visit, but he suspected the topic would be the same.


    In a way he missed the early visits with their verbal fencing and his own clumsy attempts at coercing the stranger to reveal his true identity. The ugly scar marring his face should be possible to identify, especially as a magehealer could have removed it in an instant. That made it an affection rather than something the stranger suffered from.


    Should be, but that meant searching the archives in the godless city of Verd. Most of the papal archives had been lost during World War.


    He hadn''t, of course. The stranger was a dragon and came with promises of power and only a vague demand of later services in return.


    From youngest son, a simple priest in a poor bishopric, to bishop, cardinal and pope in a mere fifteen years was unheard of, and but for the visitor it would never have happened. No one stood in the way of a dragon though, not even the holy chair, and this dragon has let his cold eyes shine over Iachoby Klarenhertz both before and after he took the name Innocentius.


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    Now the stranger had come to claim that debt.


    They spoke, and as always Innocentius wondered how much golden there was left behind those steely eyes where only a remnant of yellow lingered.


    The conversation followed his mood. From worry to exhilaration, from questions to pure astonishment.


    A becoming was near. Within three or four years, maybe even in two.


    Exactly what would happen with the ascendancy of a new god no one could tell, but great chaos always ensued. Now the holy chair never officially accepted the concept of gods. The very idea was anathema, but Innocentius accepted that things were not always as the holy scriptures said, but then nothing had been written about the second great exodus either.


    Officially all new gods where either demons or angels rising in power. Soon he would make another official statement. One about the godless northern empire. And then they would gather a great host, and God''s grace would once again shine north of the Narrow Sea.

 Chapter two, Departure, part one

    Karia groaned. Not because he was saddle sore any longer. Eightdays of endless riding had taken care of that. This time he groaned because he remembered aching in muscles he''d forgotten he had.


    He knew how to ride. Every nobleman learned, but he had never sat a horse for days at end. That the horses had only been half trained didn''t make it any better. A suitable lesson in obedience. The very words of old Ricah. Suitable my arse! And literally so, he recalled when the horse nervously sidestepped a non-existent threat and reminded him that not all parts of his body had healed from those first aching, awful days.


    There were advantages to being mounted though. He ruefully admitted that as he passed a column of marching infantry.


    To Gaz, they were headed for Gaz.


    Someone had arrived at the broken gates of Belgera only a day after outworlder weapons almost tore the capital apart. Someone with promises and demands.


    I wonder which the council valued the most, the promises or the demands. If they can scrape together a full city watch of armed men I''ll be surprised.


    And now the city was all but disarmed and the caravan he''d been assigned to escorted by an army.


    Karia cursed whatever god had gifted the council with an evil sense of humour and rode on. With some luck he''d learn who had interceded on his behalf, and his sworn men. No execution. A years worth of unpaid escort duty instead. Well, he was unpaid. Twenty sworn men would receive their due when they returned, from his personal allowance of course. In reality it translated into being expelled in disgrace for life. What a gherin spawned way of repaying someone for saving their capital!


    But the sun shone, the wind flew brisk and clear in his face and he was young yet. Life was irresistible and he couldn''t stay sour for long. Not his way and had never been. With some luck he would get a word or two with the captain from Ri Khi. The very female captain, and pleasant to look at as well. That she had refused his earlier attempts, frankly and with a laugh, bothered him not the least. He wanted pleasant talk, not a warm body.


    Still what an idiot that master merchant must be. Winning a prize like her and then vanish from the city and leave her behind.


    ***


    Major Heinrich Goldberger, TADAT, flicked on the scanner. From infra-red to ultraviolet. No, nothing out of the normal. Nothing, at least, that could be seen by means of federation technology. Here on Otherworld there were ways of hiding things that no scanner could reveal. Both aliens, and he could call them nothing but aliens, had showed him how the mind could be suggested to pay no heed to what was there. Heinrich drew a deep breath. That the giant ape and the beautiful, oh so beautiful, woman with the golden eyes shared professions was still a riddle to him.


    Heinrich growled, flicked the scanners off and raised his visor. He didn''t need any enhancers to see the endless train of primitive wagons slowly making their way to Keen, the far away nation where he could make contact with the launch port again. Primitive or not, the wagon train was an awesome sight anyway. Five hundred wagons drawn by horses, mules, oxen and a few by enormous six legged lizards he''d been told were tamed and safe. They had better be, Heinrich thought grimly. At over three meters in height and close to double that in length they looked like dinosaurs, dinosaurs shimmering in metallic blue and red. If he got caught under one of them it would crush him, body walker or not. The exoskeleton armour was not designed to handle having a cargo container thrown at it.


    Heinrich willed himself into motion and hydraulic engines carried him on reinforced legs along the caravan. At least he could run faster than any of the monsters. He and his six men were the only ones who could make the distance between rearguard and vanguard in decent time, and so they''d become couriers more than anything else. By now only a few of the horses shied from the sound of the body walker as he passed them by. Heinrich chuckled. It had been different when they left Belgera, the capital of Braka, a few weeks earlier. Hundreds of horses stampeding with unhappy merchants running to catch them. An entire regiment of cavalry roaring with laughter while at the same time barely managing to keep their uneasy horses under control. Luckily no one had been hurt.


    Heinrich ran on in the afternoon sun throwing light and melting snow on the fields. They were leaving Braka behind them and soon they''d be in unclaimed, more dangerous territory. He doubted the amount of danger though. The cavalry regiment rode in small groups all around the caravan. Infantry, two regiments or close to fifteen hundred men had joined them on their way here and now marched in columns closer to the wagons.


    The most human looking alien, Neritan Hwain, had told him this was going to be a military operation as well as a trading expedition. A small neighbouring nation had committed some kind of atrocity and were to be punished. The caravan contained over three thousand barrels of poisonous minerals. Whatever else the hard faced inhabitants here were they were thorough. They intended to permanently wipe out a small town, and no matter what Heinrich thought about it it wasn''t his decision to make. The planned operation struck a memory in him, but never the diligent student he only remembered it was part of his own history, not what part.


    He increased his speed to a rumbling trot, fast enough to quickly leave any horse behind. Hell, fast enough to leave anyone but the hairy ape behind. She, because he''d come to know it was a she, had an amazing stamina, and to top it off she shared his practical view on life. Apart from her looks she could as well have been anyone of the hard-working miners in the belt, rigid sense of honour aside of course. Heinrich wondered about that. Apparently it was her own people who were to bear the brunt of the coming onslaught, but he''d never once heard her complain.


    He shook his head, helmet swirling to adjust for his movements, and continued. Half an hour more and he''d reach the vanguard where Colonel Trindai de Laiden was usually to be found.


    ***


    Trindai de Laiden swore long and bitter oaths as he rode in pursuit of the vanguard together with a few of his men. Being reduced to an armed guest was bad enough for the imperial colonel, but the city council of Belgera had acted in accordance with the fears he''d harboured on his way here close to a season earlier. They were all too happy to send out an army to punish the khraga for their part in almost killing a taleweaver. It wouldn''t stop there. It never did. By now the Council of Twelve were sure to know about the incident, one they couldn''t idly accept, and Trindai knew his superior, Mairild de Felder, well enough to understand what would happen later. Ramdar Garak, her counterpart from Khi would for once get all information he wanted for free, and so the two spy masters would set things into motion, like rings on water. Trindai painted a mental picture of troops from all over the world converging on Gaz for a final confrontation to end, once and for all, what had not been truly finished seven centuries earlier. Too many golden still living with memories and hatreds alive in their minds, memories for them -- a vaguely understood legend to humans. World War all over again.


    Trindai spat in disgust. Demoted to colonel because he couldn''t stand spending the rest of his active years behind a desk and in pointless meetings with greedy power mongers, yes he could accept that. Demoted for lack of understanding¡ªnever! Had he truly been as guileless as some thought he would still be a general. Political machinations was not a job for a man and he was too old now to allow his clear sightedness to turn into cynicism. He hadn''t come this far only to spend his waning years as a hateful man.


    The smells of early spring lost their lustre to him, and not even the wind carrying a faint promise of warmer days to come could fully vanquish his fears. It mattered little. He had a caravan to bring safely back to Keen, and after tomorrow, when the army turned east in their pursuit of revenge, he''d be in sole command of the escort. Trindai pushed his horse harder and listened to the smattering of hooves as he put stretch after stretch of wet earth behind him. Now, for the first time, did he truly regret the ease with which he''d promised how eagerly Keen would join the quest of justice that faraway day when they learned what had befallen Arthur Wallman.


    ***


    There it was again, a sweet scent carried by a gust of wind warmer than any she''d felt since they climbed the mountain pass. It caressed her with its promise of spring, more so than the bare splotches of dirt visible in the melting snow. Promises of greenery but also of just revenge brought by Braka to the khraga now when the icy hand of winter no longer gave the advantage to the hairy giants.


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    Nakora Weinak sighed with pleasure washing away the last of the disappointment she harboured knowing she''d be no part of the campaign launched at the khraga. Two days earlier the regiments had turned to the east and a full hundred of the wagons followed them, and all of the great gherin were with the troops.


    It would have been good to teach the khragan monsters some fear, but she had a mission bringing the caravan back safely. She looked over her troops, or what was left of them. Safety could be dangerous. They had reasons to know that. After enduring the perils of coming to Belgera she''d been relieved enough to let her guard down, and close to half of her men died within the protection of the city walls as a result when the outworlder Christina Ulfsdotir let her thugs loose on the streets.


    Nakora shrugged the memories away. Against outworlder weapons there wasn''t much you could do, and now they were bolstered not only by twenty horsemen from Braka but also by seven outworlders in their hissing contraptions. Gring had told her they were the outworlder version of Colonel de Laiden''s elite forces.


    Taking the reins in both of her hands Nakora pulled her horse to a stop. She was closing to Madame Termend''s tavern on wheels. A few merchants were already walking alongside it, but then some always were.


    "Captain Weinak, join us!" one of them greeted her.


    Nakora smiled at him. From Erkateren, and the jovial magecrafter, temporarily turned trader, had his wife at his side. In all honesty she handled most of their bartering. "I will, just let me tie my horse first," Nakora answered as she dismounted. She liked the couple. The people from Erkateren never frowned at her for being a military commander, not at all like her own.


    Nakora tied her horse behind the wagon and returned to the patrons and their hostess. "What do you have to offer today?" she asked Lianin Termend.


    "For ten copper shields you can have an ale, and for nine Brakish Gr¨¹ba I could give you -- an ale," Lianin answered laughing. It had become a ritual of sorts, but early on their way here it had been cider offered, and later a sweet, cloudy beer the until recently nomadic people on the Sea of Grass favoured


    "Lianin, when we come back home again," Nakora said, breaking the tradition of non-committal chat, "what are you going to do?"


    Lianin peered out from the darkness of her wagon. "If Master de Garak sets up a new caravan I''ll return with it." She turned and vanished back beneath the tarpaulin covering the wagon. "An ale?" her muddled voice asked, and Nakora could hear her already filling a mug.


    "Yes, thank you," Nakora answered. "And Chaijrild?" she asked, but her thoughts were far away. Harbend, where did you go? Are you safe? "Will she come with you?" Nakora continued in a a cheerful tone that didn''t fully match the worries dancing in her mind.


    "I''d think so," Lianin responded handing Nakora a mug of dark ale. "Shields or Gr¨¹ba? Well you never know with the young."


    "Shields, we were paid in advance." Nakora handed Lianin the coins.


    Lianin lifted an eyebrow and shot Nakora a curious glance. "A season in advance?"


    The icy wind that crept inside Nakora''s clothes wasn''t what chilled her. They hadn''t been paid for the entire trek back. She was already paying her men with the advance money for those who had died in Belgera, and within an eightday it was time again. Two eightdays pay and most of it would come from her own private funds. Gods! Harbend, where are you? I need you! "No, but there is enough to last until we can get it sorted out," she lied.


    "Ah, good news. I wouldn''t want to end up on the Sea of Grass with a grumpy escort." The relief in Lianin''s voice was all too clear.


    Nakora gulped down the ale and went for her horse. Mounted again she threw her thanks to Lianin and another lie about lack of time to spend with the tavern. There wasn''t much to do, but talking about payment to the troops made her more than just a little bit uneasy. Payment two eightdays in advance was the norm. Harbend had trusted her enough to give her funds for a full four eightdays, but the last time had been just after they reached Belgera and if she couldn''t convince the three merchants commanding the caravan in his absence there would be problems all too soon.


    She threw her horse into a brisk canter and rode for the rearguard. Riding was freedom, had been since childhood, and she needed something to bring back the satisfaction come from that warm gust of spring she smelled earlier.


    ***


    Gring watched the mood of Nakora''s troops deteriorate over the coming eightdays. It was money, as always the glittering coins meaning more to the halfmen than honour Whenever halfmen perceived a lack of money they immediately resorted to a total absence of honour¡ªwould go to almost any length to grab the shiny metal that meant almost as much to them as the right to decide over the lives of their brethren.


    Gring growled and ran. If the conversation she had overheard was anything to go by then things might get out of hand soon. The tribe Nakora belonged to had mastered the enslavement of their females to a degree where being female was in itself a reason to be abused. That, Gring once believed, was the case with all halfmen, but the men from Keen under command of Trindai thought otherwise, and so did the outworlders. They almost behaved honourably, something that was hard for her to accept, but so it was, and in the absence of Arthur she preferred to be among half decent halfmen as long as she was denied the company of proper humans.


    The thought of her own made her wonder what had happened in the town from where they were jumped to Gaz when she was still a captive together with Arthur and the child, Chaijrild. Dishonour, a grave insult to anything proper had marked their forced visit there, and with thousands of armed halfmen descending on them they were probably all dead by now. That was, she admitted, in order, but she couldn''t help worrying about the implications. Each decade saw fewer and fewer humans and with an army from Braka bent on revenging the injustice done to a taleweaver thousands more would die during the summer. One on one a human warrior was more than a match for any but the very best trained of the halfmen, but in large battle formations the cowardly oath breakers reigned superior, and Gring had no illusions about the outcome of the coming war. It would be slaughter unless aid from Gaz arrived in time. Such help, though, was unlikely to come, even if a truth seer from Gaz had been involved.


    The memory made Gring growl again. Kharg, not Truth seer Vailinin, was behind the dishonourable act of trying to kill a taleweaver, and Kharg was as human as she. No, there would be no intervention from Gaz, not this time.


    Gring ran on over wet, grassy ground, still hard and frozen where the ground frost hadn''t thawed. Soon spring would be here for real, the ground would soften and trailing wagons were sure to be mired in mud before the heat of summer baked the ground hard enough again to bear the weight of hundreds of wagons. Maybe, just maybe, the warmth and greenery that was to come would lift the mood of the halfmen enough to make them withstand the ordeals, but halfmen were weak in body as well as in will, and she didn''t dare to raise her hopes too much.


    She passed the strange equipment wagon the outworlder soldiers called hovercraft and waved. They had captured it from the renegade outworlders in Belgera. The driver, a female halfman named Elizabeth Chang who never ceased describing the marvels of her home, the unimaginably vast city of Shanghai, whenever she had a chance, waved back. The halfmen were always prone to ridiculous embellishments of their own achievements, and the outworlders were worse than most. The driver was worst of them all, always boasting about the grandest building ever made housing more halfmen than any city existing here.


    Gring ran on, spreading her hands in silent denial of the madness the outworlders said was everyday wonders where they came from, but she knew that at least some of it had to be true. Arthur had Woven while they were still captives of Kharg.


    Now Gring needed to talk with Trindai. Nakora had helped save her and she was honour bound to help Harbend''s mate. Gring knew that Trindai had received as many coins as Nakora, but he and his men spent very few of them. Maybe he could be convinced to help.

 Chapter two, Departure, part two

    Trindai dismounted. He gave the reins to a groom and walked the last part to Harbend''s private wagon where Nakora was already waiting.


    "Captain Weinak, I want a word with you," Trindai said after they had exchanged greetings. Behind him Gring''s looming shadow neared and he could feel the buzz around his ears announcing that the khraga was already employing her powers. With matters delicate as these he didn''t dare relying on neither his own imperfect skills at Khi nor Nakora''s mastery at De Vhatic. He was about to possibly insult one of his sub commanders and couldn''t afford misunderstandings to worsen it further.


    Nakora averted her eyes rather than obliging him. A bad sign. With a sign he forced her to walk with him out of earshot of the driver.


    "I need to know about the payment of your troops," Trindai said when he was satisfied that they were out of range of any prying ears.


    "Late, but under control, Colonel," she answered, still hiding her eyes behind strands of black hair that she usually kept tied to her back.


    "They are mercenaries, Captain." Trindai shot her a dark glance, forcing her to meet his eyes. "As much as I dislike soldiers drinking I dislike a sudden change in habits even more. My men report that they no longer visit Madame Termend," he lied. If any of his soldiers had stayed often enough with the moving tavern to notice the continued absence of Nakora''s men they''d be severely disciplined, but he had no reason to betray Gring''s trust.


    "They prefer cider to ale," Nakora tried haltingly.


    "I said they were mercenaries. They''ll drink any swill money can buy, and you know that."


    "Payment is a little late, that is all. You handle your troops and I mine."


    "Captain, you listen very carefully to what I say. Until we reach the Roadhouse I am in absolute command of the escort. I decide who does what, and that includes your troops as well as the contingent from Braka, and I decide when the men are paid. Is that understood?"


    "Yes, but..."


    "Is that understood?" Trindai repeated, deliberately adding a steely tone to his voice he knew the female captain didn''t deserve.


    "Yes, Colonel." Nakora came to rapt attention.


    Trindai stretched his fingers with a sharp crack. "Then I suggest you pay them what they''re due immediately."


    Nakora fidgeted for a moment, but in the end she broke as he knew she would. "There is a small problem," she admitted when Trindai refused to leave her without an answer.


    "A problem?"


    "The merchants Master de Garak left in command in his absence are withholding the payment."


    "For what reason?" Trindai asked. He more than guessed the answer. Ri Khi''s insane attitude towards women left them with only half a population. One major reason they would never rise to become anything but an insignificant nation in the vicinity of Keen.


    "They demand that I release command of the troops to an alternative commander first," Nakora whispered.


    "A male alternative?" Trindai suggested.


    "Yes." By now the voice was less than a whisper.


    "And your men have agreed to this?"


    Nakora hesitated. "Some have," she answered.


    The irritation Trindai had felt at first slowly gave way to cold rage. "So be it," he said.


    "What?"


    "Effective immediately," he cut her short, "you''re relieved of you command. Major Kalvar Terwin will command your troops in your place." Trindai received a look more filled with defeat than outrage. "However, I can''t afford to lose one of my officers without some kind of compensation," he continued before he broke Nakora''s spirit. "I order you to take command of my second squadron, and that order is not optional. You will also command the cavalry unit under Karia Graig. My overall command is too complex as it is anyway."


    Nakora looked at him with an expression shifting from gratefulness to anger and back again. "I am not familiar with imperial troops," she said.


    "You have a season to learn. Make the most of it," Trindai suggested gently. She was a good officer with the bad luck to be trained among idiots. Of course you never doubted your ability to command riders from Braka.


    He smiled at that thought. Just because they looked very much like her own sad excuse for a military unit she assumed they behaved the same. He corrected that thought. Just because they looked like the unit she should have been given command of to begin with.


    Trindai coughed and continued: "Major Terwin will see to it his men are paid. I can fund them for a full six eightdays, including any back pay due, and darkness, I''ll personally make certain the greedy whore sons of merchants make good on their obligations before this kind of problem returns."


    Captain Weinak met his look. There was one more question there.


    "Karia Graig has his own agreement with his men," Trindai said. "You need to talk with him about it."


    Trindai glared along the line of wagons before he turned. He slowly marched back to his horse, Nakora silent at his side and Gring plodding on behind them trying to be as unobtrusive as a towering, furry giant could possibly be.


    He glanced at Nakora sending a silent greeting of gratefulness to the khraga. I thank you for your brave diplomacy, Mindwalker. I wonder if you can hear my thoughts, but even if you don''t I''ll make you know I''m in your debt. Then his thoughts wandered to Nakora again. Take care, my girl. Use the coming season well. There''s no home in Ri Khi for you, but you don''t need to know that yet. I''ll see you in the yellow and black when we come home. May the gods bless you with Harbend''s love, because I can''t teach you how to make a home in Keen. Trindai muttered some well chosen curses under his breath, and when Nakora looked up at him, querying him for the reason, he stared straight ahead pretending to measure the distance they had yet to cover before making camp for the night.


    It was late in the afternoon, just before the caravan started making ready for a night''s rest, when Trindai''s anger finally subsided and he turned to Gring who''d followed beside his horse the entire day, resting only when he remounted. They were closing to the hissing outworlder wagon where the renegade, Christina Ulfsdotir, and her surviving mercenaries lay drugged by means of medications he didn''t understand. He needed Gring for one more thing. Major Goldberger had to be told about the change in command. Information was vital, and at Trindai''s behest Gring had already sent the golden mindwalker, Neritan Hwain, a message and asked her to tell the Brakish troops, who viewed any mage with an unhealthy respect. Well, anything that made his command easier was a blessing.


    "Mindwalker Khat, I want you know I''m in your debt," Trindai said, facing the khraga.


    "I know," Gring said, "you sent me earlier."


    "So you were eavesdropping after all," Trindai said smiling. He righted himself in the saddle when the horse misstepped on a tuft of grass.


    "No. You sent. I don''t walk minds uninvited. That is unethical as well as dishonourable"


    "I don''t understand."


    "You have the spark, halfman."


    A coldness crawled down Trindai''s back. "I''m not!"


    "No, and nor will you ever be. You''re too old to be trained, but you still have the spark, as do all who can ever be trained. In a different life you would have been a mindwalker or a magehealer. Does that disturb you?"


    Trindai heard the barb in her voice, but he was already used to her harsh sense of humour. He smiled and realized he didn''t care, not about her jokes and nor about the different life he could have lived. "I''m an imperial colonel. It''s been a good life and it''s not over yet. Now, if you would use the training you did receive to help me tell Major Goldberger the news."


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    "As is proper. I will."


    Trindai grinned and saw they were within speaking distance of a woman in a body walker. "Soldier, I''ll guard the prisoners. I need you to find Major Goldberger and bring him here."


    The woman saluted and with heavy thumps she started racing back along the caravan in the direction of the rearguard. Trindai watched her disappear, throwing mud and grass behind her with every step.


    "Mindwalker Khat, what will you do after we return?" Trindai asked when the sound of the vanishing trooper was muted by the steady roar of the floating wagon they had promised to guard.


    "I don''t know, halfman. I''m honour bound to Gaz, but mage Hwain made me see how Truth seer Rhigrat broke that bond when he condemned the taleweaver to death together with my own people in doing so. No matter his attempt at delaying the executions by calling a meeting of minds."


    Trindai could see Gring was uncomfortable. There were subtle changes to how she licked her tusks he had come to recognize even if he''d never be able to read her expressions the way he saw his soldiers'' needs and wants. "I don''t mean to pry," he said.


    "I''m not offended. Your question is in order. Gaz is an enemy to Braka, and Keen is allied with Braka. I know as much. You show honour in your precaution."


    Trindai shook his head. Honour, always honour "I don''t see how one mindwalker could pose a threat with the Inquisition close at all times. That was not my question. You know as well as I do you''ll never be allowed to cross our borders."


    "I didn''t intend to," Gring responded, and Trindai could see her good humour returning again. "Maybe I''ll make my living in Ri Kordari. Mage Hwain told me there are humans living there as well."


    The khraga referring to her own kind as humans was confusing as always, but Trindai was slowly getting used to the peculiar effects of her magic. Besides, she was right. There was a small khragan tribe living in the mountains controlled by Ri Kordari, and they were held in very high esteem by the followers of Cor, the only people as rigidly honour bound as the khraga themselves, those living in Ri Kordari only a little less so than the High Kordic knights, but then Kordar only had their honour left. Any vestige of power was forever lost in the aftermath of World War, and Trindai wasn''t certain if the ancient legends held much truth to them. Neritan had told him, repeatedly, how Kordic knights had broken the empire of Gaz during the early battles on the Sea of Grass. That was the end of an era when Braka was only a fortress Keen desperately clung to with the help of magecrafters, transport mages and endless stream of soldiers and battle mages sent there to bolster the defences of a perpetual siege. Back then Belgera had been their only eye deep inside enemy territory, but that was before World War.


    Trindai shuddered. He was a soldier, and imperial officer serving the most powerful nation north of the southern plains. In his world Keen would continue to train the best armies in the world in an ongoing quest to enforce peace on anyone bent on warfare. Keen ruthlessly quenched any attempt to start a war before it grew out of hand, and with the exception of their insufficient navy they had done a very good job at it. The last mishap was a movement of fanatics that had put large parts of Erkateren and Vimarin to the torch before the Free Inquisition were formed. After that the haphazard armies had been slaughtered in a campaign that lasted less than two years. Cleaning up had been dirty and taken longer.


    "Memories?" Gring''s voice brought him back from his thoughts.


    "Walking my mind?"


    "There was no need. Your mind was elsewhere from the look of your eyes," she answered with a deep growl that was her version of a laugh.


    Trindai looked at her black fur before responding. "Yes, memories of history lessons, and questions," he admitted.


    "Questions?"


    "Yes," Trindai answered, squinting at the setting sun, "someone must have sent a message to Chach and the Roadhouse about what happened." Gring gave him a questioning look, and he felt compelled to continue. "I expect us to meet soldiers accompanied by the Holy Inquisition. On this side of the mountain pass or the other I''m not certain, but they''ll be there."


    "The taleweaver?" Gring asked.


    Trindai nodded. "We have to be there before they attack the town we passed on our way here. I believe that the horsemen who attacked us were only young idiots."


    "And my dishonourable kinsman, Kharg, paid them with promises of glory and riches. We don''t carry money they way you halfmen do. He''d never be able to pay them in coins unless he was bought himself."


    Trindai threw her an uncomfortable glance. "We had a hearing after you were rescued. I believe they were bought, but no, you''re probably right about the payment. Glory would be appealing to half grown boys. They compare stories told by their grandparents to the sedate lives their parents are building now."


    Gring growled again. "You think a lot for a warrior."


    "That''s because I am no warrior," Trindai smiled without mirth. "I''m a soldier, as are my men, and," he pointed at the driver on the outworlder wagon, "I believe they as well."


    Gring was very silent for a long time and the hissing from the wagon silenced as it slowly sank to the ground, the sun behind it painting the plains and the sky in gold, or blood, Trindai thought when they saw Heinrich Goldberger approaching with his men in perfect formation.


    Gring followed his look and sighed. "Halfman, you scare me. You are a very dangerous man."


    "Yes, yes I''m afraid I am," Trindai agreed unhappily.


    ***


    "If I''m willing to? Of course, but there is a cost," Karia added.


    I should have guessed. Not my body! I''ll share it with Harbend, no one else. "And that would be?" she asked forcing her lips to a grin she hoped wasn''t too predatory.


    Karia stared at her. She apparently hadn''t been very successful. "Why, to learn all my commanding officer has to teach me."


    You''re a good man, and you didn''t have to be half as charming for me to find few reasons to dislike you. "I wouldn''t know what you needed learning."


    "Well in bed, nothing. Already fully trained there," he grinned back at her.


    Behind her she could hear Gring growl in her unmistakable way of laughing.


    You little... No he actually means it. Nakora let out a long breath of relief understanding he wouldn''t make any attempts to share her night quarters.


    "As for the rest, I have no idea," he said and then his face lit up in a grin that made him look like a boy half his age. Pure mischief shone through his eyes. "I''m a very slow learner sometimes. I''m afraid you''ll have to spend quite some times at teaching me."


    Maybe not some serious attempts, at least, she changed her mind. Oh well, if he wants company I won''t be misery. And he is quite charming, but no Harbend. There is only one Harbend.


    Thinking of him and missing him clouded her day, but she suspected she at least was gaining a friend for the long days home in return. Life could be worse.


    Nakora thanked Gring for lending the aid of her gift. Without it there would be no talking with Karia. Brakish and Khi was too different. She knew she could have asked Neritan as well, but the thought of disturbing the golden mindwalker was, well, disturbing.

 Intermezzo

    Cardinal Garnhalt stared ahead of the bow. The entire papal fleet would assemble at Friedhafen. It would take months of course. Ships arriving one by one, some only half manned and not a single one carrying the soldiers who were the reason for this mission.


    Not a single galley. Not one. Garnhalt couldn''t believe their luck. Didn''t either. He''d set up a network of spies the last few years just in preparation of this day. Well, this spring at least.


    All reports did indicate that the western raiders had truly decimated Keen''s fleet to nothing. The godless didn''t have a single galley to send to the Narrow Sea. He doubted they even had enough for basic patrolling of their own western coast. For all he knew pirates based on the Ming peninsula controlled all of Liat Sea. A strange name. In the language of the godless it meant sea of snow, but those waters had never seen snow during his lifetime.


    He would gather the fleet, get whatever letters were needed with proper seals. He would even make sure at least one royal fleet was paid if he could find no one with coffers to match his faith. The church didn''t hold lands apart from dioceses, but even those were shared with the nobility. It must never be said the church didn''t hold true to the ideals of poverty. Now, control, that''s a different matter. Control was enough, especially with the eighth due to holy mother church collected by the landowning nobles.


    Chach, it had to be Chach. A kingdom with three claimants for the throne and even more warlords who refused to bow to any crown.


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    Garnhalt sighed. The church was stronger than ever in the Midlands, but that was at the cost of all holdings along the northern shore. A hundred and fifty years ago Chach had been strong, solid and invincible. More an empire than a kingdom. But for Erkateren all of the Narrow Sea had belonged to Chach.


    Well, all hadn''t been well then. Chach had been too strong. Whenever the church bent its knee to the crown, any crown, things were wrong. Very wrong. Hubris saw Chach reduced to this. God''s wrath.


    This time he would make certain that whatever lands they conquered were awarded to those who deserved it, and not too much to any one faction.


    Mintosa would still be a horn in his side, but he had plans for removing that obstacle as well. As long as the walled port feigned loyalty to Keen the godless would always have a southern port available.


    The last time it had been used was only a season ago, and an entire raider fleet burned, and sunk. Trebuchets were not forgiving to anyone who braved that harbour Taking it was imperative for keeping any land they took, but he had plans.

 Chapter three, Interrogation, part one

    It was when they crossed the grand square in a coach that Arthur noticed the absence of something he''d expected. He hadn''t during his earlier stay here, for more than one reason. He looked out through the window to confirm his suspicions. "Harbend," he said, "do your soldiers help the farmers during spring sowing as well?"


    "Yes, but that is several eightdays ahead?"


    "Before we left last autumn you told me several regiments were stationed here. You said they were ordered out to help with the harvest."


    "Yes?"


    "Well, that should be thousands of uniforms. I expected to see more on the streets, that''s all."


    Harbend looked out his own window before responding. "You are right." He frowned. "When I think about it I have only seen the Imperial Guard and the east gate regiment. The three others are gone."


    "You know the reason?"


    "No, I can''t understand why," Harbend answered with a voice telling Arthur he was lying.


    "But normally all regiments would be in Verd?" Arthur probed.


    "Er, no," Harbend began, "they could be out patrolling," he finished, and Arthur knew for certain his friend was lying, and not even very skillfully.


    "Must be a grand sight, those patrols," Arthur murmured.


    "How so?"


    "Thousands of men in their bright uniforms riding in perfect columns snaking along the road, or even better, on a line trampling all fields in a stretch so wide it couldn''t possibly be missed from a drop shuttle," Arthur teased to let Harbend understand it was pointless to continue steering away from the truth.


    "Eh?"


    "Look, they''re out in force, and we didn''t see any troops on our way here from the coast, so they''re not hunting raiders." Arthur thought for a moment to let the matter lie, but they were heading for a meeting, or, if Arthur guessed right, an interrogation. If Harbend knew something maybe concerning them both Arthur wanted to know. Wanted to know things not concerning me the least for years now. Always digging up news for a show to blind my audience with my excellence, he admitted with a smile. He turned his thoughts back to more immediate concerns. "Harbend, you have an idea what''s going on. Share it!"


    Harbend shrugged, but a slight colouring told Arthur he was ill at ease. "Remember that debriefing, after we got you back?" he asked.


    Arthur nodded.


    "I''m afraid your capture didn''t end there."


    There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Arthur dimly remembered being cold, hungry and afraid. Harbend, though, had seen Trai killed. "Go on." Harsh memories or not, he needed to know.


    "Punishing the perpetrator," Harbend said. "There''s been a conflict brewing between Braka and the khragan tribes for eightyears."


    Arthur had an idea where this was leading, but he didn''t see the means. "How?" he asked.


    "I believe Mindwalker Hwain contacted people close enough to Keen to have the message arrive here even before we reached Belgera." Harbend sighed.


    "All because I''m a taleweaver. Braka gets a reason to call on their alliance with Keen and men in fancy uniforms march all the way over the mountains and across the Sea of Grass?"


    "Ride, more likely. Keen has little use of infantry apart from garrisons. Horses aplenty as you must have seen."


    "So my capture becomes a reason to send out an army killing people who were never involved in making me a prisoner?"


    "They were involved, indirectly at least. The law leaves no room for being indirectly involved in trying to kill a taleweaver."


    Arthur stifled a need to scream. "Damn it! Braka just wants a reason to burn khragan villages and Keen is only too happy to aid as long as they happen to gain control of the caravan route. Isn''t that what this really is all about?"


    Harbend had the decency to look ashamed, but he only nodded as an answer, and they continued their ride in silence.


    The coach came to a halt. Leaving it and entering the grandiose castle dominating Verd''s central square Arthur had more time than he needed to think of the consequences of armies running rampant on the Sea of Grass. He barely noticed members of the Imperial Guard escorting them through corridors brightly lit by the afternoon light and filled with a splendour made possible by hundreds of years of absolute power. Comrades in arms as well as trade Keen and Braka would probably divide up the lands between them after carrying wholesale slaughter to the khraga. All in all not that much different from when the Terran Federation converted a captured pirate base to a member state with breathtaking speed to avoid any questions whether the inhabitants of the installation wanted to be part of the federation or not. We''re the same, only a millennium of technology separating us, but they''ve got the magic here to compensate for the difference, to a degree anyway. Arthur almost spat on the floor, but seeing the gleaming marble he remembered where he was. Took up some habits with only a cramped wagon as my quarters, didn''t I.


    He grinned and continued walking, Harbend at his side and armed guards all around them. Like we''re prisoners. Yes, an interrogation rather than a meeting, that''s for certain.


    "You may be seated."


    "I thought we were wanted at dusk," Harbend protested, throwing a glance at the rapidly darkening exterior, setting sun casting long shadows across the square.


    "You''ll be called when it''s appropriate. Until then you wait."


    Harbend shrunk into a chair.


    "Hurry up and wait," Arthur murmured.


    "Excuse me, sir?" a guard asked.


    "I said I''m not in the mood for waiting," Arthur responded. "Now gentlemen, I''ll open that door and get this meeting over with." He made for the door and as one the soldiers blocked his way. "Get the darkness out of my way," he growled, "or you''d better be prepared to explain how you came to manhandle a taleweaver!" Please had never been the magic word back on Earth, but taleweaver apparently was here, and the uncertainty glimmering in the eyes of the soldiers spoke volumes. Arthur pushed his way through to the door and opened it. "Harbend, we''re in a hurry."


    When Harbend rose he was roughly pushed back into his chair.


    "Lord Taleweaver, you''re free to enter, but," looking at the emblem on Harbend''s left shoulder the soldier continued: "the master merchant stays."


    So this is how it works. You can''t get at me so you take it out on those around me. Rage streamed through Arthur''s mind. I''m done being used by the bloody military. Keen or Terran, I don''t give a damn! He Wove. All frustration he had experienced in the caravan, his shock when learning of the executions Harbend had ordered. Arthur forced the soldiers to join him on a nightmarish ride bound to their horses, made them share a dirty cell and run at his side while grenades tore down walls around him in Belgera. He remembered the pain. Pain? What pain? Damn you Harbend, you stabbed me! Pain! The fire in his stomach when the dagger was twisted.


    "What the fucking hell was that?"


    Arthur slowly turned. The soldiers, and Harbend, were writhing, clasping their abdomens and some of them gagging. In the reception hall, on the other side of the open door, more were copying the motions of the prone men around him, but one man was still standing, and he had addressed Arthur in English. Arthur stared. That was a fleet uniform. High ranking, and there was something familiar with the officer''s features. Familiar enough to make Arthur understand he must have featured him in a holo show at one time or another.


    "What the hell did you do to them?"


    Why isn''t he squirming like the rest? Shit scared for certain, but still standing. Oh, damn it, he doesn''t understand De Vhatic! Bloody Federation finally caught up with me. "And you are?"


    "I''m Erwin Radovic, and you still haven''t told me what happened."


    Erwin Radovic? I know this man! Erwin, Erwin... Lieutenant Radovic! One of two surviving officers, and the only to land here. "I Wove, a talent I''ve acquired here." Vivian McAdams, Captain McAdams that''s the other one, but you''re still up there. "You''ve made a career, haven''t you, Radovic?"


    Erwin smiled. "Rear Admiral now, yes. Mr Wallman, would you care to elaborate?" Erwin pointed at the people around him. All but one were at least on their knees now, but most were still gasping in pain.


    "Weaving, the way holo casting would have been today but for the ban on neural implants." Watching the result Arthur shivered. "One of the wiser laws. I can see that now," he admitted when he saw the expression of disgust in Erwin''s face.


    "Call the Inquisition. I''ll have him executed!" A young woman on shaky legs shot Arthur a glare filled with hatred.


    "No! He''s a taleweaver. That was a Weave, a disgusting one, but he didn''t use the forbidden arts." Another woman, older, and despite the fear in her face Arthur could hear an underlying tone of command in her voice. He stared into the hall. They were coming to their feet all of them. None as young as the soldiers around him and all carrying decades of taking power for granted in their features. It had to be the Council of Twelve.


    "Last time you wore the black and silver," Arthur said, unwilling to start a conversation with a member of Keen''s government.


    "They thought fleet red more suitable for a diplomat. Sending an assault trooper to negotiations conveys the wrong kind of signals," Erwin answered and gave his uniform an embarrassed glance. "Not that it matters much here. We don''t shoot at them and they don''t shoot at us. I think we made that mutually clear a dozen years ago or so."


    You would know that, wouldn''t you? Two carriers destroyed, five thousand dead and only eight to make it to the ground. "Mutually, yes that''s a way of expressing it." And then you slaughtered a couple of thousand men here in return when they tried to capture the launch port you built. "You''re done sending signals, aren''t you? Yes, I''d say that deep red uniform of yours represents the signals you sent more than adequately."


    Erwin flinched.


    Arthur stepped over the threshold and entered the hall. "Harbend," he called, "we''re expected. After this meeting is done with we''ll have one of our own. I know what you did to me when we left Belgera." He heard the merchant following him.


    "Khar Escha said you wouldn''t remember anything. He said the mindwalker would make you forget," Harbend muttered, and Arthur could hear the shock in his voice. It still hurt.


    Damn you, you didn''t have to admit you agreed to have me mind wiped! Arthur wondered what it would take to forgive the mental rape. Time probably. With memories came the recollection of how close he''d been to clubbing Harbend to the floor in his frantic attempts to take to the streets again. Yes, time, I guess. I will forgive you eventually.


    "If this is not about my forced extraction, why is a Terran admiral here?" Arthur asked.


    "Please have a seat. I am Mairild de Felder, Minister of Arts."


    That was a command as much as the one he''d been given by the guard earlier, but it was voiced politely enough, and Arthur took a chair.


    "You as well, Master de Garak. What can I offer you?"


    Harbend, like Arthur, accepted a chair. "A vintage Kastarian red and cliff crawler eggs," he answered sardonically, "but I guess I''ll do with whatever you have," he continued, and Arthur heard Harbend regaining some of his composure with his verbal retort. Minister de Felder was in command of all of hers, as were the rest of the council members taking places around the large table they shared. Wonderfully crafted it had to be a masterpiece from Erkateren. Arthur had seen enough of them to know by now, spending most of winter transporting furniture across the Sea of Grass as he had done.


    He watched the men and women ruling what they considered an empire. Old, or at least older than a majority of their subjects, or citizens as they probably called those they ruled. Citizen, politer than subject, the preferred expression when they were overheard, but he wondered if any of them truly thought of the people as their peers. The Terran government was elected, at least in theory, which didn''t stop them from making decisions making it perfectly clear how little they thought of the fifteen billion living in Terran space. Here, on Otherworld, they dispensed with that pretence


    One of them turned to Harbend. "Whatever we can offer you, Master de Garak, is one item on our agenda today. Could we please leave the unpleasantnesses behind us?" He shot a glance in the direction of the doorway. The soldiers were busy cleaning up after Arthur''s performance, and the sickeningly sweet smell of half digested food soon vanished when it was wiped away. Open windows let in a chilly wind cleaning out the last of the odour


    "Don''t think I''ve forgotten." The voice called Arthur''s attention back to the table. It was the young woman who had threatened to have him executed earlier.


    "Makarin, please. You''re not obliged to like the man, but you have to respect the taleweaver." The one who had addressed Harbend. "Master de Garak, we''re waiting for a few of us. Now let me introduce those present." The greybeard nodded across the table. "The Minister of Agriculture, Makarin de Hasselden, the Minister of Arts, Mairild de Felder and the Minister of War, Olvar de Saiden." Arthur and Harbend both nodded understanding. "I am Minister of Law, Verkai de Partaken. To my right, the Minister of Craft, Garkain de Krante. Two more will arrive."


    "I thought we were called to enjoy the presence of the entire council," Arthur barked.


    Verkai sighed. "Why the hostility? Besides, Construction, Education, Magehunting, Religion and Ceremony have little interest in what we''re going to discuss anyway."


    "You would have a Ministry of Magehunting, wouldn''t you?" Arthur commented. Why not? They were only semi civilized after all.


    There was an uncomfortable silence after that, not broken until a woman wizened by age arrived together with an equally old man Arthur vaguely remembered.


    Harbend rose, mouth half open. "Master de Verd?"


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    "I am," he smiled in response. "Minister of Commerce since a few eightdays."


    "You remember Glarien, good. Tenanrild de Dagd, Minister of Transportation, please join us," Verkai said as means of invitation and introduction alike. "Now, who would translate for our outworlder envoy?"


    Arthur looked at Erwin and suddenly felt a moment of pity. The admiral didn''t speak De Vhatic and must have spent the entire introduction feeling very much like a discarded item. Arthur knew that feeling all too well. Long months before he''d been able to communicate with anyone but Harbend, and mere months rather than years only as a result of meeting Gring, mindwalker and khraga in one brutally honest package. He missed her. But for her gifts he would have spent half a year with the caravan alone among people. That sharing was also the reason he spoke De Vhatic fluently now.


    "Admiral, would you mind if I acted as interpreter here?"


    "Eh, I don''t..." Erwin looked at Mairild. "By all means. Madame de Felder could correct any eventual inconsistencies." He lingered on the last word long enough for Arthur to smile.


    Ah, so you are equipped with a brain after all. And she understands English. "Then I''ll be happy to do the honours," Arthur said.


    Servants arrived with bottles and bowls. A light evening meal to loosen tongues. Arthur noted that there was more to drink than eat. Interrogation al-right. I''ve played this game myself.


    "Now when we''re all seated could we please proceed to the reason for this meeting," Verkai said.


    Arthur leaned back in his chair and glanced at Harbend. For now they were allies, but he didn''t intend to let Harbend away with what he had done without a later trashing.


    "To begin with. You arrived here far earlier than would have been possible by natural means," Verkai continued.


    Arthur translated for the benefit of Erwin and answered. "Yes, we were jumped from Belgera. Khar Achnai from Khanati took care of that."


    "That is in clear violation of our laws," Verkai said with a nod to the woman who had wanted Arthur executed. Still, it seemed to Arthur that the bearded minister wanted an excuse to close that matter once and for all rather than actually pursuing it.


    "I''m no citizen of Keen, and as far as I know, neither is Master de Garak," Arthur answered. After translating he continued. "Add to that the fact that we were jumped from Belgera to Khanati. You may have outlawed the use of magic, but magic was never used within the borders of Keen." He translated again while the council members mulled over what he had said.


    Liveried servants filed into the hall, some carrying more to eat and drink and others closing the windows to prevent the little heat left from escaping. Although working as silently as unobtrusively as possible their presence helped cover the uncomfortable silence. When the last of them had left and closed the doors behind her Arthur sipped some wine and turned to Verkai.


    "But that isn''t really the reason for this invitation, is it?"


    "No," Verkai admitted. "We''re more interested in the caravan."


    "You''re more interested in how well any goods it represents survived the reason we had to, evacuate, Belgera so hastily, you mean." Arthur watched the newest member of the Council. Glarien de Verd, Minister of Commerce. The last time Arthur had seen him he had been one of four master traders ruling the trading houses in Keen.


    Glarien met his glare with one of his own. "Yes. The blockade has strained our trade beyond the acceptable." The old council member swallowed a piece of bread before continuing. "Traders can die. That''s an inescapable risk involved in leaving Keen. Trade, however, mustn''t die. It''s the lifeblood of Keen."


    Arthur scowled.


    "He''s basically right. Overly dramatic, yes, but we can''t afford losing trade any more than we can survive failed crops year after year," Verkai said. "We need to know if future caravans are likely to need as strong an escort as the one currently under way"


    Arthur frowned. Then he remembered. "Darkness! That''s where three regiments have gone, isn''t it?"


    "Yes, but it''s a lot larger than yours."


    Well, it had to be. A state sanctioned lifeline, and you couldn''t know how ours swelled from a few dozen wagons to hundreds as we left the Roadhouse. "How much larger?" Arthur asked rather than voicing his thoughts.


    "Enough to warrant a larger escort."


    "A larger escort? You''ve sent several hundred soldiers with it." Then another piece of the puzzle fell in place. Damn! Damn you, Trindai! You didn''t desert the inquisition, you were a plant! "Darkness! You gifted our small caravan with some kind of secret elite commando of yours!"


    An older woman visibly winced at Arthur''s words.


    Maria, no, Mairild de Felder, Minister of, ah, Arts, yes that''s it.


    "How did you find out?" she requested.


    "After half a year?" Arthur lied. "How did you expect me not to find out? Just because we''ve arrived here in sky ships a thousand years beyond what you primitives can build it doesn''t mean we''re idiots you know!"


    The silence was absolute but for Arthur''s translating his outburst to Erwin. The admiral did cringe as Mairild confirmed Arthur''s wording.


    "For being the undisputed master of communications of our time you behave like the fucking asshole I''ve come to suspect you really are. Nothing like those polished holos you''ve transmitted all over the solar system the last decades."


    Arthur hadn''t expected Erwin to be quite so outspoken, but insulting as the accusation was Arthur had to admit his own last outburst deserved nothing less. Then Mairild smiled, and translated, and the rest of the council joined her in varying degrees of grim smiles, as did Harbend.


    Damn, I forgot she knew English. Oh hell, I had it coming. "I apologize," Arthur said. "That was uncalled for." He smiled sheepishly. "Anyway, how much larger, if I may ask?"


    "Two thousand seven hundred and fifty wagons, and we didn''t send out several hundred soldiers. We sent close to three thousand troops including a full company of foragers and four squadrons of the Holy Inquisition," Verkai answered.


    Arthur caught his breath and stared at him. That is a lot larger than our caravan. Bloody hell! It''s not a caravan-- it''s a migration!


    "I hope you understand our concern," Verkai continued unperturbed. "That escort represents a fourth of our standing forces, which for several different reasons makes this kind of undertaking unsustainable in the long run."


    Arthur looked at Harbend and received a look as stunned as his own. It wasn''t until Erwin tugged at his sleeve Arthur realized he''d forgotten to translate. Within a few moments all three men shared the expression of disbelief.


    "That''s a large brigade, or small division, moving cross country with a logistics organization that is a joke! Are they insane or merely incompetent?"


    Arthur glared at Erwin. "And you told me I was impolite. Remember, the lady understands English."


    The lady in question rose from her chair with a frown on her face. She waved away a request for a translation from Verkai and stared Erwin squarely in his face.


    You could cut diamonds on that face, Arthur thought.


    "Would you care to explain your line of thought, Admiral?"


    And ships plates with that voice, he mused, careful not to face the harridan.


    "How do you plan to feed all those people, not to speak of the animals?" Erwin answered, his voice betraying almost no strain at all. Arthur had to admire his calm.


    "That''s what the foragers are for."


    "Incompetents then," Erwin said.


    Mairild paled. "You would presume to teach..."


    "The last time I presumed to teach you anything we annihilated two thousand of your professional soldiers before they had a chance to loose their weapons," Erwin interrupted. "This is not a game! I don''t know who fed you with those pretty lies, but a hundred foragers or a thousand doesn''t matter. That caravan can cover only so much ground each day and the food has to be in the area to begin with."


    Arthur remembered being hungry almost every day as they crawled over the mountain range separating Ri Khi from the Sea of Grass. Even though several hunters had joined them as scouts it hadn''t been enough, and but for Trai, Escha and a few battle mages from Rhuin they would have starved. Coming out on the plains had made life easier. Gherin, the giant six legged lizards, and wild horses had made a welcome addition to their diet, but they still wouldn''t have survived but for the mages melting snow and jumping food and firewood along the caravan.


    Still, something was wrong. The slaughter at the launch port over a decade earlier was the result of disparity in equipment, not brains, in as much as anything military could be associated with brains to begin with. If Keen organized soldiers in regiments it meant they must have the knowledge to move those regiments from place to place. Starving hundreds of armed men trained to kill other men was the kind of incompetence you only exercised once. So, if incompetence on a vast scale was out of the question, then what? Somehow there must be a planned solution for feeding the caravan. If for no other reason then at least to keep the powerful merchant houses, who were so important for Keen, happy.


    Arthur bit off a piece of cheese, chewed, swallowed and listened to the strained silence filling the hall. As he downed some dried fruit with a mouthful of wine understanding slowly dawned on him. He whirled and faced Glarien. "You cold-blooded get of a gherin! You''re invading Vimarin."


    The old minister was so wrinkled it was hard to tell if he was frowning or smirking. "That''s preposterous," he said. "Keen doesn''t war. We keep the peace." Glarien radiated an aura of benign annoyance, almost like a father admonishing a child who had overstepped but should be forgiven his trespassing anyway. But for all that he looked like he could be Arthur''s grandfather there wasn''t much more than a dozen years separating them, and Arthur had spent a large part of his life clawing himself from relative poverty to stardom. He''d done so by reading people around him, knowing them and using that knowledge ruthlessly. Now he read all he needed from a slight shiftiness in Glarien''s eyes and the almost invisible curling of fingers on hands that wanted to grip a dagger rather than stroke the head of an unruly child.


    You''re out of your league here, old man. You''re treading water so deep you haven''t even begun to grasp you''re drowning. Arthur turned to an ogre of a man, a native of Keen who would have been noted for his size even back on Earth. Here he was a giant among men, closer in build to a khraga than his fellow humans. And sharing more than a little of their unappealing looks as well. "Mr Saiden, you were introduced as Minister of War if I recall correctly."


    "Your memory does you honour," came a surprisingly soft reply. He leaned back in his chair until it creaked daring Arthur to approach. An ironic smile spread over his face reaching all the way to his eyes where Arthur found a glimmer of anticipation.


    Careful here. He looks like muscle, but it''s all brains. Bloody hell, Colonel Laiden, Admiral Radovic and now Minister Saiden. If intelligence like this continue to pop up in uniform it''s going to put an ugly dent in my preconception of armed boy scouts!


    Arthur quickly translated what had been said to an increasingly irritated Erwin, creating an excuse for gathering his thoughts before he embarked on voicing them.


    "I suppose you don''t make a habit of invading your neighbours"


    "Correct. Minister de Verd said as much."


    Damn him and his smug smile! He already knows where I''m going, so why the charade? "So I guess you usually move your troops within your borders."


    "Yes, of course. We have the roads for rapid deployment of forces after all." The huge minister of war looked offended and half rose from his chair as if he wanted to send more than a verbal message. Doing so he dropped an apple, and Arthur watched it lazily bouncing over the table and into the lap of the crone who had arrived with Glarien.


    No, not dropped. He did that deliberately! Why?


    The old woman picked up the fruit and placed it on the table. She awarded Olvar an expression of consternation.


    Oh, I''m an idiot! The Council of Twelve. Not what we''d call a democracy but not...


    "Unholy gods!"


    "I see you''ve made the same conclusion as the outworlder, Tenanrild," Olvar noted and sat down again.


    "You, you! Have your bowels nailed to the city walls!" she yelled at Glarien. "Makarin, we have granaries close to Roadbreak?"


    Tenanrild, Tenanrild de Dagd, Minister of Transportation, yes I can see why she suddenly exploded. And Makarin, she''s Agriculture. She''ll go through the roof when she understands as well. Oh Glarien, you were outmanoeuvred even before you tried to piss on me, but I don''t mind being used by the giant, not this time anyway.


    Makarin stared at Tenanrild. Arthur could see she still hadn''t grasped the contents of the exchange, but she was young, surprisingly young for sitting in the council. "We do, why?"


    "Why? After Roadbreak there''s only a poor excuse for a road. Caravan be moving at half speed on a good day. It rains, they could as well not be moving at all! Farms along that dirt track all the way to Erkateren. We''re not going to starve."


    Any other time watching Makarin''s face would have been hilarious. She looked like the older woman had slapped her, in public. Arthur, however, guessed she was frantically calculating how much food they needed to send east before mass starvation ate Vimarin like a plague.


    "Erwin, I think Olvar," Arthur nodded at the minister, "just made a coup. He needed a majority, and we just served him one on a platter." Arthur translated the previous exchange and continued translating as it degenerated into a shouting match. From time to time he glanced at Mairild and Olvar trading satisfied smiles, even as the former took part of most of the shouting.

 Chapter three, Interrogation, part two

    The meeting had deteriorated over an hour ago with Glarien stomping out of the hall. It dissolved shortly after that and among the last Erwin made his excuses and left together with Harbend. Arthur wasn''t entirely happy with that. Harbend''s English was excellent only making it that much easier for Erwin to milk him, hungry as he must be for information as well as the mere presence of anyone able to communicate with him. Well, that went both ways, Arthur guessed. Harbend wasn''t one to let go of an equal opportunity. Admiral Radovic didn''t belong to the exclusive group of traders who were the only Federation citizens normally allowed to travel here. That was changing now, of course. Arthur Wallman had been change incarnate for over twenty years by now, and he''d already seen the signs. Signs he needed to verify now that the three remaining ministers had agreed on a course of action to lessen the disaster brought upon the farmers in Vimarin.


    "You''ve been silent," Tenanrild said.


    "You''ve been confident," Arthur replied.


    "Been laying down rails since shortly after you left for Braka."


    Definitely not stupid. Minds like greased lightning bolts all of them. Greedy or not, they''re anything but stupid. Arthur sighed. Nothing like the toads back home, but this council is running an empire, not bribing voters for another five year term of hiding forgotten promises.


    "From Roadbreak?" he asked.


    "Should be able to cover most of an eightdays worth of caravan crawling in a day with the new rail coaches."


    "No trains?"


    "Engines not strong enough. You have better machines." She clipped her sentences in a peculiar way which had Arthur guessing she might not have been born in Keen. That didn''t stop her from being to the point.


    "The sky ship I saw landing?"


    "New schedule. Lands every eightday."


    Bloody hell! That explains the extra guests at Two Worlds. "So you''ve tripled your import?"


    "Think so. Would be more, but your ministry of transportation isn''t very efficient."


    Arthur laughed. You have the guts to complain about our shipping capacity! A miner would need half a year from belt to Gate. We could have racked up shipping to full capacity the moment news of my arrival hit the holos and most of the sun barges would still be on their way here. He didn''t say any of it though. Explaining space travel would take too much time, and he suspected someone who relied on horses wouldn''t understand it anyway. "Well, I guess building new sky ships any faster would be difficult for us," he said instead.


    "Don''t need to build more. Fly more often instead."


    Olvar de Saiden barked a laugh. "This is a long way from home, eh?"


    Maybe they would understand after all, Arthur admitted glumly. "Yes, we could do that, of course." He studied Tenanrild. Small for an Otherworlder and slightly shrunken from age with a greying haircut distinctly shorter than was the fashion. Definitely not born here, he decided.


    "I''m sure ships will arrive more often here in the future."


    "Will do so," Tenanrild said. "Admiral of yours promised daily landings in less than a year."


    Daily! You poor bastards! Might as well sign the death sentence now rather than wait. Another twenty years and your world is gone forever. "That''s a... dramatic... increase from now," Arthur drawled, too stunned to say anything else.


    "Change is inevitable," Olvar agreed. "Your limited presence has proved that. We can''t stop change, but we may influence the direction it takes."


    "What are you talking about? You''ll end up with more Federation citizens than you could possibly imagine."


    "Maybe, maybe not. Chach will stabilize sooner or later, and with a kingdom embracing the use of battle mages just south of the Narrow Sea we''ll need the edge your technology gives us to stave of whatever they might plan after some self appointed king has their aristocracy firmly in his grip."


    Arthur stared at Olvar, aghast at what he had just heard.


    "He''s right, you know," Makarin, who had been silently listening, shot in. "We''ve always had better crops than they. Mostly a cause of better farming, but they''d never believe that." She looked tired. "Gods, we got rid of titled landowners less than a lifeyear ago. Worthless parasites! Our fields yield almost half again what they do in the protectorates."


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Protectorates?"


    "Client states, mostly out of easy reach from the highways," Olvar explained. "They pay taxes and refrain from raising armies. We make sure about that! Otherwise they do as they like. Most kept their counts and dukes."


    "But I don''t..."


    "Makarin''s still right, though. For all their archaic practices the protectorates still grow more food than any fief in Chach. Raise more cattle as well," Olvar continued as if Arthur hadn''t been there. In a way he might as well not have been. The faces around him told a story of long arguments and hard won experiences. They must have mulled over the situation countless times, and with raiders sinking their ships a difficult situation had turned into a dangerous and bleak future indeed.


    "But you control the highways?"


    "Idiot!" Tenanrild barked. "Merchant fleet lies on the bottom of the sea. Wharfs in Hasselden destroyed. Expect us to swim?"


    Arthur blanched at the remainder that for all his education he still didn''t fully grasp the differences between the Terran Federation and Keen.


    "Not the most polished way to express the truth, but the truth nonetheless," Makarin said. "Now, this is where you come in."


    "Me?"


    "Yes, you''re a taleweaver."


    "Darkness, what''s that got to do with anything?"


    "You misunderstand. You''re an outworlder taleweaver. We''ll need more than metal. With your words luring your own people here we''ll have a strong outworlder presence deterring any would be invader, or at least exterminating them, should need be."


    Arthur stared at her. Pretty face and ugly mind, he thought. "And that''s Olvar speaking with a female voice, I take it," he said.


    "No, that''s me speaking. I''m no one''s proxy, thank you very much! I make sure our crops end up where it''s needed. Olvar," she smiled at the huge man, "merely takes care of the vermin."


    Olvar raised his glass of wine in salute. "She has a way with words, don''t you agree?"


    "I won''t do it," Arthur protested. He hadn''t come here to become a tool in a political game.


    "But you already have. Mairild confirms that Admiral Radovic has already admitted as much. Called you a gherin spawned nuisance he did." Olvar emptied his glass and winked at Arthur.


    Bloody hell! He would at that, Arthur admitted. No lost love between me and the military. Never been, never will be. "What did I do this time?" he probed.


    "What did you..." Olvar shoved his empty glass out of reach of his bear paws and roared with laughter slamming the table hard enough with both hands that bowls and glasses bounced and were overturned, spilling wine, bread and fruit in an unholy mess that reached the edge and splashed onto the floor. "Darkness man, what haven''t you done?"


    Arthur stared at Olvar in bewilderment. "I left Verd with the caravan, but that hardly warrants..."


    "Not so fast," Olvar interrupted, still shaking with near hysterical laughter. "Should we start with when you arrived here with your credentials falsified, or when you and Master de Garak turned a hundred years of merchant traditions on ends?"


    Arthur nodded acceptance. Those subterfuges had been vital means enabling him to vanish from the capital before he was forced to return back home.


    Olvar quenched his laugh and the grin was replaced by a grim expression he shared with both Makarin and Tenanrild. "But you know that, so maybe I should start with the renegade outworlders who landed here bent on a manhunt, burning and killing everything on their way to the Roadhouse, or maybe you''d prefer the tale of the official outworlder extraction team in walking armour we fooled. At least they only inflicted burning and killing on raiders, good riddance."


    As Olvar finally started describing what had happened during Arthur''s absence he could only listen in horror to tales of mindless destruction following in his wake.


    It was close to midnight when Arthur, drained of any emotion, finished listening to and telling in return what had happened since autumn. When he left the imperial castle what had once been a fragmented puzzle was now a clear and horrible picture of events since his arrival here. And a nagging suspicion haunting him the last five years finally turned into knowledge. Somewhere, close to Belgera, Christina Ulfsdotir led her thugs on a murdering rampage, just as she had murdered his family. Strangely enough he felt no hatred, no despair, not even a dark longing. There would be a time for reckoning. He could hate then. Now he needed to sleep.

 Intermezzo

    Commander Kim Jun looked at the carrier TSS Nobunaga preparing for transit. More like a sun barge than a warship as she slowly was surrounded by the ships she was to escort through the gate. For the next few hours she would be helpless until she had made the transit and her surrounding ships had made enough distance for her to maneuver again.


    He had already sent TSS Goethe ahead into transit. She was carrying a surprise for Commodore McAdams. Exactly what would be disclosed after Nobunaga had made it to Otherworld space.


    Incoming was a different problem. New Sweden, all city ships of it, had been retardating the last months and were soon in position to orbit close to Gatekeeper. He guessed it made sense setting up shop by the gate. Traffic through the gate was to increase a hundredfold within the next few years.


    ¡°Commander, this is funny.¡±


    I don''t need funny right now. From the corner of his way he saw TSS Nobunaga slowly lumbering towards the gate. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°It''s Royal Crown Valhall, sir.¡±


    Kim looked at the incoming data for the city ship. There were strange energy emissions. What are they doing?


    ¡°Launch! We have multiple launches!¡±


    What the...


    A swarm of fighter escorts swarmed from hangar bays just opened.


    ¡°Multiple launches! Repeat, multiple launches!¡±


    From greater range Royal Crown Gothenburg and Royal Capital Stockholm started spewing out fighter escorts and light bombers. The were soon followed by launches from all city ships.


    ¡°Battle stations!¡± What the bloody hell is going on? I could use some help now! But TSS Nobunaga was unable to adjust her vectors. She would fall towards and into the gate no matter what. Even launching her own fighters now would be a fatal risk to the ships surrounding her.


    ¡°Good morning Commander Jun,¡± a voice said over the open channel. ¡°This is Her Majesty''s Admiral Anders Christiansson speaking.¡±


    Over the open channel. You''ve just shouted your greeting all over the solar system!


    ¡°Commander Jun here. What is the meaning of this?¡±


    ¡°I''m just making certain that we all follow Federation law, albeit its jurisdiction here is a bit unclear. We won''t break any laws and it''s imperative that this is known to everyone.¡±


    What are you up to?


    ¡°Henceforth my orders will go unencrypted over this channel. Are we clear?¡±


    Orders? Kim scratched his head in a very non-military way. ¡°Clear,¡± he said automatically. Orders?


    ¡°Commander?¡± That was Kim''s second in command from a few metres away. Those aren''t light bombers. They''re tugs.¡±


    Tugs?


    ¡°Excellent!¡± Admiral Christiansson said. ¡°All units, carthesian, three six zero.¡±


    ¡°Carthesian, three six zero, confirmed,¡± several voices responded over the open channel.¡±


    No, you''re not!


    ¡°Royal Crown Valhall, burn! Full burn! Vector zero, zero, three five eight. Royal Capital Stockholm, burn! Point nine burn! Vector zero, one, three five nine. New Norrland, burn! Point eight seven burn! Vector one, zero, two!¡±


    And it continued.


    ¡°Commander?¡±


    Kim was at a loss for what to do. This was Gatekeeper, not a warship. He made a decision. ¡°You are immediately to cease acceleration!¡±


    ¡°Commander Jun, as I clearly stated earlier, we are not, repeat not in violation of any federation laws.¡±


    ¡°Cease acceleration or face the consequences!¡±


    ¡°I will not, nay cannot, oblige you,¡± Admiral Christiansson responded.¡±


    Commander Jun turned to his second in command. ¡°All gunnery stations, target Royal Crown Valhall. Fire at will!¡±


    ¡°Commander! That''s an illegal order!¡±


    With some luck the comment from his second in command hadn''t carried over the open channel. Luck, I ran out of luck long ago.


    ***


    ¡°Ship breaker station, stand down! That is an illegal order.¡± Lieutenant Pierre Santana stared at his men.


    ¡°But her gun ports are open!¡±


    ¡°That''s a city ship. She only has defensive weapons. It''s a civilian target and we will not fire on it.¡± Pirates did, and Pierre didn''t intend to finish his career as a pirate.


    ¡°But it''s still weaponry!¡±


    ¡°It''s a damned hospital with over a hundred thousand civilians living on it. Families. Stand down! That''s a direct order.¡±


    That sobered them up a bit. Well, there were still valid targets. ¡°Those fighters,¡± Pierre pointed at the display showing close to one hundred falcon class fighters arcing far above any sound interception plane, ¡°are a military target though. Let''s greet them with some fireworks. Interceptor missiles, fire!¡±


    ***


    In the end only two of Gatekeeper''s eight gunnery stations obeyed Commander Jun''s orders. Less than a dozen ship breaker missiles streaked towards Royal Crown Valhall. Another two headed for New Halland.


    ¡°Hailstorm, hailstorm, hailstorm!¡±


    That report was to be expected. Royal Crown Valhall had responded in the only way possible and fired canisters with magnetic pellets. Two million shards of iron met the incoming missiles. Commander Jun could only watch impotently as his missiles were cut down.


    He ordered his sensors down before the residue of the defensive ordnance hit Gatekeeper. Thirty seconds later Gatekeeper was blasted by iron shards. Any open sensors would have risked taking damage.


    ¡°Launch fighters and bombers!¡± Gatekeeper had enough of those to slaughter the incoming falcons.


    He watched Gatekeeper''s hangar bays open, and then the first of his ships were away.


    ¡°Railgun firing! Multiple railguns firing!¡± he heard from sensor''s command.


    Are you morons? Kinetic missiles against fighters? You''ll hit one once in a blue moon.


    ¡°Disregard that. They can''t do anything with those,¡± he ordered.


    Soon a full dozen stingray class fighters were circling Gatekeeper, and more were launched.


    Then his monitors lit up like a Christmas tree. New Halland had taken a direct hit, and Gatekeeper''s ship-breakers weren''t armed with chemical payloads. A four megaton thermonuclear detonation ripped the city ship in half, instantly killing all two hundred thousand of its inhabitants.


    Mother of God! That should teach them to obey my orders in the future!


    ¡°Hailstorm, hailstorm, hailstorm!¡±


    What? Imbeciles


    All monitors went down at once. Gatekeeper screeched in protest as half a million pellets showered over her.


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    What just happened?


    ¡°Commander, those weren''t kinetic missiles. Shielded canisters. Hailstorm launched at point blank range.¡±


    He had lost almost thirty percent of his sensors. Every single fighter deployed hung dead in space. Most of them were leaking oxygen, but for their pilots that mattered little. The small ships had been riddled by pellets travelling at over sixty thousand clicks an hour. There was nothing left inside worth salvaging.


    ¡°Deploy more fighters, sir?¡±


    ¡°Stand down!¡±


    Royal Crown Valhall accelerated past them towards the gate. Next in line was Royal Capital Stockholm. She followed a bit slower.


    ¡°Railgun firing! Staggered firing!¡±


    Commander Jun gave the monitors a tired stare. Where Valhall had blasted away what amounted to an old style broadside Stockholm fired her guns one at a time, every two seconds.


    ¡°Hailstorm, hailstorm, hailstorm!¡±


    ¡°Hailstorm, hailstorm, hailstorm!¡±


    ¡°Retract sensors!¡± he ordered. There was nothing more he could do. Every two seconds Gatekeeper was showered by fifty thousand pellets. There was no chance his sensors could take that kind of abuse.


    ¡°Incoming call.¡±


    That should be impossible. They had no external sensors out.


    ¡°Tight-beam, high output. Put it through?¡±


    ¡°Do so!¡±


    ¡°This is the captain of RMS Red News speaking. I''m Howard Woo, by the way. Whom am I speaking to?¡±


    Red News. The bastards at New Sweden had invited Red News.


    ¡°Commander Jun here,¡± Kim answered. All air had gone out of him.


    ¡°Splendid! Red News is always looking for, well, news. And you make such splendid news! I never expected to see a federation military installation fire ship breakers against a city ship. Rest assured that everyone in the solar system is watching this in rapt attention.¡±


    ¡°What, you''re broadcasting live?¡±


    ¡°Of course! Fifteen billion in your audience, and the worst war crime in five hundred years live on holo. Fantastic news!¡±


    Commander Jun groaned. He had opened fire on the largest hospital installation in the known universe and slaughtered every civilian in another city ship.


    ¡°Ship breaker missiles open fire! I want RMS Red News gone!¡±


    ¡°Tsk, tsk, tsk. Commander! Really! Ordering unprovoked military action against a second sovereign state in less than an hour. Such a busy man you are.¡±


    Around him all his men had made themselves scarce.


    ***


    "... and enclosed are your orders together with your new salary statement."


    Commodore McAdams blinked. "New salary statement?"


    "Yes, did I forget to tell you?" The holo representation of Captain Ibraim Ahmad smiled impishly. "Yes, I think I did. The powers that be deemed it appropriate you get your new rank to better appreciate these interesting times. Congratulations Rear Admiral Vivian McAdams!"


    She had hoped. Active duty for seventeen years straight with barely a holiday worth remembering. "Please relay my thanks to Space Command." Flag rank. A real ships command again. Not the cramped quarters of a corvette and most importantly, no longer being stuck on Orbit One. A glorified governorship better suited for a civilian. She could go see places again.


    She biosigned acceptance of her orders, answered the audio challenge and had Commander Anisa Mumbata countersign for witnessing. Anisa smiled.


    "What the..."


    "Something wrong Vivian?"


    "Damn you!"


    "I''m sorry. Admiral, I forgot." Anisa paled as much as her African heritage allowed.


    "Not you. Not your fault. The bastards made Orbit One a flagship. A stationary flag?"


    "Oh, sorry Admiral. I know you wanted a ship."


    Vivian turned to the commander. "As I said, not your fault, and we''ve been on a first name basis for two years now, so don''t you start admiraling me now!"


    Relief spread over Anisa''s face.


    Been running a civilian command in uniform for fifteen years, and I''ll be damned if I''m going to start shouting orders now. Especially when they pulled this kind of prank on me!


    "Comm... Admiral, signal from TSS Goethe," Lieutenant Mendoza said from his station.


    "Raise cube. Let''s see what Captain Ahmad has in store for me. Gloating I suppose." Vivian didn''t care for his refusal to address her by name, but he was fresh out of the academy.


    "No holo, Admiral. Data only. It''s relayed from Gatekeeper. A transit."


    Vivian glanced at the lieutenant. It was unfair, but life was unfair. "Let us see who comes for dinner, shall we?"


    Seconds passed, fifty of them. Gatekeeper was at its closest, but close was relative in space, even in this space.


    "Admiral, it''s the TSS Nobunaga."


    "Nobunaga? Carrier class Nobunaga?"


    "Affirmed. She... Admiral?" Mendoza looked as if struck.


    "Spit it out!"


    "She''s on escort duty, Admiral."


    "Escort duty? What in all glowing hells could convince Space Command to assign a carrier to escort duty?"


    "I don''t... Admiral, multiple transits. I read TMS Friends in need, TMS Hamburg and RMS Red News, repeat RMS Red News."


    "Oh hell. Wallman, if you get your sorry ass up here I''ll kick you back planet side. Interesting times, you bastard!" Newscasters! It was bound to happen, but she had hoped to be safely away on a new command long before that.


    "I read TMS Steelshark, ..."


    And that''s about the only ship I expected at this time!


    "... HMS Hugin, HMS Munin ..."


    "HMS! They''re not even Federation!"


    "Affirmed. New Sweden. Those are Her Majesty''s... My God!"


    Vivian didn''t respond. No one did. The signal didn''t belong to anything as small as a ship, not even a lumbering sun barge. They stared in disbelief as Royal Crown Valhall was tugged through transit. After that, like clockwork, thirty minutes between transits the madness continued. Royal Capital Stockholm, New Norrland, New Blekinge, Royal Crown G?teborg. And through they came, twenty six cities each with a population from fifty thousand to a quarter of a million, each dwarfing the tugs towing it as well as the swarm of Her Majesty''s Ships circling the migration like angry wasps.

 Chapter four, Arrivals, part one

    Verd was stirring with rumours. In the beginning it hadn''t been too bad, especially as he was a first class rumour monger by merely living there. A taleweaver visiting the Taleweaver''s Inn most every night was enough to have the rich and powerful coming from everywhere. First from the villages close to the capital, then from Krante and within a month all the way from Hasselden, Dagd, Partaken and in some cases from client states. The old quarters in Verd were a swirling mass of glittering colours, peculiar hairstyles and even stranger dialects as news of Arthur''s prolonged stay in Verd spread in wider circles. And he loved it all.


    A year ago he''d given up on newscasting, given up on living at all, if he admitted his cravenness. Now, once again, he gloried in spinning his tales in ways he could never have done when he counted his audience in billions. That had been holo casting; this was Weaving. This was living what he told, experiencing it as if he was reliving the episodes, and bringing his audience along. A true mesh of mind and tale where every sense came alive, wonderfully alive, disturbingly alive, horribly alive, and that was the core. Alive; living it here and now.


    Arthur smirked and turned a corner on his way to Two Worlds. A late afternoon, warmer than the previous, and each new evening carried the possibility of new travellers arriving to Verd. Travellers, not necessarily traders, or so the rumours went. Something massive had made transit, several somethings, a Federation armada, thousands of merchantmen, a new alien space-faring race had been found and the diplomatic corps were frantically making first contact, an invasion of space bugs had the Federation scrambling all their ships in a desperate attempt to protect the gate before the entire solar system was overrun. That was the problem with rumours, they were each very clear about what had happened and equally unclear on from where the information really originated, and as always, if they were all true then black was white and pigs flew, hunting eagles on the ground.


    Arthur wanted to know, needed to understand exactly what kind of madness had gripped the federation and how it would impact on the world he had adopted as his new home. He walked on, following narrow alleys and crossing the intersecting boulevards, steadily heading for his hotel. Now he was once again getting used to the stench clinging to the poor quarters, but never to the shining, perpetually clean streets. That was Verd, Capital where magic was forbidden and yet imbued with that magic so much that the city would have fallen over itself and died but for it. Running water but no river. Clean streets and not a single person carrying the trash outside the city walls.


    Arthur left left an alley where it abruptly ended in a wider street. One one side the poor, on the other the well to do. An invisible line was drawn in the middle with the wealthier trying to avoid looking at their less fortunate neighbours and those neighbours throwing envious glances across the street whenever a coach or carriage made the staring a little less obvious.


    Arthur hardly noticed. Even the poor in Verd were wealthy by the standards he''d seen in other towns and cities. The magic that was Verd only reached out through long tentacles of everlasting highways but never into the cities they connected. Where the power of Keen no longer reached the squalid pallor was appalling.


    The horsemen made an attempt, though, he thought. And Belgera, of course. Belgera, fortress capital of Braka. First of cities to enjoy Terran technology to its fullest. Explosives, cluster grenades and needle grenades. They must have loved the wondrous gifts offered by the foreigners.


    He shook the thought aside. He was one of those foreigners, but he''d decided long since to take the side of this world. He frowned. Did that make him a renegade and a traitor? To the federation perhaps, but never to humanity, and that was what counted, he decided.


    Humanity. The thought brought a surprised laugh to his lips, and a group of inquisition soldiers in their red and black frowned at the tall stranger in their midst. Arthur didn''t mind. He laughed even louder as he pushed his way through the uniformed men. Had they known his thoughts they probably wouldn''t have satisfied themselves with muttered profanities about outworlder impoliteness. Humanity. It included Gring''s concept of the word. But the monstrous mindwalker with her honour, needle sharp insights and, most important of all, loving humanity, was caught up in the madness that had forced him to flee. If she was alive at all. If he hadn''t been stabbed. If Harbend hadn''t valued the needs of a nation above friendship. If Harbend could finally believe that Arthur had already forgiven him. If, if, if.


    He reached the central square, playground and marketplace in one beautiful setting, and sat down on a bench. He had enough time to marvel at Ming Hjil de Verd, imperial castle from when Keen had ruled by an emperor. It hadn''t been Keen at that time, if he recalled history correct.


    He kicked off his boots and massaged feet tired from walking. A few children approached him, and he searched for their anxious parents. Wiser now. If he saw no parents close by then a gang of children was more often than not young cut-purses.


    Ah, that has to be the mother. Are they all hers? He went through flashes of memories, running them as through an edit before final cut and shook his head. Well, there should be, yes, a friend. Two women with their children. If this had been Erkateren all the kids would all have been hers. But damn, that''s a depressing thought! Six kids so that hopefully three reach adult age. What kind of life is that? They don''t know how lucky they are here. Arthur glanced up at the castle. I''m an idiot! They revel in the knowledge of their luck, and supremacy. You''re in Verd now, centre of the civilized world. Kids look cute, but they''re brought up as arrogant as any youngster in Cairo. And am I happy to be nowhere close to that sewer, federation capital or not.


    He grimaced. No reason to become moody now. He continued his rest and drank the beauty of the living art displayed on the roof of the castle. From time to time he was pulled away from his daydreams by pigeons, passing coaches and the sound of hawkers crying out the excellency of their products. Then dusk gave way to evening and as darkness fell street lights flashed alive. First like glimmering fireflies and then flooding streets, square and fa?ades in soft, yellow light. Arthur smiled and rose. Verd! Magic street lights He''d gotten used to take those for granted. It was easy getting used to a lot of things here. He pulled on his boots on sore feet and limped across the square.


    White marble to his right and red granite to his left he followed a boulevard to Two Worlds.


    Rumours It was time to exchange a few of those for facts, and, he admitted, to return the favour in turn. He was Arthur Wallman, the taleweaver, but he''d been Arthur Wallman the media icon. Rumours about his whereabouts were bound to come thirteen to a dozen. He''d left no information, and fifteen billion wondered what had befallen the most famous person in Terran space.


    ***


    Mairild de Felder tapped her foot on the floor. Olvar was competent and decisive, but he never made haste unless he felt the need. Now he was late and she wanted to give him the latest news from Braka.


    She sighed and involuntarily shuddered. Too close this time. The outworlder taleweaver had been a gift from the gods. She corrected herself. The Khanati, Khar Escha, had been a gift. If he hadn''t jumped Arthur from Belgera the outworlder wouldn''t have been here to tell his side of the events in Braka, and the questions had become a little bit too suspicious lately. Now, with people remembering that Arthur had in fact given testimony they were less prone to recall exactly what he had testified about. Especially as the meeting had deteriorated so wonderfully into a shouting contest no one was likely to remember the contents of anyway. For a while at least she could stave off questions about exactly how she came into the knowledge she had, and Keen needed that knowledge, and she, she winced at the thought, didn''t need eight crossbow quarrels from close distance the way Magehunting dispensed with anyone found to collaborate with unholy users of forbidden knowledge.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    It was not that she was afraid to die; more that she liked living. She was fond of waking up each morning, even if it promised a bastard of a day. She loved the challenge, the intricate dance of her profession and the occasional opportunity to wield the official powers that went with her title, if not with her real work. An execution would take all that away, and she simply hated losing in games. It didn''t matter that this was one she was bound to eventually lose. Not today, and not tomorrow.


    The rhythm of the steps, and the very power behind them announced Olvar''s arrival.


    Mairild rose and greeted him.


    He waved back and spat a demeaning comment about gaudy tapestries and other trappings of her official role ostentatiously displayed all over her private quarters.


    She growled and equally impolite retort about his probable birth, upbringing and education, and then they both laughed.


    "I would walk with you to the Tree," Olvar said.


    Mairild studied her huge colleague. Of course he knew about the Tree. Everyone who was anyone did, but as fas as she knew he''d never developed a taste for the exquisite food served there. So he wanted privacy, or the secrecy privacy allowed. "But of course," she answered.


    They left through meandering corridors and reception halls. Neither spoke much. That would have made the entire exercise rather useless after all. Only when they arrived on the grand square did Olvar voice concerns that must have weighted on his mind.


    "Tenanrild didn''t take it too well. She''s still in a rage, but I think she''s mostly angry with herself." He walked on straight across the square. So tall Mairild had to run every so often to keep up, and he never veered aside. Those in his way did. A small building would have if it could grow legs.


    For all his huge size he was deceptively mild when you got to know him better, but Mairild knew that was only a second shell. He was every bit the killer he looked at a first glance.


    "Not that she could have known. She spent the last eightdays at the outworlder sky port overseeing the increase in traffic, and that is exactly what she should have been doing," he interrupted her thoughts. "She''s blaming herself anyway."


    Mairild didn''t really listen. Olvar was more thinking aloud than giving her any information he suspected she didn''t already have firmly in hand. He never thought aloud when he planned his work. The extermination of vermin as Makarin so pointedly had described it. At any other time he would have been an embarrassment to the council. At any other time he would have helped Glarien with his inane plans for annexing western Vimarin. The farmers there almost screamed for Keen to protect them, and at any other time Keen wouldn''t have been under a direct military threat.


    She passed a couple of outworlders in their drab clothes. They gawked and she stared back in return. Arrivals from the sky ships landing the last eightday. A new kind of arrivals. Not traders. Tourists, a new word she had better take to heart. They released several buzzing birds into the air. Birds of metal and glass. Devices that made living art, and no magecrafter had ever been involved in building those things. Outworlder technology. Holo cams. Another foreign expression.


    Now it was the outworlders who had become the target of gawking, or rather their flying toys. Mairild saw half a squadron of inquisition soldiers running closer from across the square. She waved them back before they had a chance to create a diplomatic incident. Killing outworlder visitors in plain view would constitute a diplomatic incident, wouldn''t it?


    The outworlders had never noticed what had almost happened. They were too occupied with their game of recording the wonders of Verd. Too occupied with their own importance.


    She sighed. It would take time to accept visitors who considered Verd quaint and primitive.


    "Doesn''t make Glarien''s idiocy any more forgiveable I need those troops to the south, not babysitting some overweight merchants all the way to Braka."


    Olvar''s last outburst had Mairild''s thoughts return on their former track. From a military point of view he was right, but his was an easy world. She had information, and the responsibility to distribute it piecewise to those in need. That left her stuck with a wider picture she sometimes wished the didn''t understand. A few outlying provinces were already showing signs of unrest, and a few client states on the northern tip of the Ming peninsula had outright refused to pay their taxes. She could have sent Colonel de Laiden there to convince those rulers how unwise it was to refuse Keen, but he was not available, and expertly trained as his command was it was simply too small. The last time she had sent him there they had to make a running fight all the way to Verd, and he had not been happy when he reported back.


    Keen needed a convincing show of strength. That was the very reason they had spent the money to protect the first caravan. The second one was even more important, even if she wouldn''t mind if several of the participating merchants met with untimely accidents on the way. Unlikely with an army for escort. And there was the need to uphold the law. Taleweavers were inviolate. Anyone, any city, kingdom or empire failing to fully grasp that had to be put down. Else Dragonwrath. Golden emissaries and visiting taleweavers kept the memory of World War alive. Dragons never explained why taleweavers were sacrosanct. She didn''t care. When dragons set down a law you obeyed. Dragons didn''t argue¡ªthey didn''t need to.


    "Olvar, you want and you need, but you''ll have to do."


    "I know. I don''t have to be happy about it."


    "I never implied..."


    "Stop that! I''m not as educated as you, but I understand well enough anyway. Now, if I can''t have my trained regiments then I have to look elsewhere."


    Mairild stopped dead in her tracks and watched his back as he continued. "You can''t possibly mean..."


    "I can and I will," he answered and turned. "I''m already building sail barges in Mintosa. Protecting coastal fishing we call it."


    Mairild stared. Washed out uniform, silken details or not, in his yellow and black he looked every bit the killer he was. She wanted to scream at him. She hadn''t known he''d already gone ahead, but he was right, and for that she wanted to yell at herself.


    "Give me a pretext, any pretext, and we''re sailing. They''re training battlemages in Chach! I don''t give a demon spawned gherin about their cavalry, not even about their holy warriors, but battlemages! Mairild, they''ll wipe us clean! So I''m sailing at first chance, and I will have those troops even if I have to dig to the bottom of every money trader''s vaults to get them."

 Chapter four, Arrivals, part two

    "Then go visit a money trader. They should have coffers deep enough, and I will have that money now!"


    Harbend sat down and spread his hands in resignation. "There are things more valuable than coins," he tried without any hope to change Arden''s mind.


    "That''s a novel opinion coming from you, but I almost forgot that you already made a fortune in Belgera."


    There is no reasoning with this man. Then, how could he know I have come to change my mind about what gives life a real meaning. He wouldn''t insult the pig. He wouldn''t demean himself, he thought when his temper started to flare.


    "Last time I checked the word in Khi for ''greed'' was Harbend and now you''re telling me that ''lie'' is pronounced Garak!"


    "That is quite enough!" Master de Dagd''s voice cut through both Arden''s insult as well as Harbend''s growing anger. "Darkness! I have to get my money all the way from my treasury in Dagd. You," he stabbed a finger at Arden''s chest, "have less than an eightday with courier to Krante and back."


    "I''m losing an opportunity here, and the greedy whore-son¡¯s refusing me to get a loan from Trader Wallman. It''s not like I''m not going to pay him back."


    "I said that''s quite enough. I dislike repeating myself, and what you suggest is theft, no matter if you plan to repay him or not. How you could even think of borrowing money without asking the lender first goes beyond me."


    Harbend kept his silence. Olvar de Dagd was handling the situation far better than he could have expected to do himself. But it hurt to have his family name dragged into the dirt by a stinking shit digger elevated far above his proper station.


    "Trader Wallman has more money than he can possibly spend. All I''m asking..."


    "Silence! Don''t you even dare! This topic is closed. You will wait for your funds to arrive here, just as the outworlders will continue to arrive here. Moron! They''re still expanding that sky port. Raised twelve of those windmills that fuel their machines this very year, they did. Do you really believe they''d make that kind of investment if they planned to decrease the number of arriving sky ships?"


    Arden wisely kept his mouth shut, but Harbend could see that he hadn''t let go of his newest brainchild. Master de Krante truly was an idiot. Olvar was right about that. Stupidity and the manners of a peasant combined to produce the offal Gring loved to use as an example of why only suffragans were fit to inhabit the world. If enough of Arden''s kind showed up Harbend was tempted to help her in her quest for genocide.


    That is unfair. A stain on her honour She deserted her own to save Arthur. Wherever you are I apologize. I am in your debt for my filthy mind. He forced the thought away. It made him long for Nakora. She was still out there, somewhere. I love you.


    "Now, when that is taken care of, let''s proceed with today''s items. We have a request from General Markand to levy troops. Raise the Merchant Brigade back to full strength to replace the escort they sent for our benefit he called it, but we''ve never had more than a small maintenance staff employed for over a lifeyear, so levy troops it is."


    Harbend listened to the dissatisfied murmur spreading in the trade hall, but rumours were cheap, even true ones, and they had known before coming here.


    "But the cost? Who''s going to pay?"


    House Hardanum, but it could have been any of them. Spending money for no return tastes like dirt to all them. All of us, he corrected himself. We would not be good merchants otherwise. He would pay, of course.


    "We share the cost according to standing," Olvar responded.


    "That''s outrageous! You would ruin my house?"


    And yet you want your share of opportunities according to standing, Master de Hasselden. I failed to see your palace burning when we arrived here, Harbend mused. He almost wanted to spit out the accusation loud enough for all to hear.


    "We share the burdens the way we share the gifts," Olvar did instead. In a much more polished way than Harbend would, but from the glares in the hall it was clear that the true meaning had come through just as clearly. Not all glares were hostile to Master de Dagd. A large majority of the houses stood to gain from Olvar''s forced justice, or lose less at least. A handful trading houses made up for more than half of their total wealth, and now they were to pay that share.


    "That''s only fair," a thin female shouted from a corner. Harbend didn''t recognize her. A minor house to begin with, and the former master merchant dead during the winter most likely.


    "There are some good news mixed with the problems we face. It will take some time for us to get three thousand men here." Nods from the benches showed they understood this as well as Olvar. He made a pause. "As long as we make certain they don''t arrive before sowing we should avoid the cost for feeding them for a few eightdays." And another pause.


    Harbend read smiles from almost all present. It was a brilliant move. Dangerous, but brilliant.


    "We follow the law," Olvar said when his real message had filtered through the resentment most of them were bound to share. "The boys help out on the farms and receive food and lodging in return, and we get basic training more or less paid for."


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    Fair or not, he is still a true merchant with a merchant''s heart. Have to admire him.


    Harbend grinned. It would still be a heavy cost, but Arden had been right in one thing. Harbend could afford it now. If only they could all afford what lay behind the shadows looming over them. Manning a brigade. Replacements they were told. He didn''t believe it. He could smell a war coming. He''d seen the shipwrecks, and with the raiders gone, why shouldn''t Keen try to flex its muscles?


    He groaned inwardly. Money. That meant Arthur. Arthur who was certain to express his joy at paying for even more uniforms with vile curses. He hated all things military, and Harbend nursed no illusions about what he would think of merchants wanting to play a game of wanton destruction.


    Arthur, Arthur, a uniform is not always the shell of a killer. Sometimes it serves only as a scarecrow. But this time, Harbend agreed, they were buying killers, and he didn''t intend to be wholly honest with Arthur when the time came to ask for money.


    ***


    Arthur walked down Artist Street, steered clear of hawkers and peddlers, threw a glance at the theatre he had visited last summer and passed it after checking what play was on schedule for tonight. His errand, though, was not that of an audience. Tonight, as most nights, he had a show of his own. Weaving, spreading the news and living a full life.


    Late, for once. Meeting with Harbend had stretched out longer than he had planned. Harbend needed to borrow money, which was fine, but there was something fishy about what he needed the money for, and he wouldn''t tell. Well, if Harbend wanted his secrets, so be it. Arthur wasn''t going to start complaining now. Not when life once again showed its sunnier side. He continued half a block and turned at the discreet sign announcing the Taleweaver''s inn. Every city had one, but he hadn''t known when he last visited Verd. Damn, he hadn''t know about Weaving either.


    And now for my adoring fans. And where the hell are those fans? Strange. There had been a long queue each evening for weeks, but then he recalled. Late, forgot I''m late.


    He closed to the door and knocked. Moments later a wrinkled old man opened. He could have been the twin to the one at the Roadhouse, or the one in Belgera, and as it was unlikely that there were three identical twins Arthur accepted that it was simply part of whatever magic enshrouded any Taleweaver''s inn.


    "Your errand?"


    "I''m Arthur Wallman, taleweaver. I come to Weave."


    The guardian blinked. That was not the normal response. There was a glimmer of surprise in his eyes, which was absurd as Arthur had been through this door almost daily the last weeks. "You may enter," he finally said.


    Arthur frowned but said nothing. Shaking off a moment of discomfort he made his way through the narrow corridor, turned right and entered the tavern.


    What the bloody... The stage was already taken.


    ***


    It came as a welcome surprise that the Taleweaver''s inn was filled almost to capacity when he arrived. If memory served him he usually needed an eightday or two before he could count on having the place packed, but a lot could have happened in thirty years. The theatre, a rather shabby thing as he recalled it, must have attracted a rich audience and perhaps some of it spilled over.


    Later he would get a room in Thengrandil''s Palace, the gaudy hotel he preferred when in Verd. He deserved that luxury. A full season on ships was punishment enough, even for one as used to travelling as Ken Leiter de Ghera. But first, as he had done each time he''d visited Verd the last four hundred years, he would Weave. And, of course, find out how and when another born on Earth had managed to make his or her presence known here without Ken ever knowing of it.


    That could wait. Now he had to care for the visitors. They had been fed, everyone but the tall latecomer back at the fireplace. So be it. It wouldn''t do to have them all wait for one guest to finish his meal. Even an important one, if all the looks he received from those close enough to notice him were anything to go by.


    "My, my. This is a stately crowd if I ever saw one," Ken started. Time to release some of the tension. It wasn''t everyday a taleweaver came visiting. "No reason to look so awed," he addressed the latecomer. "I won''t eat you, not even take a tasty bite of your wife." That won him a round of laughter, but it was more nervous than he had counted on. "In difference from a dragonling, I guess, but I am a bit tall for one," he continued and flexed his shoulders in an attempt to flap wings that weren''t there. More nervous laughs.


    "Now," he began. Unholy gods! I''ve scared the living daylight out of the man. "I have a tale to Weave, about the very raiders who have plagued your coast," Why? Has he seen a raid, or experienced one? "so that you may learn a little of their beliefs, their justification for coming here," I have to talk with him later. "which is, as always, the reason to share a Weave. To learn and understand. To know what has been, what is, the here and elsewhere. To become part of the Weave."


    Ken finished the traditional speech a little faster than he had planned. He really had to talk with the man later.


    Not now, later. He drew breath. He climbed into his mind and touched the hopes of his audience, inviting them to his world. He remembered. He Wove.

 Intermezzo

    "That issue is closed."


    Cardinal Zaarbach wouldn''t believe what he heard. Employing godless to fight godless. "But, your holiness, from Rhuin?"


    "We will not use the heathens from Rhuin in the field. Only as instructors. Learned men, if you want."


    That really closed the discussion. Holy mother church and her tool, the Holy Inquisition, hunted practitioners of witchcraft and heathen beliefs, but in truth she was more concerned with deviants. The closer to her bosom the more dangerous were false beliefs. Learned men, even heathen priests visited the Midlands with a blessing of the church.


    With the official blessing of the church at least. Ira was just a little too close for comfort, and Rhuin just a jump tower further away. The church kept her activities away from the Sea of the Mother, and Rhuin, Ira and Khanati all turned a blind eye to what happened to anyone who spread forbidden words or used the gifts without sanction here.


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    Officially the church had a monopoly on miracles. They were a sign of His powers. Officially any unsanctioned miracles thus had to be the work of Satan, and the thought of several eights of learned men arriving within a few eightdays didn''t ring well with Zaarbach.


    Battlemages were the realm of heathens. That the church should sanction the use of them was bad news, even if no papal forces would include them. Not in the beginning, at least. What do we do when we find out that the balance has twisted away from our favour?


    He kissed the outstretched ring, rose and bowed before leaving the papal chair.


    Garnhalt would have even more forces available then. Was it days since retaking fortified Mintosa had seemed an impossibility? Now it was suddenly a horribly costly possibility. Strong in faith, they would truly need to be strong in faith the boys and men who were sent against those walls.

 Chapter five, Sacrifice, part one

    "Don''t understand them. Never have," Kalvar said. "They shrug away a mage spawned khraga, no offence Ma''am," he nodded at Gring who bared her tusks in return, her version of a smile, "but a woman in command has them take leave of their brains."


    "You had better apologize to the lady anyway. Mage spawned and khraga in one sentence was twice uncalled for." Trindai smiled. Gring wouldn''t take offence where none was meant, but Major Terwin could do with the occasional reminder of politeness.


    Kalvar reddened slightly. "I apologize Ma''am. That was rude. Not many mage spawns nor khraga where I come from." He had a twinkling star in his eye. The only man Trindai knew who was able to smile from his eyes down to his lips.


    "Good thing you have both honour and bravery. One could mistake you for a true warrior-born human." Gring showed even more tusk.


    Kalvar visibly straightened, and Neritan, who had been silent this far, filled the tent with laughter. Trindai soon drowned it with a happy roar of his own.


    "What?" Kalvar sagged slightly in his chair.


    Darkness, but she''s a quick study. "You''ve been had man, twice, and you didn''t even notice it!" Trindai rose and slapped the major on his shoulders. "Who''d known. Not a mere imperial major this one, but rather a fierce khragan warrior."


    Kalvar darkened, but then he lit up again and shrugged. "I deserved that, I did. I''ll buy us a bucket of ale when we pass Lianin''s wagon next time."


    "Good to see some good use of your shiny coins," Gring answered, and then she managed to show even more of her tusks, a sign that she wasn''t finished by far yet, "but what will you have to drink?"


    "Eh?"


    "You mean to share a single bucket? Maybe not a warrior after all."


    Trindai saw the tent flaps pulled aside and made room for Captain Weinak and Major Berdaler as they entered.


    "I thought we were called to a war council," the latter said.


    Trindai moved aside to give Ingeld Berdaler the full worth of Kalvar''s stricken face.


    The tent exploded in another round of laughter.


    Trindai waited for the mirth to settle down. They had deserved a good laugh, needed on. "This is a war council I''m afraid," he said, and at once the friendly banter was gone and he faced the stern expressions he''d come to recognize. Unholy gods, but they''re tired! "We have a problem with the outworlders."


    That met with more surprise than consternation.


    "From what I''ve seen Major Goldberger runs a superb command," Ingeld suggested.


    "He does. Not a problem with personnel. Logistics." Trindai dug his fingers into his beard. More ash than earth in there now, he thought. Same with my hair as well. I''m growing old. "The hovercraft will run until long after we''re all dead, Mindwalker Hwain excepted, of course," he added guiltily, "but the body walkers they use aren''t as sturdy. They fuel them from the hovercraft but small parts of the machines are breaking down and they have almost no spare parts left."


    Nakora stared blankly, but Kalvar came to her rescue. "So they need to resupply. When are they leaving?"


    "Leave? They can''t leave." Nakora suddenly looked scared.


    And you have reason to. "That''s our best scouts and screen," Trindai agreed. "Strange how fast you take outworlder wonders for granted." He gave Nakora an unhappy look. Seems I can''t see you in that uniform for a while, and now for the worst. "They were sent here. Somehow. Still doesn''t make them our soldiers. I''d commit treason if I allowed them to enter Keen unescorted."


    Nakora sunk deep into her chair. "How many," she asked, and her voice was but a hollow whisper.


    "Half I''m afraid. We''ll travel on the hovercraft, so the horses will have to stay. The horse masters stay with the horses, and I''ll leave a full squadron under you command."


    "Thirty men."


    Thirty men, and only twenty of them fully trained. Handling horses took a skill of its own. He knew. "I''ve spoken with young Graig. You are his commander as well now."


    Nakora brightened a little. With Karia Graig''s twenty riders her command would be back almost to full strength, but Trindai knew the young nobleman from Belgera and his men were not a fair replacement for the superbly trained soldiers he was about to take with him.


    "Mindwalkers Khat and Hwain will stay. Keep them close. I don''t trust that sorry excuse for a command they forced on you in Ri Khi." There, now it was in the open. Nakora paled. Unholy gods! What piss poor kingdom gives soldiers to a commander she has good reasons to fear more than an enemy? "Not even under major Terwin''s command," Trindai added.


    "Kalvar stays?" A glimmer of hope spread over her face.


    "Major Terwin stays," Trindai confirmed, and Nakora let out a long breath of relief. "He''s promised to keep up their training." Which should have them too tired to show any interest in you, and keep their resentment firmly aimed at Kalvar.


    "A bit unruly. Should still be possible to make good soldiers of them," Kalvar said and grinned.


    "Maybe you can," Trindai lied in return. They would never become good soldiers. Too important, too powerful. Soldiers should never be powerful. Soldiers were weapons, nothing more, and no one should be ruled by a weapon.


    They had to leave. He hadn''t been entire honest with them. The outworlders had spent a lot of time guarding the hovercraft the last eightdays. The craft was breaking down, and Goldberger had been adamant about it posing a greater danger to them all than any nomad band bent on attacking the caravan.


    Nor were the outworlders running out of spare parts. Major Goldberger had said as much. Half of their body walkers were beyond repair, and the nightmarish battle in Belgera had left them with insufficient ammunition even for the three that still functioned. The weapons they had captured were more than enough for their needs on the way back to Verd. Trindai has asked for them to be left with his remaining men, but unlike crossbow quarrels ammunition for outworlder weapons could never be reused, and there was simply not enough of it left for training. In the end they had agreed to mount one gun fitted with field glasses on a wagon. Close to two hundred outworlder missiles. Enough for hunting gherin.


    He walked out into the sunlight. The ground was already baking hard under his feet. The days of struggling with mired wagons were over. From now on they would make good progress on their way home. There was at least that.


    ***


    The caravan felt emptier. Colonel Laiden had left with less than half a hundred, but everyone noticed their absence nonetheless. Outworlder machines and imperial uniforms were so much more visible than uncoloured leather, and the single squad remaining only made them remember how much stronger, how much safer they had been before. And so the caravan hugged closer, wagons driving five abreast instead of on a single line. For every word of comfort there were two of irritation or fear. On their way to Braka it had been an adventure, a hope to make fortunes. Now the wagons were loaded with those very fortunes. Where they once had stood to gain they now stood to lose.


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    Nakora pulled the reins closer. She rode with Karia, the lordling who had fought side by side with the enemy to keep his capital free of marauding outworlders. The enemy ran between their horses, but Nakora was only grateful for Gring''s presence.


    You valued your life less than the taleweaver''s, Gring had said. Now I value mine less than yours. Honour needs honour That is only right. And after that Gring had refused to stay out of sight. Not when they ate, not when they slept and not even when Nakora really wanted her privacy.


    Karia never laughed once. As much as he admired Gring it was clear he despised the men from Ri Khi. Mercenaries, not sworn men. Nakora shrugged. Not soldiers would have been Trindai''s choice of words.


    Now they were headed for yet another dressing down of Watoai Takarak, oldest son of the Takarak family and so full of himself you could burst a khragan stomach with him. He had been problem on the way to Braka, but not he was unbearable. Major Terwin wanted him stripped of his commission, but it was paid for in full long before Nakora even knew of a caravan bound for Belgera. They were stuck with him, more so since the caravan elders from Ri Nachi fawned all over the next Clan lord.


    She hated politics.


    ***


    They rode madness. From early morning to dusk, with only a few short breaks they soared over the Sea of Grass hearing nothing but the roar of outworlder machines. Twice the speed of a racing horse.


    The ground blurred around them, and only Major Goldberger''s small command never took notice of the insanity. Trindai was as shaken as his men, some of who even made warding signs against evil.


    He stared as far away from the hovercraft as he could to avoid watching the onrushing ground. Nothing was supposed to be this fast. Man was never meant to flaunt his pride in the face of gods this way.


    As sun set they reached the gorge where they had exited the mountains. Over a moons worth of travel in less than a day.


    They made camp, they woke, they rode. Slower now. Mountains were treacherous, but a wide path, blackened proof of outworlder use of explosives, was cleared ahead of them. Christina and her thugs must have taken even longer than the caravan to cross the mountains, blowing their way through every obstacle that prevented the hovercraft from passing. As it was they spent only two nights in the mountains, and after one more, adapting the speed to the roads on the other side, they reached Erkateren.


    It was a nation under siege. Everywhere small wagons and carts with food and everywhere guards in the bright colours of imperial uniforms.


    What madness is this? Trindai stared from where he sat. We''re Keen. We don''t steal food from people in spring. He exchanged a look of shock and fury with Ingeld. They''ll starve before summer. He dropped to the ground and started marching. The huge outworlder machine and the thunder it spread was impossible to miss, and he meant to make as much use of the attention he commanded. "Who commands this atrocity?"


    Two soldiers from the south gate regiment stared at him. If they believed he was unable to carry his voice over the roaring hovercraft they were sadly mistaken.


    One tried to edge away.


    "Halt!" And if they really believed they had been born with the spine to leave when Trindai wanted answers someone else, much higher in command, was simply going to be sad. They traced their immediate line of command to General de Markand, a formidable person in his own right, but no one in their right mind wanted problems with the Council of Twelve. "Bring me the sorry ass of your superior!" One hesitated. "Now you shit faced piece of worthless scum!" They hesitated no longer.


    ***


    "Colonel de Laiden. We expected to meet you on the Sea of Grass."


    Trindai glared at the general, regimental class. Arrogant prick, but he was still ranking. "What are you doing here with a full regiment?" he asked. Stole the food, stole the horses and stole someone''s home while they were at it.


    "I heard you deserted your command." Not even an attempt to answer a valid question put forth in a polite manner.


    And all for the comfort of a pitiful excuse of a man who should never have been born, much less made it through Imperial Arms. "My men are with the outworlders. Now, again, why..."


    "Shut up, Colonel!"


    Trindai glared but kept his voice to himself.


    "I have new orders for you." He walked over Trindai''s frayed and dirty uniform with his eyes. "I''m certain the Twelve will demand an explanation from you when you get back."


    Trindai grabbed his sealed orders. Fuming, but he forced his murderous thoughts to stay in his mind.


    The seal was not from the Ministry of Art. War? But by the unholy demon spawned piss brained gherin who fathered you why are you transferring me to de Saiden? He broke the seal. He read his orders, and glee as unholy as his oath spread through him.


    "I asked you a question earlier. Answer it Regiment General!"


    "How dare you..."


    Trindai''s fist cut him short. "Now you fat little pig. Why, I think you''re questioning the right of a superior officer to ask you a question. In my book that stinks of rank insubordination."


    "Guards!" The pig didn''t even bother to crawl up from the floor before he cried for help.


    "Belay that order!" He heard the shuffling of feet, but no one entered the room. A coward. A mean little coward. Despised by his own men, even those he bribes. Keen had its share of failures as well, even though Trindai had never seen enough in one place to fill an entire company of cavalry. But everyone knew Ri Khi excelled in stupidity.


    He leaned over the officer. "Now, you will see the farmers paid. You will continue to pay for every single loaf of bread you politely ask for." He''s not broken yet. "And you will do all this, not because I ask you, not because I order you to, but because it is an imperial decree." He shoved the orders in the face of the stunned general. "When you meet the caravan you will detach a company strength unit to escort it back. Is that understood?"


    Trindai received a shudder, a nod and his orders. War? Why me? Markand is enough, we don''t even have troops enough for a second.


    Imperial General Trindai de Laiden left the house.

 Chapter five, Sacrifice, part two

    Something moved in the night.


    Nakora woke from an uneasy slumber.


    Gring? No, more than one. She rolled over and came to her feet. Too silent. Her sword was out of reach. She drew a dagger and searched for it in the dark. I wonder...


    Tent flaps pulled aside and two shadows entered, then another, and another.


    "What is the meaning of this?" Fear ran through her.


    Outside the silence was broken by a predator''s fury, and she knew.


    "Whore!"


    She slashed with her weapon, but two shadows already lunged for her. She stabbed at the closest and heard him grunt. Then she was thrown to the ground.


    "You get what you deserve. Whore!"


    Someone tore her clothes. She would not survive the night. That was knowledge. She was afraid of the unknown, but now she knew. No fear, only rage.


    She screamed.


    ***


    "They raped her and then they killed her! Her own men!"


    Gring heard, but she didn''t listen. She was hollow.


    "Your escort killed six of my men! Your escort murdered their lawful commander! Your escort! All because you refused to pay what you were bound by law to pay."


    The halfman''s rage was magnificent. He stank with it. A clean stench, pure. If he had been born with proper glands the merchant oath breakers would have trashed in uncontrollable panic, but he was only a halfman.


    Trindai would have been proud of his soldier nonetheless, she admitted as much.


    "We want the murderers and we want them now!" Karia Graig, her enemy unknown. They had only fought side by side, never measured fang and steel against each other.


    The world was wrong. Those she should have met in combat stood by her side, and those among whom she had hoped to make a home had struck at her honour.


    Her life a shield for the taleweaver, then a shield for a shield. But now Nakora was dead, two shields broken.


    "... are the escort we hired. Clan Takarak should have commanded it from the beginning."


    Gring stiffened. She had to listen or else her path would be unclear.


    "That''s the dirtiest, most absurd excuse I''ve ever heard!" Karia''s voice vibrated with a rage more silent than his words. The stench of his fury was more complex than Kalvar''s. "We don''t always agree to women in arms, but that doesn''t give us the right to murder our own."


    "The laws of Braka don''t apply here."


    "They''re my command," Kalvar said. "That makes it my law. In my law rapist murderers have lost their right to live. My law extends to those who would protect diseased animals."


    "Are you threatening us?"


    Kalvar turned and gave Gring a long stare. Then he slowly and deliberately lingered on his surviving men, weapons drawn. "Yes," he said, "I think I do."


    "And you''re lucky he only threatens you," Karia added. "I was sworn to her. With her dead Major Terwin has the right of command, and it''s only his hand that has stayed my men." He exchanged an unhappy smile with Kalvar. "If he would release that hand I can and will be held responsible for my actions¡ªafter you are all dead."


    Gring''s path became clear. For all their attempts at protecting the oath breakers who had killed Nakora she knew the merchant masters could to very little. The smell on halfmen leather and flinty odour of their large crossbows hovered over the ground as a memory only. It was no longer alive and changing, so they must have left the place of Nakora''s death late at night. Along the caravan? She doubted that.


    "Your superiors will hear of this."


    "They will, but you will all be dead before then if you don''t tell us where the murderers hide."


    Another memory of metal in the air caught Gring''s attention. It should have been sharp, like acid. Coins! Always the shiny coins! You killed, mated and took the coins. I heard you halfmen left coins when you mated without consent. "They are not here," she said.


    All attention was immediately fixed on her. She hadn''t spoken before, only lent her gifts so the halfmen could understand what they shouted at each other.


    "Go on, ma''am," Kalvar urged.


    "They stole from Harbend. The money is not here."


    "You don''t know that. You could have stolen the money yourself."


    "If that pig opens his mouth again I want a quarrel in his throat and another in his mouth. That is an order!" Kalvar turned to his men with the last words, and they sheathed their sabres and started loading their crossbows. Not one smiled.


    The master merchant glared. Greedy, but he wasn''t a coward. He made a show of looking at Gring''s bloodied fur, her hacked leathers and the bow she carried. "I apologize. Khraga are large but Lord de Garak''s strongboxes were many."


    Kalvar shook his head when he received eager looks from his soldiers. "Where are they?" he asked.


    "I don''t know, but I know one who does."


    "Then we are finished here, for now. Lead the way, ma''am."


    "You can''t follow. This is a matter between mindwalkers."


    Kalvar looked as if he was about to argue, but they both knew what Gring had meant. He had shown time and time again how uncomfortable he was with users of the gift, and Neritan Hwain was not only a mindwalker. A golden, with living memories from World War, she could conjure unpleasant experiences if angered.


    Gring let go of her powers. The meeting was over and she had a new confrontation ahead of her.


    ***


    They stared. No words. When mindwalkers wanted no listeners they shared an experience as intense as it was exclusive.


    Had it only been a matter of raw power and experience Gring knew she''d run away, ashamed of her audacity. She was a small child in comparison with Neritan. The mere thought of comparing them was ridiculous, even laughable. But she didn''t run, because she was right and Neritan wrong. And she was furious. Once again Neritan had behaved like the oath breaker she was, golden or not.


    You are without honour


    What do I care about your precious honour?


    Did you believe I was so weak you could walk my soul against my will?


    I tried, I failed. What does it matter?


    Another probe stabbed against her defences and almost shot through. I''m not halfman born. Like Harbend. That threw Neritan''s latest attack. Did you think I didn''t know you forced his actions? Your very strength betrayed you.


    And so? He did what he needed to do. Arthur was saved.


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    Oath breaker, have you no respect for the privacy of the mind?


    They are short lives. A glittering spark. They are born, they age, they die. Why should I care?


    Gring threw arrows of her own against Neritan''s probes. Never before had she walked the mind of a golden, and to her shock she found it truly alien. The short lived halfmen were like close relatives in comparison. You should, because it''s right. Alien and cold beyond comprehension.


    Right? Fool! I decide what is right. It was right to save the taleweaver. He is important. Harbend is not.


    It''s against the law.


    Those laws apply to you who age and die, even you who will see four lives of one like Harbend before you fade and pass beyond the veil. We are exempt.


    The golden mind was so different. Right, wrong, they had no place there. Need, necessity and danger was as close as Gring could get, but even those were poor translations.


    Again tendrils of concepts and false memories snaked into crevasses in her mind. It was all she could do to cut them before she forgot why she was here. Give me the link! Her sudden demand managed what her failing defences had not, and Neritan withdrew.


    Why should I? Such contempt!


    Vailinin ad Rhigrat.


    You wouldn''t dare!


    Dare? What would a warrior born not dare, golden halfman? She had won the game. The laws did apply to the golden as well, or at least enough of them.


    You don''t understand. You don''t remember. I had to. Something is wrong. If Arthur had died there we would have Dragonwrath ahead of us.


    It was still dishonourable. Wrong.


    Desperation shone clear in Neritan''s mind. They were that much alike at least. Dishonourable? Are you mad. He''s only a short life! They multiply like flies! Already they are more than before World War. One greatyear. Only a little more than one was all they needed.


    So, they regained what was stolen.


    You don''t understand? How could you? We don''t fade and die. We don''t breed like animals. There are so few of us left. I will not allow another Dragonwrath!


    So fear was at the bottom of it as Gring had guessed. I am right. You are wrong. Give me the link to Harbend!


    In the end she got the link. She had won it when she threatened the golden mindwalker with a truth seer, but she had lost her respect for the golden in return. She had to make her part of the exchange worth it, and she promised herself to reach out to Harbend each morning until she walked his mind. She had to. Honour demanded it. Respect demanded it. He deserved to know what had happened, and why.


    ***


    Kalvar bowed stiffly. "I''ll escort the caravan. Six or none, not much of a difference maybe."


    He held an aura of solidity that belied his size. Oath breaker by birth but none by deed, and Gring held her silence, waiting for him to find words. Halfmen needed to explain their decisions, as if the act of speaking carried more weight than what they spoke about.


    "Colonel Laiden gave me an order." He scratched his head. "I hope the bastards find nothing but dragon packs out there. I wish I could bring them to justice, but my mission is to see these fat pigs return home safely." He drew back his shoulders and breathed hard. When he let air out again Gring felt the difference.


    So, he''s found his resolve.


    "I''ll escort them. All the way to Ri Nachi. I''ll see those merchants responsible tried and executed, and then I''ll report back to Verd."


    "Why should they listen to you?" Six against a kingdom. He presumes a lot.


    "They will. I just realized." A flicker of steely joy flashed over his face. "The caravan started in Verd. The murderers, all of them," he shot the passing wagons an almost longing glare, "have put a mission of great economic value to Keen in danger."


    More coins. Always the bits of shining metal.


    "I don''t care much for fattening greedy pigs, but I can use this. As the saying goes: steel in De Vhatic gold."


    Gring had never heard the expression before, but she guessed. Even humans knew halfmen prized the coins from Verd over all others. They never lost shape from age, couldn''t be scraped and if violently cut, immediately lost shape and became uneven discs of metal, just like most coins made elsewhere. She was unclear why this made halfmen want them more than any other coins.


    "We don''t fight for gold, but we''ll bring war to those who would threaten what makes gold grow." Kalvar growled. "They''ll hang their own or we''ll tie them a noose of sabres"


    She had guessed wrong. The stench of fear ran along her own spine. She had also been right. Trindai was a very dangerous man, they all were.


    "Good hunt, ma''am. Lord Karia, do what is right for you." Kalvar clasped arms with the lordling from Braka. Then he mounted his horse and rode to join his pitiful command.


    She watched Kalvar ride with his remaining men along the caravan. Six of them. He''s brave for a halfman. With an honour of his own.


    "Halfman, you should go." Gring looked down at Karia. He had fought bravely in the stone tomb his kind of halfmen called home. She wished him no ill.


    He stared back. "We follow you."


    "Stupid oath breaker! Where I go no halfman can follow." She only smelled a cold, calculated fury.


    "We follow. I was her sworn man. These are my sworn men."


    "You know nothing of the plains."


    Halfmen boasted about eyes of steel, or smiles of iron. Karia had none. In his eyes a slow fire flared, like ice burning. It was nothing like steel. "Then we learn, but we follow. When our horses die we walk, but we follow. When our legs fail we crawl, but we follow. When you kill us we die, but we follow. We were her sworn men."


    Gring gasped. "Karia Graig. I will call you oath breaker no more, halfman no more. You are Karia a warrior and you have my honour. Follow!"


    And so they did. Each night they killed, each day they stalked. They slew men eating and men sleeping. They cut sentries from behind. They stabbed those who begged for mercy and the injured alike. They tracked two legged prey on the plains, counting each one they killed.


    Sworn men no longer. Soldiers no longer. Warriors no longer. Killers only, hunting in the dark.

 Intermezzo

    She had been sleeping. Now she was awake. She was old, older than she remembered, but now, for the first time, she felt aged. She was, had been, The One Who Dreamed About Funny Jokes, or Checkrizaradghansk, but now her dreams were frayed. There had been a time for jokes and pranks, but they were coming to and end. She was coming to an end.


    Don''t be afraid little daughter.


    Nothing had ever called her from the outside before. She was curious, and afraid.


    We will look after you. We once were, now we are.


    Such a simple sentence, and how frightening. Change, it meant change. She could feel it pulling at her, tearing her apart. There would be no returning to her world.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Yes, change. There are frays in the weave, and you must change to tear them free. Will you join us, little daughter?


    She did not want to. She longed to. She was torn between duty and fear. What will happen?


    We don''t know. Change. Change, little daughter.


    She changed. She died. She was born.


    Welcome sister.

 Chapter six, New Beginnings, part one

    Arthur ran like the boy of years long past, and like that boy he was headed for a bright and innocent adventure.


    A taleweaver, here in Verd. Verd deserved weeks worth of exploration, even a month or two, but that time had passed and he had seen most of it by now and a longing to find more of his kind had grown steadily.


    They had only planned to stay here for a short time¡ªone day as Harbend promised the very night when they arrived. Such an easy promise, and such a difficult one to keep. Politics, demands, business and duty had all conspired to keep them both in one place. And the lure of the Inn, he admitted. To Weave, to shine on the scene again. He was at his best while performing, had known he held an almost magical grip of his audience even back on Earth. Such irony. His magic had helped bring true magic to the world, to all inhabited worlds in the solar system. Now when he was part of that magic it seemed he was bringing humanity here, those who didn''t already live here.


    He took a shortcut along Visitor''s alley, crossed Tranda place, with its animated statue of the long dead hero crouching in a corner and then leaping atop the fountain that dominated the square. Arthur ducked under one of the few trees in this part of the capital and slowed down when he reached Larild boulevard. A few more short-cuts and he would be on Artist''s street as so many times before.


    That was, he realized an exceedingly stupid decision. He had seen men at labour here a few days earlier and yesterday evening not one but five shuttles had streaked down from the west on their way to the launch port.


    "Exchange", a sign yelled at him in standard English. "Turn good FEMs to better gold. All major currencies accepted. No exchange rate older than a standard week."


    He winced. This was his doing, indirectly. Less than a year earlier he had forced Federation partnership on the merchant houses. Of course someone was bound to do the same with the money traders.


    The holo blared the same message in perfect De Vhatic, promising untold riches to anyone bold enough to trade with outworlders on their own markets.


    The written message he only recognized¡ªGring''s magic had helped him to fluency in spoken De Vhatic. Letters were mostly beyond him.


    A line of coaches waited outside the exchange office, the second reason he should have avoided this way. Whereas the local population only stared at one tall outworlder among others, either not recognizing him or simply too polite to harass a visiting taleweaver, Federation citizens had no such compulsions. One second they had been busy buying silver and copper shields, then one of them noticed him on the street. A moment of consternation was replaced by certainty and she scrambled to her feet and rushed out of the office.


    He hardly had time to switch on his most professional smile before the rest had joined her frantically searching for notepads, organic clothing or whatever else was sure to hold an autograph permanently.


    "Yes, I''m Arthur Wallman. No, I''m not doing another Otherworld Disclosed. Yes, Otherworld has magic. No, they''re not barbarians."


    Holo cams buzzed around him, not the horribly expensive ones he had lived with for over twenty years, but still of a type most of his viewers couldn''t pay with a years salary.


    "I have moved here permanently. Of course I like living here, otherwise I would have taken the next shuttle home. No I don''t mind you taking holos." One would think they''d ask that question before releasing the cams. "I hope you''ll have as pleasant stay here a I have." That would exclude being shot at, being held prisoner and almost sentenced to death. "No, I have nothing to do with New Sweden migrating here." What the bloody hell! That''s over five million people! "Yes, the presence of Valhall will make travelling here safer." No wonder we only got rumours The best medical services and holo casting equipment in known space. They must have jammed every transmission on their way in. The people at Gatekeeper must be livid. "Well, Otherworld isn''t Federation space so citizens of all sovereign nations have as much right to come here as we." And that includes every nut brain with an issue. "No, I haven''t signed a contract with Red News for an installation, much less a full season of shows. No, I didn''t get any shares. They bought Wallman Newscasting for cash and royalties." I have to get out of here. Find Ken Leiter, find a good horse, find a bad excuse and find a way out of Verd. "Well, I can''t promise anything. I''ve planned some extensive travelling Verd is more a comfortable base than my permanent home." Red News bloodhounds. They''re too damn good. I trained those dogs myself before I sold. They''ll hunt me down to make sure I get as much of those royalties as humanly possible. Damn! I''m the one hunting for news.


    Arthur signed as he spoke. He radiated benevolence and gratitude and interest in the questions he faced. It was part of who he was with a camera in his face. Shouting to them to leave him alone never occurred to him, and it was with a mixed feeling of satisfaction and irritation he bowed away from the admiring crowd knowing for certain that he had just added a few lines to the legend of Arthur Wallman.


    He hurried away. Now he was followed by stares from several locals who couldn''t help noticing the attraction he''d drawn from his own.


    Ken Leiter. Arthur needed that meeting as much as Ken wanted it. The balance of need had just shifted unfavourably, but it couldn''t be helped. Ken had offered to become his mentor, like the man had anything to teach Wallman, the miracle in newscasting, but that mentorship had included travels, and Arthur would accept most anything that provided him with a reason to get him out of Verd.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Red News was bad news. Not Federation. They''d put exactly the swing to the story he''d hoped when he fled here. Now he had no reason to hate any longer. The Terran Federation was not a choir of angels exactly, but the restraint they''d shown for over a decade proved they had respected Otherworld''s need for a slow and gradual exposure to the rest of humanity. He had forced their hand and he didn''t intend to increase the damage by becoming part of whatever political games were played between the independent states and the federation.


    ***


    Ken lit up when Arthur entered. Any meeting with a fellow taleweaver was an occasion worth celebrating, but this one not only had stories from Earth. He came from Earth. Ken had searched. For half a millennium he had travelled the corners of the world in hopes of finding someone who knew about the home he''d lost. To find him in Verd of all places. All ways lead to Verd, indeed. That phrase, or at least one similar, had been ancient when he woke up here in the middle of the nightmare he''d taken years to accept as home. Seven hundred years. How many back home? He shrugged the thought away and greeted Arthur.


    "Welcome. Your food should be here in moments."


    Arthur gave him a look of disdain.


    "But you already knew that," Ken continued as if he hadn''t noticed. A pity he''s such an arrogant prick.


    "I''ve decided to accept you as my teacher, in as much as you have anything but history to teach me."


    "And you''ve Woven for how long?" Ken stifled a yearning to slap some sense into the boy. Looks thirty, can''t be much older. So full of himself.


    "Half a year, here." Arthur smirked. "Two decades as a newscaster back home," he added.


    Another of the words with a maddening similarity. Newscaster, some strange mix of journalist and media mogul. They had tried to strike up a conversation on his way to The Tree. English was nothing like what it had been. A smattering staccato with so many Arabic and Chinese additions it was almost impossible to understand. They had switched to De Vhatic before agreeing to meet here today.


    The memory made him laugh. Ironic enough that he''d grown up with English as the lingua franca. To see De Vhatic take the position was hilarious in extreme.


    "That would still leave me with a few years more experience, I believe." But he''s well over forty then. Need to learn how to evaluate their age.


    "You were in commercial casting? Never seen you."


    You probably wouldn''t. "No, I taught history at university before coming here," Ken answered instead.


    "Academy drone. Should have guessed. Reading instead of experiencing, teaching instead of living, yes I know your kind."


    The little shit! "Manners apart I think we should be able to come to some kind of agreement." Kick his arse all the way to Chen, but dammit, I''ve waited so long for news I''ll take a piece of swollen head to get it. "We''ve both to benefit from one, wouldn''t you think?"


    Arthur shrugged. "Not in faci dress, at least."


    What''s his problem? Hates uniforms, that is certain. Some kind of takeover at home? I have to know. "I haven''t been in a uniform for a long time. Promise you I have no plans changing that."


    The relief on Arthur''s face was frightening. "And we travel?"


    "We have to." Ken grinned. "The experiencing and living part, you know."


    "I guess."


    Damn, a lemon would be sweeter.


    "Oh bloody hell. I apologize. You can''t help your background any more than I can mine. Has to be something you can teach me."


    And if that is a sincere apology I don''t want to know what he considers an insult. "I''m sure we will come up with something. Day after tomorrow?"


    "Day after tomorrow," Arthur confirmed. "South gate?"


    Ken agreed and they shook hands. He marvelled. Shaking hands. He hadn''t met anyone who took that gesture for granted since he arrived here seven hundred years earlier.

 Chapter six, New Beginnings, part two

    Harbend stirred in his sleep. He was dreaming, but it felt like the dream didn''t belong to him. Too many smells, and the sounds were too clear and distinct. It made him feel like a meal being prepared. It make his feel like... Gring! What are you doing in my sleep?


    As shocked as he was sensing the predator''s mind of a khraga in his dreams another shock jolted him awake. Something had happened. Something terrible. Something beautiful.


    Suddenly Gring''s thoughts flared clear in his mind. He could sense her somewhere out on the Sea of Grass, her determination and rage. Rage?


    Her fury was terrible enough to drown the sense of inhuman wonder that filled the darkness, but her sorrow, her sorrow was worse. She told him everything, and her mind cried like a human mother trying to comfort a stricken child as Harbend roared his grief into the night.


    ***


    Mairild rushed from her apartment into the streets, six members of the Imperial Guard flanking her on all sides.


    The night had gone mad.


    Yellow light from the lampposts all over Verd was mixed with that from lanterns and torches. Poor and rich alike had left their homes in the thousands.


    Tens of thousands, unholy gods, they''re everywhere!


    She stopped at the edge of Ming Hjil de Verd. There was nothing else she could have done. The square was filled with people of all ages. Some dancing, some shouting, some singing in ecstasy but most silent in prayer.


    The air vibrated with power. She had sensed it a few times when her duties took her to places she had to keep secret, but nothing like this. A days rain had given way to a dense fog, and every tiny drop of water caressed her with the forbidden power, every gust of wind filled her lungs with the gift, and all around her people stared ahead, and up.


    The castle shone.


    Magecrafters of an age past had wrought the living art from power and artistic skill, but what she saw was far, far beyond the skill of any human. Legends fought and loved. They were born, aged and died. Every song they heard she heard, every flower she smelled and every caress she felt, even those of steel.


    High, high above them all a star she didn''t recognize shone brighter than any other. It would dim eventually she knew, but for now she was filled with wonder. Nothing could erase this moment, not even the horrors of a hundred years past. For the first time in her life she understood deep inside why all of Erkateren had erupted in flame and violence the last time a god was born. Killing to celebrate a god, singing to celebrate a god or praying, what did it matter? Only celebration mattered. Celebration and ecstasy.


    ***


    "What is that?"


    "New god," Trindai answered.


    Heinrich stared at him. Superstitious fool! He stared up at the sky again, shut down his sensors and raised his visor. Star going nova? No, wrong universe. There is only one star in this one. The rest are gates just like the one to home. He shivered despite the night being warmer than any he''d experienced since a dragon had teleported him and his entire command to the insanity in Belgera. Dragon! Maybe they have gods as well, what do I know?


    "Hundred years last time." Trindai grimaced and waved for Elizabeth to slow down. "You see the rail road from here. We walk."


    Heinrich looked out into the dark. For a moment he was tempted to turn on night vision, but he''d be damned if someone old enough to be his father should see better in the dark. There!


    "Thank the ride."


    Heinrich bowed and let Trindai''s men debark before ordering Sergeant Chang to kick the engines into action again. One more month, he thought. Too close for my taste. Idiot woman! He glared at the sleeper tubes on the hovercraft. Bring a civilian grade reactor to a fire fight What were you thinking?


    "I should thank you for shoving us the way home," he said instead. They had never needed any showing, but he wasn''t about to tell the old colonel, no, general now, that. He probably knew anyway. Heinrich grinned at the thought. He liked the old man. They could speak, even with both aliens absent and the strange mind effects they used to make interpreters unnecessary. Trindai''s English was poor, but not poor enough to make conversation impossible.


    Trindai nodded and turned to his men. He voiced an order and more than a few soldiers laughed as they fell into two rows. Heinrich recognized the word for horse so the gist of the command was abundantly clear to him.


    Poor bastards! Can''t recall seeing them walking much. He gave his exoskeleton an appreciative clap hard enough to send a metallic ringing out in the darkness and grinned at the soldiers as they prepared to march away.


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    They grinned back and one shouted something at him. It was probably obscene enough it didn''t need a translation.


    He stood in the almost night watching Trindai march away with his soldiers. It was a strange feeling listening to them singing and then that singing faded away and the only sound remaining was the whining of the hovercraft.


    Something had happened. New god or not, and he had a machine with a reactor heading for critical that needed skilled technicians as soon as possible. Launch port then. He let training and machine take over, and within moments he rumbled east in his body walker, almost the way they had come. Elizabeth Chang drove the vehicle some distance behind him.


    An hour, give or take some, and he would come full circle. He wondered if they had noticed the new star at the launch port. Of course they had.


    ***


    Trindai marched along with his men. As the new star above them slowly faded, so did the singing. Now only the thumping of riding boots against hard stone and the occasional cursing when someone fell out of rhythm disturbed the silence.


    He would see dawn break before they reached the gates. Until then only the Vimarin Highway under his feet and an eerie night filled with wonder.


    Something had tugged at him when night became day for a few moments. Something deep inside that wanted to crawl out. You have the spark, Gring had said. He could feel it. Only a spark. It would never truly awaken, Gring had promised as much, but with a newborn god bathing the lands with power even a spark was enough. He felt the need to fill himself with forbidden magic, to move it along invisible lines and mold it into something he could comprehend.


    He could see why practitioners of magic went to such lengths to master it. How come it would take a khraga to unlock this part of his humanity? Even if it took a god to make him fully believe what she had said.


    He grunted, kicked a pebble from the road and marched on. That way lay danger, and it had nothing to do with the highway they walked. In all probability a couple of his own men still felt the fire in their hearts. That all of them had sensed the sudden burst of power there was no doubt about. Even the outworlders had been stunned by the force of it¡ªthey had almost crashed through a fence and into a newly sown field when Wagon-master Chang let their vehicle run free.


    Trindai let his thoughts wander. From misgivings about the chaos that was sure to hold Verd in a firm grip to the equally certain appearances of priests, clerics, monks and holy men. Hordes of pilgrims would crowd the roads within eightdays. Old temples washed clean of a lifetime''s neglect filling with believers joyous and fearful, and somewhere, someone would rally followers to a holy cause. It always happened; from Chen to Gaz. News of those events always found ways to travel.


    A holy cause. Those had an ugly tendency to grow into crusades, and from there the road to mayhem was too short by far. He shuddered. Old enough to have spoken with people who have lived through the Erkateren Madness.


    That thought spawned another. One of three thousand imperial soldiers spearheading the largest caravan ever seen. An invasion in all but name. He''d have the balls of whoever came up with that insane idea, and then he would twist, hard.


    Clouds clinging to the ground rolled in from Verd and hid the stars. Darkness and damp followed in turn, and Trindai hugged his clothes closer. His mind wandered from lessons of a Holy Inquisition of long past, how they were sent from Verd itself to hunt down heretics after World War. How those heretics had come to include anyone who openly spoke of gods, and how in the end the Inquisition turned on their old masters. If unholy horrors were still unleashed on hard-working men and women after all heretics were slain, then truly any use of inhuman powers were surely heretic.


    Two hundred years ago. It took fifty to root out the evil in their midst, and the horrors were banished. Rejoice! But they weren''t, were they? The Erkateren Madness. They had to swell their ranks with anyone willing to put on the yellow and green. The Free Inquisition.


    Trindai grunted in disgust. He despised the undisciplined thugs who mostly harassed decent farmers out of sheer boredom when they couldn''t find a foreigner to kill who hadn''t been any closer to forbidden magic than watching it. Complaints from Kordar, complaints from Erkateren, Ri Khi, Kastari and even Ira. Killing traders from Ira had been especially stupid. Maybe that small city state was a haven for mages of all kinds, but it was also the only power with a fleet strong enough to divert the raiders. Not a ship, not one single ship had made the voyage to the Sea of the Mother and back after Ira finally tired of excuses and apologies and withdrew their coastal patrols along the Midland shores.


    As dawn broke he still couldn''t see the city walls ahead. The fog was too dense. The rail road beside the highway was clearly visible though, as were the people who scrambled up the road when they marched by. Once again an escort. Not for a caravan, but for men and women finding strength in numbers and the bright uniforms of his command, torn and dirty as they were. All were headed for Verd, to find answers, or enlightenment, or simply to celebrate.


    From the capital, a low murmur. A rumbling in the morning. Verd had awoken to a new morning, and he knew he was listening to thousands upon thousands of voices asking what kind of a day a new god would bring.

 Intermezzo

    "I need to know what''s going on, Admiral."


    "We don''t know. Nothing on record, nothing but a burst from radio to gamma."


    "But surely," the voice hesitated. "you must have felt..." And there it was, an apology if any.


    Of course she had felt. One moment asleep, the next living a dream and then awake, yanked out of a childhood more wonderful than any she had lived into a harsh, frigid night of here and now. "Yes, yes we did," Vivian agreed.


    "Admiral, I request all the information you have!"


    "One, we don''t have any more information. Two, you don''t request anything, Major! Is that clear?"


    "Clear. My apologies, Admiral."


    Vivian sighed. Should she dress him down? No, he was just as scared as she was. "Apologies accepted, Major. It''s been a long night."


    "What can you do, if I may ask?"


    "You may. I''m sending down all remaining shuttles. I have three hundred civilians up here. They should be safer planet side."


    A moments silence. "Yes, I understand. We''ll make ready for launch to get as many off Orbit One as possible."


    Vivian silenced the outburst on the bridge with a glare. She knew what she was doing. "We have the Nobunaga inbound."


    "And she should be able to replace your shuttles, yes I see. That leaves a window of, eh..."


    "A week, at the most. I''m aware of the risk. We''re paid for it, the civilians are not. Besides Valhall is inbound as well. They''re known to do magic as well."


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    A hard laugh came through her speakers. "Yes, they do, don''t they. Regen therapy should be able to handle anything still alive, or so I''ve heard."


    She smiled before recalling that it wouldn''t carry over the voice only connection they had set up. No recordings of what really had happened, but residues of what they could record still played merry hell with their holo casters. "I wonder," she voiced her thoughts.


    "Not that it''s of much help, but I have a Major Goldberger here. TADAT."


    She had heard that name. A quick search gave her the answer. Major, Terran Armed Drop Assault Troops. The blackest nightmare any pirate could ever hope to avoid. The Federation had abolished capital punishment centuries ago, but TADAT carried it out whenever they caught pirates in the act. There were very few complaints filed, not even from known havens. "Heinrich? They shuttle dropped quite some time ago. I''d have thought their walkers would have given up on them by now."


    "Should have. Didn''t," came the laconic answer. "He claims the event has something to do with a deity." Silence. "Gone native, that''s what I think."


    Gone native. You don''t have the slightest idea how old that expression is. She smiled sheepishly at her crew on the bridge. Looking up Goldberger really did deserve the looks they shot her. One of the first eight to land here. Not one she was supposed to forget, but there had been so many over the years. "I still want his report. Might be something useful in it. I heard he vanished." I heard he went renegade and started a private war. She didn''t say that. A later problem.


    "There is, but not on topic. Next couple of launches will have sleeper tubes. He found Ulfsdotir and her killers, the surviving ones at least."


    Vivian grinned. If he''d brought that pack of criminals back Space Command was sure to lay in a good word for him. He might even get out of it without any black marks on his record. "He did, you say. I''ll make room for them." This time she was certain her smile carried over audio.

 Chapter seven, Build-up, part one

    Arthur showed little surprise at how fast the exhilarating mood deteriorated after the returning imperial officer held his speech. It had Ken more than a little worried though.


    For all his arrogance and flamboyance Arthur was little more than a boy. He might think he knew the moods of men and women. Ken even admitted he was an expert student, but a student nonetheless.


    Verd oozed with mistrust, and that was not normal. The general had arrived at the most opportune moment and his speech, for a layman, had been quite good, if a bit terse. It was its contents that had Ken thinking. Keen needed that trade. Even if the returning caravan represented only a trickle of that need it was still a resounding success beyond anyone''s wildest dreams. Add what Arthur said was a massive increase in landing shuttles and Verd was receiving far, far more than a trickle.


    People here should have noticed. General de Laiden''s triumphant report should have been but the last of a long line of good news, and yet Verd seethed with unrest. Arthur didn''t notice, or rather he did, but he amounted it all to the glum nature of those living here.


    Ken mulled over that for a while. Arthur would, of course. If his visit here last year was his only reference. Ken knew for a fact how strangling the raids must have become. When bounty became sparse it had to mean there was little left to loot. He could well imagine the sulking stares Arthur had grown to take for granted.


    For now Ken waited. He had found an almost static statue on Ming Hjil de Verd, climbed its head with the help of an expecting audience. He rewarded them with a mild Weave of memories from a happier visit here some sixty or so years ago. It didn''t detract much from his attention and surrounded him with an island of satisfied people in a sea of anger.


    He couldn''t believe the council hadn''t noticed it earlier. He had, for days, and today it was just about to blow. Tension rose to where he could taste fear, apprehension and anger. Surely someone in charge would notice it by now, and the very worst thing they could do was...


    ***


    ... of course what they did. Always trust uniformed stupidity to surprise you when you were certain a bad situation couldn''t be handled any worse.


    Arthur slammed the door behind him, used all the strength he had gained during long months on the road and forced his way into the tavern.


    It was packed. No merry singing here. Scared children and their mothers. Idiots! Why don''t you stay home instead of trailing a mob? "I apologize for my rudeness. Where can I find my way to the roof?"


    He received a mute nod in the direction of a counter and slowly waded in that direction.


    "No guests here!" the owner shouted. Late forties, probably had a few of her children working here as well.


    Arthur took care not to step on anyone sitting on the floor. For a moment he hung precariously on one foot searching for a place to put the other down. "This guest will. I''m a taleweaver." He had to look stupid, and he wondered if he wasn''t overusing his status. Apparently not.


    A path to the counter cleared as if by magic and he crossed the room.


    "Feed them!" he said when he reached the awestruck owner. He dug for a few coins, winced slightly when he noticed the yellow glimmer but slammed them down anyway. "This should cover all their needs." Had bloody better! Could probably buy me the entire tavern. Seven gold shields. Harbend will have my skin if he ever learns.


    Arthur saw awe replaced by calculating greed.


    No you bloody won''t! "Whatever they ask for, all your rooms for the night if need be. And don''t cheat on me, such as us have a way of knowing. Guess how we learn our tales?" The last was an empty threat, but she didn''t know that.


    He looked back before making for the stairs up. Looks of gratitude so genuine they scared him more than if they had just demanded even more. The landlady wouldn''t cheat him. She wouldn''t dare, wouldn''t want to. If she handled the situation to the best she''s gain new customers as well as his money. Taleweavers didn''t waltz into any tavern in the city. He should know. He was one of only two, and that was two more than usually visited Verd during any one given year if what Ken had told him was true.


    He sprinted up the stairs, three steps at a time. Ken, where was the idiot? They were sacrosanct and all that, but no mob knew the meaning of that word. He could be crushed under panicked feet just as easily as anyone else. He''d forced his way in here to avoid being trampled himself. There was a difference between bravery and idiocy.


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    He reached an open window. The roof, at last. He climbed out and up. A year ago the exercise would have left him breathless. Now he barely noticed it.


    For a moment he thought of climbing down to another street but he quickly abandoned any such idea. The streets were a bad place to be. For now at least.


    As much as he despised uniforms he recognized a need for riot police when he saw one. He hadn''t been casting news for over twenty years without his fair share of civil unrest. They should have come out in force from the beginning, not trickling out of the imperial castle in fives and tens.


    A compact wall of hundreds of the Imperial Guard would have routed the mob before any fighting even begun. What they had sent out, though, looked more like a tasty morsel than anything else. Someone in the crowd yelled a challenge and seething anger turned into chaos. A panicked frenzy jolted through the mob and slowly it started moving with all the finesse of an avalanche in the direction of the arriving uniforms. That had been when Arthur decided to leave the show.


    From up here he could see what had become of the soldiers who first had to meet the oncoming charge.


    ***


    But they were the Imperial Guard. Even a sloppy deployment couldn''t make a lie of that. From his vantage point Ken saw how a few dozen of guards quickly formed into rank and counter charged. The attack was so unexpected they even had time to wheel around and retreat in good order. When the mob had gathered enough courage to advance again the guards had been joined by several more dozens of their own. The next charge broke the riot in two halves, and then the imperial castle spewed out hundreds of soldiers from any opening close to the ground. It wasn''t even worth calling mopping up.


    Far to the north he heard the blaring horns of another unit. North Gate Regiment? Had to be.


    He climbed down from the statue. There was nothing more to see here, and he intended to follow the guards along the wide boulevards when they forced the population back indoors.


    ***


    Arthur stared ahead, never down. A night earlier he had watched how the riots broke when the professional soldiers finally got their wits around them. Heavy rain late in night took care of the remaining pockets of unrest. A few heads bumped, maybe a couple of broken arms. Too easy. It had all been too easy to believe.


    Imperial Guard, and one more regiment. North Gate. That left the capital lacking three full regiments.


    The unexpected arrival of his old escort captain, General de Laiden as Arthur learned later, had put the old officer in a position no one would envy him.


    Arthur had seen the training of raw recruits from Verd''s southern walls, from the east gate tower. The west was occupied by the great telegraph. They had indeed been raw.


    He stubbornly looked ahead. Never down. He had no intention of seeing just how raw.


    This was the twelfth, or thirteenth stretcher with a corpse he had volunteered to carry one end of. He put one foot ahead of another. He didn''t even bother with walking around rain pools. It had rained for hours and he could as well have been immersed in cold water.


    Ken had given him a stricken look before refusing to help. We watch, but we never interfere, he had said. What kind of cold hearted attitude was that? Was that what a human grew into if they lived for too long? Ken was hundreds of years old if he was telling the truth, and his English and peculiar knowledge of Terran history only seemed to verify what he said.


    Arthur let go of the handles and turned without a word. He would volunteer for another run. This was what being human meant. To give whatever little help there was when no help was enough.


    Sure enough he''d received stunned stares when people recognized him, and damn right they were to stare! All worth it! Hundreds more had turned up to help, mostly the rich. The locals because they couldn''t be seen to be doing less than the taleweaver and visiting Federation citizens would do just about anything to be close to Arthur Wallman.


    The bravest carried bodies, with him. Most cared for the wounded. He wondered about that. These were just bodies. Already dead. Inside the hastily cleaned stables people were still dying. He didn''t know how he would react to watching that. Some were little more than children.

 Chapter seven, Build-up, part two

    Mairild had expected Trindai to be angry or even furious. She had never expected him to be tired.


    Three eightdays ago he had arrived on the dawn of madness. Two eightdays since he lost two more of his men to riots spilling out into the alleys where the poor lived. An eightday after that two more simply vanished while on patrol.


    After that he turned over command of his unit to Major Berdaler, kicked his rank two steps to full colonel and reported to Olvar de Saiden.


    She saw him leaving the Ministry of War half a day later. He hardly remembered to greet her on his way out. She heard rumours he had rented a room and had a cask of strong brandy brought up. He wasn''t heard of for a full eightday.


    She studied him across her desk. The cask had to be true. She could drink herself to a stupor just talking with him. He stank from more than just a hangover as well. Drinking apparently hadn''t allowed any time for a bath, nor a change of clothes.


    Her Trindai was gone. She had commanded a razor in uniform. What sat before her was a cudgel, a tool more to Olvar''s liking.


    Well, he was Olvar''s now. She''d signed over command in exchange for the generalship Trindai should never have lost in the first place when they sent the punitive expedition to Gaz.


    Sorry, caravan escort. The outworlder taleweaver had survived after all. The outworlder Arthur demon spawned gherin get Wallman''s skin was safe.


    She sighed and made an attempt to grab Trindai''s hands. He''d been her most trusted man, as close to a friend as she''d dared anyone to become. He withdrew even further. Tired eyes, tired and sad.


    What have we done to you? Eighty men to Braka and back. You lost less than twenty while fighting outworlders. Mairild wanted to wring her hands in denial, but that order had been hers alone. The winter cut years from you, old man. You weren''t old when we parted last.


    They exchanged glanced like they''d done each time Trindai returned back after an especially ugly mission. None had suggested it, but it seemed natural. The best reports she ever had.


    Marched through Vimarin Gate with fifty men proud as stallions as if the madness didn''t touch you. Darkness, you were the dirtiest heroes I''ve ever seen! She leaned back into her chair. They really had been. Ragged and torn to boot. Where they marched people fell silently anyway. When Trindai marched out on the great square facing Ming Hjil de Verd with his men the crowd parted like paper to flame, when he climbed the shoulders of his tallest soldiers they were breathless and when he thundered out the message that Keen''s first caravan in a hundred years was safely on its way back to Verd the entire square erupted in jubilation.


    General de Laiden he may be now, but it had been Trindai, their hero, who gave Verd control over itself. And Mairild''s propaganda scheme from last autumn paid off in a way she could never have dreamed of, she admitted guiltily.


    Then you took to the streets. Patrolled a regiments share. I never believed it could be done, neither did Olvar. And it couldn''t. Gods were fickle and jealous. No mere human could steal their moments of triumph.


    They''d known both taleweavers had just watched the madness. And who cared? Ken Leiter de Ghera. Walking Talking. The Legend. He came and went, had done for hundreds of years. Alone he refused to break the habit of visiting Verd, or Dagd or any other of the cities where the arms of the Inquisition reached and scared the others away. He was Walking Talking; even children knew he came and went, leaving a trail of Weaves behind him like gifts for the starved. He never stayed for long.


    And Arthur Wallman, latest of legends. Two in Verd at the same time. That was unheard of. And they just watched when madness came to visit.


    ***


    Riots, in the capital of the northern empire. He sat in a comfortable chair facing his old employer and friend, but his mind lived the riots.


    It came so unexpected. Or maybe because they were so tired, but it had seemed so calm after his display of strength on the great square. A mistake. His mistake.


    One morning they received angry glares instead of greetings. By noon there were looks, measuring if they were really as few as they seemed. Then years of barely constrained unrest ruptured. By early evening the streets exploded with people, his people. They were like a horde of dragonlings mindlessly attacking from everywhere. Some armed with knives, kitchen utensils mostly, more with pieces of broken furniture and most with nothing at all.


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    They held them at bay with wooden clubs at first, but his command wasn''t one of General Markand''s professional regiments. He had his fifty and a few hundred half trained boys scared witless when their fellow citizens fell upon them. Most had never been inside the city walls before ordered to patrol street they didn''t know. When cornered a few turned the butts of their spears away from the crowd. Cheap steel, not even the quality of the pikes they were to receive later in their training. It cut through clothes effortlessly anyway.


    The crowd had smelled death. For a moment it looked like they would break, and Trindai ordered sabres drawn. His second mistake. He counted on fear but got wrath. There were thousands of them and they attacked like one single hurt animal.


    Boys in uniform, those who couldn''t flee to safety, went down first. He never saw what happened to them, never wanted to. He held on to a wide street, his men showing a small forest of loaded crossbows to those facing them. The charge came anyway.


    Trindai ordered a volley loosed, then a reloading retreat and yet another volley. A hundred quarrels scythed through the people he had sworn to protect with his life.


    "...anything you want before you report back to Minister de Saiden?"


    Mairild''s question cut through his memories. He stared at her. I lost Hamardel and Sokerek there. We hacked our way to the barracks. Mairild, we killed hundreds of our own! We butchered them! He realized he hadn''t said that aloud.


    She stared back and he read the raw pain in that look. He didn''t have to, she already knew.


    "Eri and Parnesen, I, I ordered Colonel de Berdaler not to bring any charges against them." Neither for being murderers nor for deserting my command. They made the decent choice.


    "I''ll make sure that order is carried out," she answered. She must have known that as well. He trusted her to make full use of her network of spies. It was then he noticed a flicker of hatred in her eyes. Hatred and fury.


    He rose and glared at her. She would tell him. She owed him that much.


    "Yes, there is one more thing," she confirmed.


    They had reached the lopsided talking part of their meeting now. Meant it was about to be over soon. Then he would report to de Saiden and then to another cask of brandy. This time he planned to stay drunk until they carried him back to service.


    "You might want to take a bath before you see Minister de Saiden."


    He continued glaring at her. What news could she possibly have worth a bath?


    "We''ve located a few visitors. For once I''ve joined camp with Magehunting."


    Trindai straightened. A bath, maybe a bath.


    "We''ve convinced them to talk, those still alive. Turns out they''re all papal clergy."


    And he''d stay sober until de Saiden could call him to a second meeting.


    "The church paid the raiders, not only to leave most of their ships alone but to intensify their raids along our coast."


    He would even consider getting that new uniform he rightfully belonged in since he released his old command.


    "Most of the money came from Chach. More of that money were used to plant the priests we captured here in Verd. They used magic to create firebrands. The papacy paid, planned and executed the riots here."


    You used mindwalkers in my home! You had me murder my own! He had a duty and a target now. He''d gained several years during the winter and as many again since he returned. Now he lost them one by one as he and Mairild shared the rage. Wordlessly they planned ahead, and wordlessly he left for the imperial tailor. Then he would get new boots as well. Shiny and hard. Very hard.

 Intermezzo

    "That is unacceptable!"


    "I''m not interested in what you find acceptable, Commodore. We''re shuttling over units to take command of Orbit One as I''m speaking. You can either stay as my guest or take up rooms here. I''m certain Commodore Ali would be delighted to be your host."


    The nerve! "I''m..." Vivian began. The nerve! The last thought was one of delight though. So that was the reason! "You will stay those shuttles! That is a direct order!"


    "Don''t be absurd, Commodore!"


    "That would be Rear Admiral for you, Brigadier. I''m in command of TSS Orbit One"


    There was a moments silence. Brigadier Goodard could link with her systems to confirm both her new rank as well as Orbit One''s new status as flag ship.


    "I see I may have been mistaken about the jurisdiction here," came the expected response.


    Damn right you were, shit head! "Could happen to the best. No need to apologize." Like the little bastard would even know the word without a dictionary handy. "I''m happy we sorted this misunderstanding up." And stay the hell away from my command!


    "I''m certain we''ll come to an agreement eventually."


    "We sure will. I hope you won''t be too uncomfortable aboard the Nobunaga. If they arrive in smaller groups I will of course be happy to provide your men with the comforts of Orbit One."


    "I''m happy you feel that way. I''ll tell my men on leave of your generous offer before they launch?"


    Launch?


    "Admiral, Nobunaga, she''s opening shuttle bays," Anisa''s voice cut across the bridge.


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    Vivian cut communications with Brigadier Goodard momentarily. "I know, those shuttles are returning." She disliked Anisa using her proper rank, but when an ass like Goodard was listening it was probably for the better.


    "No," Anisa stared at Vivian''s red lighted link, "she''s dropping, Vivian. Those are friction shielded."


    Vivian ordered the link back up again. "What is the meaning of this? Recall those shuttles immediately!"


    "Afraid I would be disobeying my orders if I did, Admiral," Goodard drawled. "I can''t do anything about the farce of making an orbital station a flagship, but there''s no way you could possibly argue that the planet side launch port is a naval installation."


    She could, but she also had the sense to realize when she had lost. The Federation army didn''t show up here by mistake. Space Command had salvaged as much as possible by giving her flag rank and a flagship to boot. They could as well have ordered Rear Admiral Radovic to take command of Orbit One, so she guessed she should feel grateful in a way. Hers was obviously about to become a very visible command.


    "Admiral, dropping single shuttles. Army, no TADAT," Anisa announced.


    I knew that, thank you, but you don''t know the Goodard pigs, so you''re excused. "Acknowledged Commander," she answered instead. Just keep the show running. Besides, Anisa was too young to know how the Goodard family infested politics like vermin. The brigadier was only a very high ranking piece of muscle for whomever they wanted to have the next presidency. If they managed to force Otherworld to join the Federation citizens would be ecstatic, and the next election a given. If the gamble went wrong, probably very little dirt would ever find its way home. All in all dirty little clean piece of political juggling of weapons.


    She had to make her own preparations, of course. Warn Radovic. How? TADAT! They despised the navy but they hated the army with a glee. Major Goldberger was the most senior TADAT officer, and she could strip the launch port of the other group as well. It wasn''t like Brigadier Goodard lacked any armed monkeys to man those guns anyway.

 Chapter eight, Warmongering, part one

    He rushed up the hill a fifth time. Sweat ran down his body in tiny rivers, muscles he''d forgotten ached after days of training and the soles of his feet barely stayed whole. Heinrich didn''t care. Running on his own was a luxury. This was for real, not the controlled lumbering of a body walker. This was freedom.


    He threw a backwards glance. Four. Panopilis ahead of him, and Chang of course. Nobody beat Chang in a footrace.


    Heinrich struggled the last meters to the crest and fell exhausted to the ground. He rolled over on his back and stared into the sky. Last time he wouldn''t have been able to, but all trees had been felled since to give way to the new windmills feeding the port. He counted clouds. Five, six, no seven of them. As many as the cabins built from the logs. Not much in the way of hotels, but there had been none half a year ago.


    He turned back onto his stomach and gazed east. A real port now, not just a landing pad and a walled concrete shed.


    "Have you seen this?"


    Heinrich searched for the voice. "Seen what, Liz?"


    "The flowers. I love spring!"


    And she loved making an issue of being female as well, and of being by far the best soldier in his command. Ran faster and farther than the rest, drove any vehicle he had encountered, made body walking look like dancing and scared the living hell out of their weapons trainer whenever they took those tests. Carried less, of course¡ªshe was female after all.


    "Miner, remember?"


    "Yeah, yeah. Hard as rock. No seasons in the belt. You eat what you grow and all that. Dammit Major, can''t you enjoy yourself for once?"


    Heinrich barked a laugh. He enjoyed the hell out of himself right now, and she knew it. He was the one frantic to get planet side whenever they went past Earth. He was in love with the wilderness, the sheer open space available, and this was a spring day as gorgeous as any he could remember. And he enjoyed watching her.


    "You thinking?" she purred, and stretched like a cat. Now there was beauty in motion.


    "I''m thinking I could rest here for a while longer," he answered. He travelled her body with his eyes. Watching was fine. She had bedded him a few times, never the other way around. She made the invitations. He could refuse and had done so twice. She never sulked about that.


    Heavy panting announced another arrival, and soon all seven of them sat in a semicircle looking at the launch port.


    They were in horrible shape. Strange, considering that they''d been in the field since they arrived here. Not much in the way of physical training though. Body walkers required coordination. They were built to do the job instead of the TADAT strapped inside.


    "How much more of this?" Mohammad wheezed.


    Heinrich grinned. "Two more runs?"


    "Show some heart!"


    "Heart? Overrated!" Heinrich growled in his deepest voice. He drew air. "Eyes are always black as night, with soulless heart as cold as space. An evil smile that gives you fright, beats you once and shoots you twice. That''s our TAAAAADAT commander!" he howled. They laughed and joined him. The song quickly turned incredibly ugly, describing most possible and quite a few impossible attributes of an officer in the Federation''s finest.


    The almost ordered march along the crest came to an abrupt halt when they turned east and down. Marching downhill on uneven ground was impossible of course and it soon turned into a race which broke up the singing. He fell, came back up with the help of a trunk he passed, made it halfway down the hill and fell again. This time he just rolled before getting his balance again.


    When he reached the gravel road at the base he was laughing so hard tears ran from his eyes. Above and around him he heard laughs and shrieks as the rest signalled their success, or rather lack thereof.


    We''re TADAT, the scariest of the scary. And he bellowed again.


    He gathered his dirty unit around him and began the march back to the port.


    "Tidy up!"


    "Yes Major!" came the chorus.


    He watched his sorry command in their torn and dishevelled jumpsuits. "Oh hell, just fall in line."


    "As you say, Major!"


    "And try to look like troopers!"


    "But of course, Major!"


    He laughed again. It was a wonderful day, and it was good to be in command of the best unit this side of Gatekeeper.


    What remained of it. That thought soured an otherwise perfect moment, but he had to accept that. Joseph would never whine and laugh with them again. Ulfsdotir''s thugs got him with a grenade in Belgera. Well, they''d sent that bitch back into space now.


    A lot had come down from there as well. He looked at the inflatables where most of them lived. Were forced to live. They''d been evacuated from Orbit One soon after he reported back. And they had swelled with most everyone who could get out of Verd as well. Things were getting ugly there from what he heard.


    A few days more and we''re back in the fray. Damn, we deserved a day off, we did! He glanced over his shoulder, but he never had to give an order. They had all straightened up before they came into sight of the refugees. They were TADAT, the scariest of the scary.


    ***


    "Gone, what do you mean by gone?"


    "I mean," Mairild started, "that your precious little propaganda gem has vanished. Harbend de Garak is no longer in Verd."


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    Glarien blanched at her choice of words. Good for him. They were true.


    "We don''t know where," she continued. So, that wasn''t the answer he wanted. "I don''t know where." So, there it was. The spy master of Verd had not the slightest idea where the figurehead of Keen''s first caravan to Braka in a hundred years had gone. She didn''t care. Anyone caught up in Minister de Verd''s games were probably better of gone. Anyone caught up in hers as well, she admitted ruefully.


    "That is unfortunate," Glarien said after a while. "Still salvageable though."


    You would use that expression. How I hate being right about some people! "If you say so. Trade is your area of expertise" If you could turn a corpse into money I''m certain you would know where to make the best profit. Oh, almost forgot, you already did!


    She had known he was a master merchant when they elected him to take the seat of Commerce. She just hadn''t calculated just how ruthless he was when money was involved.


    His last idea of good business took the prize though.


    Small temples and shrines in the capital were hidden away for more than a lifeyear. Sometimes behind store fronts selling trinkets you had to be a believer to recognize. Now they had all opened up for the public again. With a new god staring down at them at nights not even the Holy Inquisition were stupid enough to go on a slaughtering rampage. They would remember, and document, and eventually arrest and execute, but that would be long years into the future.


    And enter Glarien de Verd, Minister of Commerce. He auctioned out the rights to bury the unknown dead to the temples. That made it officially sanctioned. Priests and monks of most every kind who eightdays ago had been delivering their services in secret were suddenly best friends with the traders of death. With a war looming the greedy monsters had even sanctioned a new house dedicated to the new trade.


    Not all priests were friends with the traders though. Whenever one from Chach was found, Magehunting usually never even had a chance to get a squadron there before he was lynched.


    Mairild suspected they weren''t in a hurry. She suspected Minister de Gelven knew about that, and that he silently agreed. She kept those suspicions close to heart. She agreed as well.


    The Midland church. They stabbed at Keen''s very heart. In so doing they had caused misery and death, and they had almost broken the only person she still hoped was a friend of hers. Something in Trindai was still broken.


    She hoped it would heal after he had done what needed being done.


    Give me any pretext, Minister de Saiden had asked. He had received it. General de Markand was already marching south with the North Gate Regiment. Gelven and Krante would supply their regiments.


    Dagd and Roadbreak had received message by farwriter. Two companies from each town were on their way to reinforce the city watch in Verd. A full regiments worth of professional soldiers. Hasselden had responded to their message by sending two of their finest to Krante.


    Trindai, he trained his recruits. More arrived by the day. Olvar de Saiden ruthlessly marched any arriving refugee strong enough and healthy enough straight into one of the new units he was setting up.


    And of course several fled the city. Mairild didn''t even want to think about how the outworlders handled that problem around the sky port. And they had new problems of their own if the news Tenanrild sent her were correct.


    ***


    Harbend rode east. The day before he had stolen the horse. Bought it, really, but the farmer didn''t want the money. He accepted the coins, twice the value of the horse, at sword point. That made it theft, or robbery? Harbend didn''t care. He didn''t care about much any longer.


    Throat still raw from screaming he had searched for his uncle some days after Gring''s message. Or an eightday, memories of time came dizzy to Harbend. He vaguely recalled being told Uncle Garak had been killed during the riots. He''d find out who had done it, but not now.


    He distinctly remembered sending couriers to Hasselden to find a mindwalker.


    In a port, or anywhere where ships made to, there was always someone who could be bought to find anything you looked for, even a mindwalker and even with the Inquisition around. Maybe not in Hasselden, but in the countryside, or even across the inland sea. Somewhere close to Hasselden at least one hid away, and he''d sent enough money to find him, or her. One who could reach Khanati, or reach one who could reach Khanati.


    He needed Khar Escha for the next step, and to take that step he also needed to leave Keen behind him. Anywhere east of Roadbreak would do. Anywhere the Inquisition didn''t come looking for him.


    Escha could find him with the help of a mindwalker. He had done so when they rescued Arthur. Half a year ago? Less? It mattered little. It had worked then. It would work again. Escha would find him, and then they would find Gring, wherever she was, and jump there. Then he would kill those who had killed Nakora and then he would kill their families and then he would kill those who had paid those who had killed her and then he would kill their families, and friends, and the families of the friends.


    To do that he needed Escha, because only Escha had the power to jump anywhere, any time No jump towers, no mage sending a temporary receiving beacon. Escha could jump directly to where Gring was, and then Harbend could begin killing. Gring would help him. He had felt her fury when she told him what had happened.


    He understood he was hating, and he understood that he was barely sane, and he didn''t care. He fed from his hate. It kept him going, or since yesterday, riding.


    Somewhere, deep inside of him, a remnant of the man he once had been called vainly for attention. It tried to tell him that Nakora wouldn''t have wanted this, that she wanted him to love, as they had loved.


    Harbend pushed that man deeper into the darkness of his soul. For now he only needed his hate, and so he rode on. East.

 Chapter eight, Warmongering, part two

    "And turn!"


    That was as horrible a turn as he could have feared. Boys! They were only boys. Most from the marches north of Verd, from parts of what had once been the duchy of Levs. Before the raiders strangled all trade they grew up to be craftsmen, merchants, some even sailors and not a few joined the very regiments Keen sought to replace. But not in the thousands, like this.


    Trindai sat on his horse repressing a wince at one awful manoeuvre after another. The training fields hugged Verd''s southern walls, and they were huge. With the dismal performance in view they had to be. The training spears were maybe half the length of the pikes they would be issued later but they could still inflict horrible damage when used right, or in this case wrong. The ranks were sparse, with enough room between each man that Trindai could easily have ridden his horse through the entire unit.


    The spears could still kill though. And the way the boys handled them it was more likely than not that one of them would have unhorsed him by sheer happenstance.


    Wiping rain from his face he glared at the subaltern shouting his commands in a frenzied attempt to bring a resemblance of order to what would hopefully become a unit one day.


    Late spring had brought on of the torrential thunderstorms that usually heralded summer. The earth and gravel where the recruits marched in disorder would soon be a maze of shallow pools. It couldn''t be helped. In battle you couldn''t be picky about weather. Besides, they needed to train the green officers as well. And they were green, almost as green as the recruits they trained. The brigade hadn''t seen service in his lifetime.


    Trindai cursed silently and rode to another unit performing only marginally less abysmal than the previous. The slugged through mud and water with the determination only a promise of a hot meal later could bring. Soon enough that determination would be of a different kind.


    The boys he''d forced through the only soldier''s school worth mentioning only a few eightdays earlier were veterans in comparison. Veterans by any comparison, he corrected himself. Those who survived the mutual slaughter on the streets of Verd had solidified into a unit. A silent, solemn unit, but still. They would become the core around which he built his army.


    Water splashed as Trindai''s horse waded through an especially deep pool, and he had to right himself to stay saddled. Bastard day to be out here. A white spear of lightning and the sharp crack shortly after brought his thoughts back to the unpleasant scenes after he''d appropriated over a hundred men from the Merchant Brigade.


    The merchants had pleaded and threatened, even tried to bribe him. He had answered by having one of them whipped in public. Minister de Verd''s scathing words afterwards were like soothing balm to him. Minister de Verd was to blame for Verd lacking a full three professional regiments. Greed had sent them on a fools errand east. Trindai swore. There would be repercussions for that later. Vimarin was not organized enough to protest, but Erkateren would make demand after demand as soon as the imperial troops crossed their borders and vanished up the mountains, and Erkateren had the only friendly fleet still afloat.


    Trindai ran de Saiden''s errands now, and happily. He had a mission, and he wouldn''t see any greedy merchant allow it to fail. That it turned out a legal impossibility to refuse a misfit named Arden de Krante to bribe himself to the commission of general, regimental class, was unfortunate, but if the man didn''t perform he could always have an accident. If he didn''t perform, well he was likely to have one on the field of battle without Trindai helping him anyway.


    He pulled in his reins to let a column of recruits pass. A silent curse from their officer told him he hadn''t been recognized. Should he dress the man down for insubordination? He dismissed the thought, he had ridden too close to the untrained men. Instead he just threw the soldiers an ironic salute. A few even made tried to return it. Their officer shouted at them and they quickly fell in line, or whatever made for a line considering the training they had received.


    He needed his men to fight for Keen. Not for the merchant houses, not for Verd, not for himself but for the Empire. To do so he had to have have a unit the rest of the army looked up to. One that would carry the banner into the jaws of death and stick it up its ugly throat to choke on. That unit must be paid by the empire, not the merchants who had done the actual recruiting.


    He rode on. It was time to bring out the Marble Dogs, Keen''s finest, the boys who two moons earlier wouldn''t have known which end of a spear to put on the ground.


    General de Markand had promised to keep the Imperial Guard occupied elsewhere. It wouldn''t do to have any unfortunate accidents, like five hundred men in the yellow and black laughing so hard they fell off their horses.


    They''d do it twice, two hundred at a time, in perfect order, with the last hundred to salute the thuds, just to spite me.


    ***


    Harbend stared back at Escha er Khanai, Khar of Khanati.


    "As much as I share your pain I am not sure this is the path Lady Weinak would have chosen."


    No, it is not. Listen to him your fool! Harbend trod on that inner voice with mental riding boots. "She was killed like an animal, used like an animal before that. They will die like animals!" he said instead.


    "That is the voice of revenge, not that of vengeance," Escha said. He hesitated slightly. "I will do this for you. You stood by my side when I was mad with rage." Once more he hesitated. "Lady Weinak, sweet Nakora, I would honour her memory otherwise."


    "I will be with you when and however you chose to honour her. This must be how I honour her." The inner protests were so subdued this time they hardly merited his attention.


    It was decided then.


    Escha had arrived only a short while earlier together with three more of his kind. Mindwalkers, Harbend guessed. He suspected Escha needed more than one. Neritan had been an exception, maybe even stronger a mindwalker than Escha was a jump khar. With the golden you never knew.


    What did they call mindwalkers in Khanati? Thought khars? It didn''t matter. They were here. That mattered. Harbend assumed the price would be steep. Khars didn''t come cheap, but he had the money to spare for once.


    Together they would find Gring with their magic, and with that knowledge Escha would jump them there. Harbend doubted the mindwalkers would join them. Escha had more likely than not dug up khars who already planned to travel here. They might even have paid him for his services, services that Harbend would have to pay for a second time.


    Escha turned to confer with his colleagues and Harbend took the reins of his horse and started walking. They had jumped here and would jump from here when the four mages were ready. Harbend doubted Escha would want to bring the horse along. He had refused to do so when they were searching for Arthur.


    Nakora''s horse. I wonder if it is still alive? The thought came unwanted, like the tears to his eyes. He forced them back. With tears came weakness, and he couldn''t afford to be weak.


    He stared at the nearest farm. A year ago the devastation would have made him aghast, now it was just another reminder of an uncaring world. Besides, he was a thief himself now, he had to remember that. Revenge came at a prize. Well, he would pay it when that day came, but first he would have something worth paying for.


    ***


    Whatever the army did well, behaving like proper troops was not part of it.


    Heinrich led his men in dispersed formation across a muddy field. A night like this would have made that crossing a living hell, but for TADATs in body walkers it could as well have been an exercise ground in glaring daylight.


    He knew the army were unfit to enter drop shuttles as anything but tourists, but he''d never dreamed of a civilian authority capable of the atrocity they had lived though that week. Able was the keyword here. It took years of training and an artists determination to commit all the awful mistakes he''d seen. The army alone had what it took to find the teachers who could invent the new ones he''d never known existed and make sure every student copied them to a fault.


    They rumbled onto the white stretch of highway he had known were here and turned west.


    No, no civilian authority could have done this, not more than once at least. There was something called responsibility hidden away in their instructions and not a single employee would have kept his or her job after the unholy mess they created here.


    The army though, they dispensed with anything mundane enough as the sheer concept of responsibility. They had replaced it by something they called chain of command, which usually resulted in no personal consequences as long as the commanding politician was happy, or at least not too discomforted, and the Federation couldn''t afford that, because that would mean admitting that the Federation itself had been at fault.


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    They ran in columns now. A thundering train of composite feet hammering on white stone.


    Heinrich knew he was rambling. That he was ranting almost forgotten lessons by his old commander Radovic. Heinrich also knew why he''d do better than doubt whatever political assessment Radovic made. There was a reason one was an Admiral and one a lowly Major. Still, no way in hell Erwin could even have imagined what Heinrich had witnessed here.


    No way in hell! An entire week to drop two hundred shuttles. Six fatal casualties when untrained shuttle pilots managed to miss a landing strip a mere three kilometres long and over five hundred meters wide. He shuddered. And then it had all gone worse, much, much worse.


    He was on his way to Verd now. He and fourteen TADAT in full combat suit. No one, not even Ulfsdotir''s thugs would even have thought about raising weapons against anything like that. These were not the lightly armoured body walkers for scouting missions he had used for half a year.


    And of course you could trust the army''s brains even less than paid muscles.


    He had ordered his units not to return fire. They hadn''t, at least not until some stellar genius had the brilliant idea to train one of the roof mounted stationary guns against combat body walkers. They had to return fire then. Those guns were powerful enough to rip even these walkers to pieces.


    Heinrich hoped the poor idiot never knew what happened when the gun, the mount point and part of the roof instantly turned to plasma.


    He had to get to Verd before the mastermind lunatic back at the base decided to excel even further in his display of witlessness. Like attacking a sovereign nation. The last attempt fifteen years earlier had shown with brutal clarity what happened when you tried to attack this one. Six thousand dead. Two carriers lost in orbit. Heinrich was one of eight humans to survive that drop.


    Erwin was another, and he needed to know what was happening. He might be navy now, but he had been TADAT before the political backlash had separated TADAT from the navy permanently. Now they were the closest thing the Federation had of an internationally accepted police force. A real pity Erwin had taken the other route.


    But Gatekeeper is navy. We fired at a hospital and a city ship. Quarter of a million dead civilians. Five hundred years of relative peace ripped to shreds by one madman in Gatekeeper, and he hadn''t even been army.


    ***


    Mairild greeted him sitting down in her chair. She had known this was coming. The reports were quite explicit.


    "Madame, I have come to convey my most sincere apologies on behalf of our government," Rear Admiral Radovic said as soon as he had seated himself.


    "And this apology is official?" she asked. This had to be done properly.


    "Yes. The actions taken by Brigadier Goodard are illegal. The Terran Federation has signed several treaties regulating our conduct with autonomous organizations, not to mention sovereign states.


    That was, as far as she was concerned one of her main problems. There weren''t supposed to be a diversity of sovereign states of outworlders, and now one hung like gleaming stars over her head, as if she didn''t have enough problems with the bright eye of the latest addition to the pantheon. "I''m quite interested in that part. You have to understand that we are quite upset with your withholding information about other nations for over fourteen years." You killed our men, and you killed everyone in one of your own sky cities.


    Erwin winced. What was he supposed to do? She should have guessed of course. She took the presence of other kingdoms for granted. Why not outworlder ones?


    "Am I to understand that the Federation is actively preventing a sovereign kingdom to make contact with us on their own terms?" She put as much ice into her voice as she could. This was supposed to be a scalding. The entire council waited next door and if half of them weren''t flat against it with their ears at the very moment she''d be surprised. Of course they wouldn''t understand the contents of the conversation, but she had to make it clear from her tone that this was a very one sided conversation. For once she didn''t have to act. She was scared beyond reason. Almost half of the population in Verd dead in an instant. What kind of weapons do you have?


    "As I said, his is an illegal decision. Besides, you haven''t exactly been especially forthcoming with our attempts at making contact with other states here."


    Good try, not good enough! "You explicitly asked that we contain your traders in Verd. Arthur Wallman wasn''t an official trader? Correct me if I''m wrong?"


    From Erwin''s looks that cut his attempt short.


    "What more have you to tell me of the illegal actions around the sky port?" This time the ice wasn''t faked. She was so frightened she wanted to cry.


    "I will make my utmost to make certain the bodies are recovered and sent here," Erwin said.


    "You murdered a full squadron of the Holy Inquisition doing the duty we had agreed upon on the place we had agreed upon and under terms we had agreed upon!" So, she was showing her hand?


    Erwin looked as if he didn''t care. Maybe he had guessed all along that the council had sources of their own. "Yes, we did," he agreed. "Those responsible will be apprehended and brought to justice," he continued, and for the first time she saw a grim smile reach his eyes.


    "How do you expect to prevent them from flying away?"


    "Legal authorities are in command of the stationary sky ship. Any ship flying there will be searched and any ship refusing search will be destroyed."


    She had to be satisfied with that answer. The young admiral was doing the best he could, but it wasn''t good enough. "And what about the act of war?"


    "I''m afraid I don''t have the military means available to retake the lands illegally seized by Brigadier Goodard."


    Mairild sighed. Of course you don''t, you''re alone, well, almost alone. "You have a small force here though," she said, once again showing her hand.


    "Yes, Major Goldberger, I believe you''ve met him before," Erwin shot her am angry grin. She deserved that one, "apparently decided to report here with all the information and as much weaponry as possible."


    "It''s only in order that I apologize for our misdirection last year," she conceded.


    "Misdirection indeed!" He laughed sharply. "How many ships did they sink on your behalf?"


    He already knew. Her spies among the new kind of outworlder visitors who had become so usual lately had gathered rumours about equipment similar to those holo cams she had seen, circling around her world. "All but ten or so. They were never involved in the action at the Narrow Sea," she admitted.


    "Thanks for small favours," he said, then he sunk into his chair as if hesitating.


    He can''t possibly have even more bad news? Or is he going to confess what happened to that sky city?


    "There is one more thing. We apprehended the renegade newscaster as promised and had her transported off this planet."


    "Yes?" Mairild did not like the way this was going.


    "Brigadier Goodard had her awakened and attached to his staff. I''m afraid she''s back." He shared the discomfort with her before continuing. "He also gave the illegal order to arrest Arthur Wallman on charges of treason. I''m aware that this order is illegal in both of our nations. I''ve therefore taken the liberty to attach Major Goldberger''s entire unit as mister Wallman''s personal bodyguard to prevent this."


    "You have?" She felt her face trembling.


    "Yes, and I''m afraid he doesn''t get a say in it, provided you agree, of course."


    "Provided I agree?" Part of the tension, far from all of it, but part ran off her, and she threw her head back and cackled with laughter. Listening council members or not, this gem was just too good not to enjoy.

 Intermezzo

    The man was dirty and tired. Still in his riding clothes. If he came here without changing to his robes first it had to be important. Cardinal Zaarbach waved for him to come forward.


    "Your excellency, there has been violence in Friedhafen." He didn''t even stop before gasping out his message.


    "Friedhafen? Cardinal Garnhalt is assembling the fleet there. What kind of violence?"


    The young man, barely an acolyte, bowed, trying to hide his eyes. "Violence, your excellence. Godless traders hurt some of the sailors."


    "Don''t be stupid! They may be godless, but they are still traders."


    "They refused taxes for the Reunion Fleet. There were casualties."


    And now they try to drop the problem in my lap. "You mean they refused to fund the fleet we would use to conquer their lands?" He sighed, but leaned forward for the youngster to kiss the ring on his hand anyway. "How many casualties?" he asked after receiving his due.


    The boy, he wasn''t old enough to be called a man Zaarbach saw, rose and backed away. "Trader''s quarter is mostly burned to the ground, almost all the way to the harbour"


    The cardinal shrugged. The killing was bad, but men killed and died whether he approved of it or not. Age had made him numb, but there was more to it than that. "Keen will demand an apology," he said. Five years ago Keen would have sent ships, but I would have been screaming this boy''s face off long before that. "I doubt they value the outpost that much any longer." Five years ago the raiders hadn''t come in strength yet, and he''d been unable to even comprehend how the count of Friedhafen would survive without the trade. He had, to the surprise of most.


    "Mich... count Friedhafen is most unhappy with the recent events." The boy had the decency to blush.


    Son? No, younger brother I think. No land for him and off they sent him to university. He smiled at the boy. The lapse hadn''t been a grave one. Had they hoped for a bishopric? Maybe, but that''s out of reach for you now.


    Survived, yes, but not unscathed. It had taken a man of great bravery and imagination however to come up with the idea of bribing the raiding dragonlings. Zaarbach leaned back in his chair, more like a throne and as uncomfortable. We were quick to catch up on that idea. I hope you enjoyed it in Keen.


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    "The count would do well to be more careful with his opinions," he said. You would do as well to keep a secret when you hear one. "There are those who think he shouldn''t concert with unbelievers from Keen. Some even say he loves money better than God."


    The youngster had listened. His eyes flared with anger but he stayed his voice.


    It was true though. With the raider fleet on the bottom of the sea money had found its way into Friedhafen again, and of course some resented that. The crown, such as it was, couldn''t afford its loyal subjects to become too powerful, as the years had shown. The crowns, the thought was distasteful, three of them, or isn''t there a fourth claimant now?


    It was the lack of De Vhatic galleys after the raiders were gone that gave birth to Cardinal Garnhalt''s plan to move the papal fleet north. It was to escort ships from Chach, but the escort far outnumbered any ships Chach could scrape together.


    "You may tell him that I disapprove of the killing, but that anyone refusing our right to claim God''s due should think twice before resorting to armed resistance." Killing traders was stupid, but Garnhalt had always been more a paladin than a man of the cloth. Too much in love with the sword as far as Zaarbach was concerned. "Tell him that God''s ordained must bring back the godless to His embrace. The fleet sails with our blessing." He bent forward, fist outstretched, to announce that the audience was at an end.


    Young Friedhafen, he was sure it was a younger brother now, kissed the ring and withdrew.


    Zaarbach waited for him to almost reach the great doors before coughing loud enough for him to stop. "Before you leave there are a few letter for His Grace Garnhalt I would have you carry." Better keep the youngster reminded where his loyalties lay now.


    Alone again Zaarbach rose and struggled down the stairs. Old, so old and feeble, but he wasn''t old enough to die before making certain that Garnhalt never sat the holy chair. A man of the cloth should not gird himself so eagerly with the sword. The day they elected a paladin they were no better than the heathens in Kordar.


    No, Garnhalt was not for the chair. He was proud and too sure of himself. Zaarbach doubted he would be satisfied with taking the ports from the godless. No, more probably march north, possibly even to the magic roads along which Keen ruled supreme. In the best of worlds the chair would make certain to have him canonized for his services to holy mother church.

 Chapter nine, Southbound, part one

    White streaks lined the sky. The first in weeks. Maybe activities had returned to normal at the star port.


    Heinrich doubted it. He''d arrived here the previous night and it was only late afternoon now. More troops? No, that didn''t make sense either.


    He watched the shuttles bank as they descended.


    Bank? They''re less than fifty klicks from destination? What the...


    All three shuttles lazily came to a full turn.


    They''re not headed for the port. Here! They''re going to land just in front of the damn city!


    He flicked on his sensors and turned magnification to max. His readings would be analysed and an answer given long before he could search his own memory for the origins of those shuttles, so he satisfied himself with giving his suit computer as much data as possible to use. It only took a few seconds, would have taken far less but for algorithms checking against possible countermeasures. When he got the requested information he drew in a long breath of air.


    Red News. Wallman''s Bloodhounds. They were infamous. Arthur may have been a genius in holo casting, but someone had to dig up whatever dirt the newscaster no longer believed should stay hidden. He was rumoured to have personally trained them in the digging part of the job. There were other exaggerated rumours surrounding the news team as well; like being able to land a shuttle on a mountaintop¡ªand still have the pilot on the ground with holo cams ready before the shuttle came to a full stop. That was ridiculous of course. Only TADAT did that. Then Heinrich remembered that a full third of the Bloodhounds were retired TADAT. Well, he thought, there''s a reason we retire at fifty. Pilot''s gotta stay in cockpit until the thing stops. He smiled and silently agreed that in most cases that overblown reputation had been hard won.


    He called to Chang over the com. There hadn''t been time to destroy the transmitters before they headed here. A violation of the law, but he believed Keen would find a way to overlook his transgression this time. With sixteen hundred trigger happy maniacs based at the star port they really had little choice in the matter.


    Above him a few birds veered away from the unexpected intruders and he hastened out into the training grounds to make sure the illegal landing at least didn''t cause any casualties.


    There was no need to. Whoever piloted those shuttles were experts and they came to ground with a minimum use of thrusters. To his disappointment the crews took their time to open and unload their cargo as slowly and securely as any civilian trader.


    Three shuttles, a team of eighteen. Two shuttles for cargo only apart for their twin pilots. The crew transport unloaded and men and women went to work offloading cargo with an efficiency that told of long years of work together. The first to come out was a small hovercraft, and by the time Heinrich arrived ready to give them a verbal bashing they were already busy loading the tools of their trade onto it.


    "You are violating just about every agreement with a foreign government," he started. He searched the faces as they turned. "Who''s in charge here?"


    "I am, Heinrich," a female voice came from inside one of the shuttles. "We''re violating nothing. Red News is registered with the Republic of Mars."


    That voice? Where have I heard it?


    "We haven''t signed anything for the simple reason you federation people kept us away from here and we, until now, accepted that one sided agreement."


    But who the...


    "And let go of the supremacy play. Only Erwin ever got away with it, and you know it!"


    "Gran? Granita?"


    "Old Juanita indeed. Wipe that snotty smile from your face and show some respect!"


    "Yes, Ma''am," the answer came out as a reflex he couldn''t stop. Granny Jita was one of the ugliest women he had ever had the honour to serve with and a full twenty years his senior.


    "That''s better! Now, will you give us a hand?"


    He got his bearings back again. "Now what the hell! You''re TADAT no longer, and if you were I''d pull rank to begin with."


    She showed a toothy smile. "Had to try."


    "What are you doing with them?" He pointed at the news team who were still loading the hovercraft. They barely looked back.


    "Declined officer''s training. Never wanted driving a desk, and when they allowed bat commands back in the field it was too late," she said as if it explained everything.


    He stared at her. Still strong as an ox, and still looked like one. "I mean Mars."


    "Made citizen. Feds had me stationed around that red ball of dust for so long I thought I might just as well make it home." She grinned at him. "Good to see you too."


    Heinrich blanched. "Sorry. Eh, welcome, or something. Still a damn stupid thing to do," he added and pointed at the shuttles. They''d have a few minutes before men from Keen''s cavalry reached them. The shuttles had touched down at the southern end of the fields.


    "We think not. By the way, say welcome to our official reason to come here. Mr William Anderson, meet," she eyed Heinrich''s body walker, "Major Heinrich Goldberger. Heinrich, meet Chief of Finance Anderson."


    A tall Martian jumped out of the shuttle as she spoke. It was, Heinrich thought, time to bring Erwin in on this. Red News made news. With a member of the Martian government on the passenger list it was going to be big news. Too big for a simple major.


    He turned his caster on again. "Chang, belay that. Get Erwin. We''ve got a diplomatic envoy for dinner."


    "Oh shit! I mean, yes Major"


    "Oh shit is good enough for me. You can tell the admiral that from me. And tell him old Granita decided to pay us a visit as well. You may have heard of her."


    He only received a long stream of curses in return. All of them made him smile. Chang didn''t look anything like Juanita, but they definitely shared the same colourful language.


    He sighed ruefully as the crew made the hovercraft ready and watched the arriving horsemen. Imperial Guard, Erwin had told him. Supposedly the best of the best in Keen. Heinrich didn''t doubt it. He knew next to nothing about horses, but anyone handling several hundred kilos of biting and kicking flesh like a body walker had to have received a thorough training. For all their fancy uniforms the riders looked like they ate and slept in the saddle. From the looks on their faces they probably ate those saddles for breakfast, and now they had come out for lunch.


    He settled back as comfortably in his straps as possible. He intended to enjoy the shouting about to start. Of course neither party knew the language of the other, but he suspected the choice of words would be rather limited, and that they really needed very little in the way of translation.


    He was right. Juanita made no secrets about her opinion concerning the cavalry commander''s probable heritage and Heinrich had heard the word gherin enough times to know that the replies were as flattering.


    Guard commander and Juanita went through the fauna of Earth and Otherworld and made certain no bodily orifice was forgotten in the verbal exchange.


    At his side the Martian minister grinned and laughed. Heinrich looked at him. In his pink, of course it had to be pink, jumpsuit he looked nothing like the powerful government official he was.


    "A pity they don''t understand each other," William said. "The conversation would have been so much more colourful if they had."


    Colourful? They''re armed and dangerous, and you think it''s a joke. "I think they get the basic meaning," Heinrich said instead. He looked at the tall Martian. "You''re the official contact then?"


    William just nodded and continued laughing.


    Heinrich grinned back. Not his problem. Erwin would have to handle this. As long as the exchange of insults didn''t turn violent there was little reason to do anything but enjoy the show. Besides, Granita had been an insubordinate old bastard as long as he could remember. No point in telling her officers training would have been a bad idea anyway. Old harridans from the old school didn''t have much of a future with the TADAT after they were reformed into an independent organization. The naval version hadn''t turned out too successful, even though the disasters could hardly be blamed on the poor troopers in their shuttles.


    He shrugged. Three out of the first eight back here. Almost cause for a celebration. They were legends and idolized. He knew that and had no problems with it. Being a hero sometimes made life easier, and in difference from Erwin his life wasn''t visible enough to bring much of the disadvantages that came with fame.


    No matter what. Until a few days ago he''d joined the choir screaming bloody murder at the thought of an entire news team landing here. Now, well, it would make his life safer if not easier. They had to get Arthur Wallman away from the city, and it would fall to him to make that escape come true. With Red News present he saw a possibility to change his plans. Why sneak away when they could leave to the sound of blaring trumpets?


    ***


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    Arthur took his reins and rode past Whore''s Crotch where they had spent a day during harvest festival last year.


    He looked back at the great, red walls of Verd. Men already manned the leftmost tower, or rather the telegraph mounted upon it. Frames cluttered with yellow and black squares went up and down, each frame shouting a message Arthur had never learned to decipher to someone he had never seen. Legend had it the tower had been a jump tower long, long years earlier, allowing mages with the gift to jump to arrive safely on the very walls of Verd. If so, no one remembered, or at least didn''t care to do so in public. Mages were executed in Keen. Hunted down like vermin, more likely.


    Arthur sighed and tugged his coat closer to keep the rain out. He felt good to be on the road again, even if it meant getting wet. Even if it meant joining another caravan. Different from the one he remembered.


    He glared at the hovercraft trailing them. Damn Bloodhounds had found him in the end. No, bloody good for nothing Rear Admiral Erwin Radovic had all but dragged him to his old news team.


    He was escaping Verd for very much the same reason he''d escaped Belgera. Stationed around the launch port the Federation army had fulfilled almost every prejudice he had against the military and even threatened Keen with an armed extraction if they didn''t comply and turn him over.


    The council had refused. Brigadier Goodard made good of his threat and only the presence of body walkers on the city walls and the very visible launch of one of the famous walker flares had stopped the advancing soldiers. Anyone in the solar system knew what those flares meant. TADAT, hot landing, requesting immediate assistance.


    He winced at the memory. The city population saw an impressive spectacle as the rocket went screeching into the sky. He guessed all visitors from home had at least thought of taking shelter. Only an idiot wanted to be in the target zone of a ship to ground bombardment, and the more selective assault drops weren''t much better. Most of the Bloodhounds had come back puking after he blackmailed the police to allow them to join an assault on a pirate base he had located.


    Juanita, who joined his crew less than half a year before that, fired all her missiles before landing inside a housing dome venting all its air into space. A third of the inhabitants died, either as a result of decompression or severe burns when Juanita turned the shuttle on its end and made a vertical landing with rear thrusters at full power.


    He was certain that had been the result of her age, or lack of training, or both. The returning TADAT had spoken about her with a mix of awe and admiration though. The hundred million FEM shuttle was all but wrecked, and as far as he knew even the military tried to keep their vehicles so they could get back from whatever hell hole they were sent into.


    He grinned as the memories came back to him. Old times, and a different Arthur Wallman. He turned that spectacular mishap into one of his golden shows. It had paid off twenty fold. As far as he knew Red News still made money from it.


    He returned to more recent memories. No bombs and no shuttles ever came down from the sky, but Orbit One fired a railgun once. One tracked vehicle was replaced by a crater in the ground. The flare had done its job. Brigadier Goodard retreated back to the launch port and made no new attempts to negotiate at gunpoint. That didn''t mean he''d given up, something Arthur had reluctantly accepted when Admiral Radovic explained.


    Arthur didn''t like to run, but he was a danger to the city now. Not even the news about Ulfsdotir being taken captive in Belgera and then released again made him change his mind, and so here he was, on horseback again.


    They rode the southern highway. On their way to Krante, a town he had never visited, and one with a history of its own as he had learned in Belgera.


    Passing the training fields took enough time for him to watch the soldiers marching up and down. Foot soldiers these. Not as well clad as those he''d grown used to inside the city walls, and a far cry from as well trained. He didn''t need to be one himself to see that. Half a year with the caravan escort had told him more than he wanted to know about soldiers, and the young men he saw here would have had the escort captain, no, General Trindai de Laiden now, bellow with displeasure.


    Arthur rode with Ken at his side. Ken had been adamant about joining them. To watch and Weave.


    The highway was wide enough for a dozen men to ride abreast with room to spare. They watched the road, the fields they passed and waved greetings to people they met, trying very much not to pretend they even knew about the fantastic menagerie of outworlder machinery all around them. A few times they exchanged sentences about nothing but for most part each man kept his silence, which suited Arthur just fine.


    It was not that Ken was impolite, but he did have an air of superiority around him, and Arthur couldn''t for his life guess what made the stranger think so highly of his own importance.


    When evening came the steady drizzle that had followed them throughout the day gave up on them as if it had known they were making for a roadhouse where it would be unable to reach them.


    They mounted their horses early next morning and rode the next day in as eerily as silence as the one before. Arthur, like Ken, preferred riding to sitting idle inside the hovercraft.


    Ken wanted to reach Krante before beginning his lessons. Krante may have boasted a Taleweaver''s Inn just like any other sizeable town, but Arthur suspected Ken just wanted to leave the one in Verd behind, as if Arthur had tainted it somehow.


    Well, he had the time to spare. Each day got him further away from Verd and the train from the launch port. From, not to. There was no fear in going there any longer. It was what was bound to arrive from there that scared him now, and if Ken preferred his silence as they made their escape from what Arthur wanted to avoid he wasn''t one to complain.


    Three days later they passed the gates of Krante, paid for rooms at a run down hotel close to the Taleweaver''s Inn. They each had a bath, and, by unspoken agreement headed directly for the inn. It was time to share both a meal and tidings alike.


    ***


    There was little learning to be had. Not that Ken avoided it, but the madness that had erupted took new shapes, new methods in its insanity, and it grew. Arthur had expected the religious fervour to die away as days came and went, and for a while it looked as if he''d been correct. Then night fell again, the new star still the brightest in the sky. It didn''t matter. Mothers and fathers brought their entire families into the streets and crowded the squares in silent prayer or singing.


    Krante may not have seen riots, but what had obviously been an important but boring town was now a centre of dissent.


    Old men with canes sat on stools brought out from inns telling tales of the last time a god had been born. Old, but not old enough to have seen it with their own eyes, Arthur guessed, and Ken confirmed his suspicion.


    They had planned to exchange Weaves in the Inn, but for once no one was interested. Taleweaver''s might be a once in a lifetime experience. Gods took to the stage more seldom than that.


    Ken convinced Arthur to leave the next day. Krante was becoming dangerous he said, and even though Arthur wanted to watch the madness he accepted Ken''s wisdom in this case. A few fights had broken out in the darkness, and the wall of silence that met questions of if anyone had been hurt made him uncomfortable. There was an ugly undertone to how neighbours chose factions after just two nights, and they were strangers, sacrosanct or not. The outworlder presence didn''t help neither.


    As they rode south on the highway Arthur thought he saw smoke behind him, but he accounted it to his imagination, or hope.


    They met more people than he remembered seeing the last time he made use of the white highways of Keen. It was more of an unplanned migration than an exodus. There were as many heading south as they met, and he soon stopped making any attempts at guessing the reasons for each individual to take to the road. He''d expected his own shining caravan to create more of an uproar than it did, but mostly they just received sullen stares.


    From time to time he saw soldiers in uniforms coloured to stand out from the rest of the population, or from enemy soldiers on a field of battle. From what he had learned they massed soldiers on as a flat piece of ground as possible and marched into each other. The art of staying hidden was still ahead of the killers of this world. A few, he noted, mixed with the people among them. Some had discarded all but their trousers, but others kept their uniforms on, acting like guards protecting their favoured assembly of believers.


    Fields lay deserted on both sides of the road, not all of course. Most were worked by men and women who shook their heads or made angry gestures at the madness passing them by.


    As the days passed the randomness turned into order, or rather several kinds of order. Each roadhouse they slept in, and they got rooms only because Arthur made the most of his being a taleweaver, had tales of people gathering at shrines and temples far from the road. For each new one they visited those tales had more elements of armed protection and a little less of friendly gatherings, and it only took a few eightdays before the first story about a pitched battle around a shrine reached them.


    Ken stopped Weaving at that time. He had more need of learning than of retelling, he said, but as far as Arthur was concerned he only found a comfortable excuse to avoid the risks involved in stopping the violence. We don''t take sides, we don''t take part. We Weave, he had said.


    That was cravenness taken to the extreme, and Arthur refused to abide by it. The very next night he entered the stage knowing well ahead what he was about to Weave. They needed to understand the dark road of religious fanaticism and where it would take them.


    He filled his mind with what he knew about Earth''s old witch hunts. Not enough. The Spanish Inquisition would have been good enough, but Keen had one of its own. In the end he decided on the German madness that had put Earth to the torch eight hundred years earlier and gave it religious overtones that had nothing with history to do. He was there to teach them a lesson, not as an advocate of rigid adherence to facts. He imagined a modern inquisition, placed a theocracy in the place of the rulers of the time, recalled as much of the atrocities he could. He mixed it, coloured it and made himself believe it, as if he had experienced it himself. Then he carried that anguish and fury foremost to his mind, and he Wove.

 Chapter nine, Southbound, part two

    Ken gasped in pain as he was kicked forward in the queue. Ahead him he saw the gates of Buchenwald Camp of Redemption. The gravel road was lined with guards from the Church of True Faith, the holy book of Ra in one hand and a neural whip in the other. A flaming swastika on their chests showed their devotion.


    Passion by wrath, love in pain and freedom through obedience. He knew the mandates, but he had broken them, and now he was to be punished, redeemed.


    He took another step and looked around. Behind him a freckled girl faltered. He heard the whining and the crack as a whip took her back. Then a shrill scream.


    This has never happened. This is a lie.


    The tip of the whip bounced and snapped at his legs. Fire! Flames ate him from below. He burned from the inside, and the pain was far, far more than he could bear. He screamed, and fell.


    Behind him the girl who had take the full measure of the whip whimpered. Her life ran out of her mouth in red gushes of blood.


    I''m not here. Not real. A Weave, a bastard Weave.


    He crawled to his knees. He had to walk, had to earn his right to redemption. Pain was better than what awaited the unrepentant.


    As he passed the gates towering chimneys towered above him. Those beyond forgiveness ended their evil days there, but he still had a pure core in his sole. He could still be saved.


    Not real. I''ll spike your bowels to the door! Damn you Arthur Asshole Arrogant Vain Worthless Wallman!


    The last thought lingered between realities. He clung to it but lost his grip. Redemption, he walked the last road to redemption.


    ***


    Heinrich and Juanita, the latter with the help of two men in her news team, tore Arthur and Ken apart. Arthur, or Ken, Heinrich wasn''t sure who, had done something, and when he arrived to investigate the screams he found them rolling on the floor doing their best to strangle each other.


    All around them in the tavern people where on their knees, screaming, moaning or crying. By the time he was sure he wouldn''t have to report Arthur for murder or bring his corpse back to Verd most of the people had crawled away. A few still stayed though, and they were staring at Arthur with gratitude shining from their eyes. Then, slowly as if having made an important decision they departed.


    Heinrich didn''t care. He barely avoided dragging Arthur through a pool of vomit on the floor and dumped him into a chair.


    "What the hell..."


    "Idiot! You arrogant child! How dare you interfere? We Weave, yes, but we never interfere!"


    Heinrich jumped at the tirade. So, Ken was angry about Arthur doing something. Probably Arthur''s doing then. That didn''t exactly surprise Heinrich.


    "They had to know," Arthur responded.


    The strangeness took a short while for Heinrich to register. When it did he shrugged it away. Warrior gorilla or golden eyed alien, or, apparently, some rooms voided the need for interpreters. He was getting used to a few of Otherworld''s peculiarities.


    "Fool! They know for certain. You changed the Weave!"


    "What are you talking about?" Arthur made as if to rise.


    He had calmed down, which was good, but Ken was still close to hysteria. Better let him get it out of his system. Heinrich pushed Arthur back into his seat.


    "You are an ignorant cretin. Whenever we Weave we travel the threads of the Weave. You have no right to add threads or patterns to the Weave."


    "Whatever. Watch and Weave, never interfere. Blah blah blah. People are dying here. We have a responsibility to make them..."


    "You just changed history. You made your fantasy Nazi church part of our history. Listen, learn and shut the hell up before you tear this world even further apart!"


    This time Arthur only opened his mouth.


    Heinrich stared at Ken. He''d stopped believing things were impossible here. Stopped the moment a dragon appeared out of nowhere and made him and his entire command blink out of existence and reappear in the middle of combat a moment later. Juanita gaped as well. She was new here, new to the magic of Otherworld and probably still had problems coming to terms with her suddenly being able to understand the local language.


    Ken rose and shrugged away the hands that tried to force him back onto the floor. "Not going to hurt him. He''s trying to get himself killed without my help." He turned to Arthur again. "Now I just have to convince you not to kill the rest of us on the way."


    "I don''t think..."


    "Shut up! I don''t know how things work in your damn brave new world, but it doesn''t seem to have improved much since I left it, so just shut up and listen!"


    Hairs rose on Heinrich''s back. Ken hadn''t spoken the local language at all. It was English, but English of a kind Heinrich had never heard from any holo casting.


    Ken coughed. "He forgot to tell you? Yes, I''m from Earth and I''m a fucking seven hundred years older than that misfit of yours, so if he obstructs my lesson again would you be so kind and knock his teeth out?"


    "That''s, that''s impossible..." Heinrich tried to swallow the words back, but it was too late. At Ken''s side Juanita gasped.


    "No, only unlikely," Ken said and smiled. Then he became all serious again. "That makes me senior to anyone else here. Now," he glared at Arthur, "there are a few details you should consider very, very carefully. When you Weave you Weave. You can change the Weave, add to it, and that Weave is the foundation of this world. Gods do the changing, taleweavers only mend frayed threads or patch together lost patterns. Sometimes we make mistakes, and there''s a price to pay. Understand?"


    Arthur nodded sullenly but stayed silent.


    "Good! We never, ever, deliberately change the Weave, because we can''t understand what changing this world will do to it. You just changed the history of this world. People won''t become unborn or anything like that, but from now on your disgusting fairytale is part of what happened here. Maybe in someone''s true dreams, or somewhere there''s a patch of land where a ghost talker can feel the remnants of a short lived nation that almost was."


    Heinrich couldn''t tell if the words or Arthur''s silence was the worst. True or not, Ken honestly believed what he told Arthur, or he had to be one hell of a liar That also made Arthur a criminal of a kind. Criminally stupid? Heinrich would like to think so. The newscaster had dug up dirt everywhere the last twenty years or so, and even though Heinrich had admired the charming hero as a child he''d grown more and more disenchanted with the royal pain in the butt as he grew older. The Wallman empire never ceased to grow. No truth was unimportant¡ªas long as there was a FEM to be made from it.


    He remembered how angry he''d been when he found out that Wallman had charged, and charged well, for the holo casts they''d received during those lonely years he spent grounded here after the failed invasion. The navy paid, as Wallman must have known they would. Even a rumour about failing to make life easier for the eight survivors would have been fatal for the navy''s reputation.


    "...in Kordar probably have new legends they don''t know where they came from as well?"


    Heinrich abandoned his line of thought as Ken''s words brought him back to the here and now.


    "What is Kordar?"


    Ken stared at him. "Sorry, you wouldn''t know. It''s a kingdom north of Keen. Used to be warlike with ideals similar to medieval Europe. Knightly virtues and all that."


    "I don''t understand," Heinrich said. He didn''t.


    "It''s not important. What is important is that I travelled here because I heard a retelling of the King Arthur legend."


    Heinrich realized he looked like a fool, but he shook his head anyway.


    "You are familiar with that one?"


    "I''ve heard about a king with that name, but ancient history, well..."


    "Oh dear," Ken said. "Really! Maybe historical, maybe not, but the legends most definitely have very little with history to do. Now, our bright little arrogant idiot didn''t just tell that legend. He had to Weave it I guess."


    Arthur nodded again.


    "So, somewhere, somehow, all those legends are indeed a historical fact." Ken sighed. "You idiot! They''re as little part of this world as your last display. You had no right to interfere with reality here."


    "Oh shut up," Arthur said. "You weren''t here to tell me at the time. I''ll stick to the facts in the future. Happy now?"


    Heinrich saw Ken redden, but he didn''t go into a fury again.


    "I''m not happy, but what''s done can''t be undone. We can only hope the damage isn''t too bad."


    Heinrich relaxed a bit. The tension had gone and even though neither Arthur nor Ken looked satisfied an outright brawl seemed unlikely now. Maybe it would be just another calm day on the road after all.


    ***


    Trindai rode through the gates barely throwing a glance at the farwriter. Less than a season earlier he''d been worried about the frantic activity on the tower, but emergencies were just a part of daily life now.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Keen was mobilizing for war, and he was part of that now. Strange. A life in the uniform, and yet he''d never really believed he would ever live to see a war. They trained the best to enforce peace, and maybe that was the reason. The best. He wasn''t so sure about that any longer.


    Even though the exercises were no longer a disaster the new brigade was still a far cry from the professional soldiers he took for granted. He had his core, the men he''d led murdering their own citizens. A few hundred determined men and as professional as anyone else. Maybe not as well trained, but they absorbed all he could throw at them with a vigour that almost scared him.


    What a disgusting way of growing up. Boys, they had still been boys and now they were men bent on vengeance. Some, he suspected, on revenge. He drew a deep breath and let out the air again. Time to abuse his men again. He would make soldiers of them. Too many had the looks of warriors and large units of infantry could not afford that kind of individualism.


    Taking his reins in one hand he rode out into the training grounds. Green officers led green soldiers in formation across the dirt and gravel. Soon enough he''d trust them to move together in field manoeuvres That, he knew, would be something different. Uneven ground, small hills and crops of trees to break up whatever experience they''d gained here.


    He smiled. At least the rains had forced them to learn how to handle pools of water. They may not look much like an obstacle, but a line of pike men soon became a disarrayed horde as those walking through water slowed down. Now they kept the formation intact. Bruises and a few cuts had taught them that.


    At the far end of the training grounds he saw a small group of soldiers involved in exercises of a very different kind. Outworlders, the eight men left behind to make certain those at the sky port didn''t come back in arms.


    Trindai stared at the men and women in that unit in their outlandish armour They were running and jumping around the three outworlder flying vessels left on the field. He didn''t really understand exactly why they trained their movements, but he had a feeling it was supposed to be combat among buildings. Certain enough that he had ordered a mock town built some distance away. It was a new way of training, and he intended to use every scrap of advantage he could steal.


    Soon he oversaw rank after rank of men trying to grasp how to change formation. They were getting better, much better. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after that he would march them into the fields further west. Then they would certainly look like idiots again, but that was only part of their education. Before he marched south they''d be able to keep ranks unless they were climbing mountains.


    ***


    "How are we proceeding?"


    Olvar de Saiden looked up from his desk.


    Mairild returned his glare. Olvar behind a desk was a comical sight. His body simply didn''t look like it was used to sitting in the first place, and as he never bothered with ordering furniture large enough for him he always gave the impression of a giant playing with toys.


    He wasn''t, of course. Some work required paper and solitude, and she had intruded on his. Still, information, she needed as much of it as possible to do her own part in the coming war.


    "Markand''s south of Krante now. We''ll be able to communicate with him for another two eightdays or so," Olvar said.


    "And Tenanrild?"


    "She says wagon loads are already on their way. Good thing you came up with that idea."


    "Thank you," Mairild said. "Any idea how long it will take to set up the new farwriters?"


    Olvar rose and walked to a large map behind his desk. "Crews, mostly, will be the problem. I think we can have the towers built in less than an eightday after the carpenters get in place. We don''t have that many crews though." He stabbed at a point south of highway''s end. "Three within an eightday. Another five shortly after. After that I can''t promise anything."


    Mairild looked at where he pointed. Eight towers. It would do wonders to their line of communications. Not enough though. They would need more, a lot more.


    "I know," Olvar said as if he had read her thoughts. "I''ll get the guards trained at least. Garkain has promised more carpenters at least. Women mostly, and they''re really not up for the heavy work. Well, at least the towers will be better built when they get them raised."


    Mairild nodded. The Minister of Crafts had delivered miracles, and now he apparently tried to outdo himself once more. "I''ll have the new crews trained in time then," she said. "If the constructions are going to be a bit late we could as well use that extra time to make certain the operators know the codes."


    Olvar smiled back. A huge smile. "Don''t want to get our messages wrong, do we?"


    Mairild shivered. "They''re told rather to request a resend than to make a guess. No, we don''t want those messages wrong. Besides, there''s little else we''re going to send that far south. They won''t be as busy as the rest. I hope," she added.


    Olvar grinned. It was a grin you could use to scare children, or merchants. "I have convinced Glarien to abstain from the new opportunities created until after we get this war over with."


    "He wasn''t too happy, I guess."


    "He was too interested in his continued good health so he forgot to be unhappy," Olvar responded. "And I made it perfectly clear it would deteriorate with astonishing speed if he tried anything."


    That was a threat from anyone. From Olvar it was the next thing to brandishing a weapon. Yes, he certainly was the perfect Minister of War now. Horrifying. Hopefully the papacy would find out just how horrifying. She did have second thoughts. What about after the war? Would Olvar become too enchanted with his new powers? He was a warmonger by instinct and a very dangerous man.


    Mairild stepped closer to the map. South. All the way to Mintosa. If they hugged the coast and sailed east before crossing the Narrow Sea they had a chance to fall upon Chach undetected. A chance. And after they made landfall?


    "Cavalry is a problem, but then it always was. We won''t have enough trained for anything better than a light screen," Olvar said. "That is the good news I''m afraid."


    "How so?"


    "With trade in decline for several years Garkain really had to scrape his resources dry. Production of crossbows has been abysmal. A hundred, at most."


    Mairild wasn''t an expert on weapons and their use in massed numbers. Still it sounded rather on the low side even to her. "How many do we need?"


    "Six or seven hundred to begin with. I would prefer a thousand. Anyway, we have an even worse problem. There simply isn''t any way to make enough quarrels."


    He was lying. She could see it in his eyes. "Tell me what you''re thinking!"


    "Erkateren."


    One word. One single word and a nightmare for them both. "After what we did to them I don''t think they''d agree to make weapons for us," she said avoiding the real reason for her fear.


    Olvar was never one to shy away from his fears though. "They would, if we paid them enough. What happens when someone finds out we go to war with magecrafted weapons?"


    She tried to shy away from the forbidden. Too close now. Olvar didn''t know just how long she had traded that dance. "I guess we couldn''t afford their price. Besides, why pour our coins into artistically crafted ammunition?"


    "They can harden the wood with the arts. If we win the field the soldiers could go out and collect the quarrels."


    "You would have our men looting the dead?"


    "I''ll have our men eating the dead if it wins us this war!" he barked in reply. "We either remove the threats of battlemages permanently or we''ll end up with them outside the very walls here. If I don''t have enough crossbowmen their archers will slaughter our phalanxes."


    Mairild had heard the theories. "I''ll see what I can do," she said.


    "Thank you. I''ll assign some miracle worker to start train the number of crossbowmen we need even if we don''t have the weapons."


    Mairild knew he would find someone he could scare into doing the impossible, and then he''d scare that person into doing it well.


    The meeting was at an end and she had work to do, some laws to break, and after that she would violate one of the few tenets held sacred. She had done that a few times before but never as blatantly. Mairild nodded, turned on her heels and left the study.


    She sighed. This one was certain to become known. With luck she''d survive the war, but after that her life was forfeit. It seemed she had run out of ways to cheat death. Well, it was for the best of Keen. She would face the Holy Inquisition when the day came.


    And that left thinking of things to do and things to plan. A lot of the latter of a private nature. Her children, all of them grown and with children of their own, needed warning. The fathers, at least two of them she would give time to escape as well. The third could die for all she cared.


    One husband buried. She never remarried¡ªfor good reasons. The spy master was best off without that kind of possible hostages. At least that was how she had reasoned and yet her body bore her two daughters and three sons during the long years she had served with the council. It was strange how life played out its threads in the end.

 Intermezzo

    That was not a few ships he saw approaching the harbour It was an armada almost as large as the first raider fleet that had arrived to sink any vessel they caught. Armada or not, any ship sailing too close to the harbour would receive a fiery greeting.


    Mintosa had always paid her taxes to Keen in a timely fashion, and General Markand had been kind enough to leave a double eight of trebuchets on the piers after the ambush on the raiders.


    He turned to his runner. "Tirbus can start his boilers now."


    "Yes my lord."


    A moment later he saw the boy take the stairs in a headlong dash only the very young would dare. What a day to inherit his father. Count Mintosa fumed within, but as he was basically an honest man he admitted there had been little love lost between him and the man who had sired him. That, of course, had been no reason at all not to string up the swine from Chach when they were caught. Assassins! The insult!


    "Should we make the ballistae ready as well?"


    Count Mintosa frowned before answering his brother. "You think they know about them?"


    "Certain," came the reply from a pockmarked face he''d come to trust rather than a father always too absent.


    "Then, Urses, do as you prefer."


    Urses grinned back. "As you well knew I would anyway. Only my good manners made me ask you first. Oh, that should end with a my lord, I assume, or would you prefer Count Hephasteus Mintosa?"


    "Go, just go away and spare me!" Count Mintosa threw his hands up to a cloudless sky. "Why gift me with useless younger brothers when I could have had sisters to marry off?"


    Urses ruffled Hephasteus'' hair in a clear indication of how much he cared for dramatic prayers. "If they looked like me you''d have to pay for the marriages," he laughed.


    They hugged briefly, like men too close to breaking do sometimes, and Urses was on his way. Hephasteus turned serious again. There really had been little reason for mirth.


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    He stared out at sea again. Those were papal ships, and he gave up all hopes that it was nothing more than a Midland warlord overreaching. They would have to fight for survival this time, and he had all but promised General Markand to keep the barges safe.


    ***


    Urses shouted in disbelief as most of the ships made anchor well out of reach for Tirbus'' artillery. They had disabled a couple of ships coming too close. One still burned like a funeral pyre. The other had gone down taking her crew and soldiers with her.


    "What are they doing?"


    "You ask me?" Urses said to his captain. "I can''t see what they could possibly..."


    "Gods!"


    Urses stared. They were bringing horses out on the decks, and mounting them. "They can''t... Gods!" he repeated as rider after rider in armour jumped his horse out into the sea. None sank. Three full ranks of heavy cavalry came charging across the waves singing hymns. Whatever magic they worked he knew only one thing mattered¡ªMintosa was doomed.


    "Take down as many as you can. Get the people out the north gate and try, at least try to defend it from the outside!"


    "Abandon Mintosa? That''s treason!"


    Urses glared at his captain, once. "Mintosa is a death trap. I''ll tell my brother as much. After that he''ll die heroically defending the city while you obey my direct orders and get the people to safety. Is that understood?"


    It was, and he did, and by nightfall the new count of Mintosa grieved his brother and best friend on his way north. More would die south of him, just so he could bring warning to Keen.


    Hephasteus had been right. It was an awful way to inherit.

 Chapter ten, Vengeance, part one

    "It is done."


    Karia sat down in the grass. He was tired beyond reasoning. When was the last time he had eaten? They slept whenever they had a chance but without food sleep helped less than he would have thought. Fighting in the mountains was never this bad. Long days of waiting followed by moments of frantic fighting, but never the endless hunt before the killing began. Executions more than fights.


    He rose and swept the plains for more prey. None to be seen, none left. They had kept count. Not a single man lived to brag about rape and murder. Wherever she went after death Nakora was avenged.


    Strange then that he should only feel tired. When they started the strange game of predator and prey he had hoped for satisfaction, but that emotion never emerged. Somewhere he understood that they had become even less than animals, because only an unthinking avenger could have managed the eightdays of horrors they had brought upon the hunted as well as themselves.


    "Gring, we''re done. What now?"


    She walked back from the last corpse, trampling grass ahead of her. "Don''t know. We created honour, but I feel dirty, and we''re not done yet. More dirt will cling to me before we are finished."


    Karia looked at her. Taller than any of his sworn men, tusks red with blood after she ripped the throat out of the last of the murderers and more human than most he had ever known. Maybe she was right about humanity after all.


    "Then what?" he asked. "Ri Khi, to bring vengeance to their very homes?"


    "Ri Khi," she confirmed. "This must be paid in full. Honour demands it. We are but tools."


    There it was. She liked this even less than he. Too much killing. More than he''d been involved in during years of campaigns against his enemies. Khraga like Gring.


    "So be it. Could we at least rest, feed and wash. My men follow me out of loyalty, but I have forced them far beyond that border. It is not fair. I," he faltered. "I would dishonour them otherwise," he finished when he realized what he wanted said.


    Gring nodded. "You are right. I apologize. We rest."


    Karia turned and went through the high grass in search of his men. Blood everywhere. The last they found had crawled and begged. Two even weapon less. It never mattered. The very last, the one Gring killed with her tusks, tried to flee with only his hands. He couldn''t walk with two shattered legs.


    Karia wondered what made someone using the very last of his body that way. They must have known the end was coming, and still.


    "Aphitus, make camp upwind. We''re finished here," he said when he saw one of his riders. We''re finished, and so are my men. Seven alive. Twelve dead. Why did we have to run into those nomads?


    He walked to his horse and dug for some scrap of food he knew he wouldn''t find. It graced while he searched his pack. Searching was more important than finding. It gave him something to do. Something to occupy his mind with.


    They would rest for a day or two. Hunt perhaps and then west. Trailing the caravan, he guessed. If they could even find its tracks. The hunt had taken them far, far out into the Sea of Grass, and he no longer knew where they were. Gring did. She always did.


    ***


    Gring wiped her tusks with grass, spat some out and swallowed some. She would throw it all up later, but she had a need to clean her throat as well.


    In her mind she thanked Karia. She owed him more than he could ever guess. Truly he was no halfman. His humour and make pretend stupidity kept her sane when otherwise she would have broken. No human should kill this much and not feed once. Prey lived to be eaten. They were precious and it grated in her consciousness to kill only for the killing.


    She didn''t even have coins as an excuse. Halfmen did. They could argue almost any deed was worth doing if only the money was right, or power. She couldn''t. That was not her world.


    She owed Karia more than her own sanity. Of the men sworn to him less than half lived. They had fought like true humans and died to keep his promise. She should have known of course. His was a strange lot. Every summer they fought her own on equal terms in the snow where humans had the benefit of strength as well as resistance to cold. She had heard rumours of the halfmen warriors but always discarded them as exaggerations. No halfman born took up arms against those odds, or so she believed. Now she knew she was wrong. Those who valued loyalty higher than life would. It was almost like honour Just a different kind, this loyalty.


    So much to learn about the world. So many years squandered protecting her honour That way lay ignorance, and in its wake followed a danger she was only grasping the edges of.


    First vengeance, though. After that she had an entire life to learn and relearn. A vague feeling of disapproval settled in her mind, but she firmly pushed it aside. All great humans had met with disapproval, and she slowly understood why. There were truths that hurt and secrets buried deep inside human ways. The greatest maybe that halfmen lived lives so short they were forced to learn that much faster, and so, as a whole, they had learned more than humans. If her kind didn''t catch up a day would come when this world had no place for them. Just a different kind of the hunters game, and prey who didn''t learn became meals.


    She growled a laughter and released a full burst from her predator''s glands. Prey! She had seen her own become prey even before they left Braka. Those villages would be nothing but broken wrecks by now.


    Random thoughts flew through her mind as she gathered grass. Time to make a nest. She would burrow deep inside it and sleep. Tomorrow her fur would need cleaning. Picking straws took a long time, but she didn''t care. The need to grow young again, if only for a single night was too strong. She wished she could nestle into her mother''s embrace. Memories of days lost flashed through her, and smells of safety, and love.


    ***


    Infinity and nothingness changed places. He was everywhere and in between, and then he was elsewhere. Harbend had forgotten just how strong Escha was. Jumping with him was becoming a little bit like the sleeping gods Escha used.


    Borrowed a tiny bit of the gift from, Escha said. He always refused talking about the gift as something you used. Only a loan, and all loans had to be paid in full or else you died. Harbend didn''t really understand, but then he wasn''t a mage.


    He looked up and remembered. The Sea of Grass. This was where he had spent one glorious season with Nakora. Wonderful memories. Hurtful memories. She was gone, forever.


    "Where are we?" he asked. Idiot question!


    Escha looked back as if to answer the question. Instead he only shook his head and smiled. He nodded south and a wide path cleared in front of them. There was more than one way to use the gift.


    Harbend followed in Escha''s steps. They would walk the last bit. There was no reason to arrive too close to Gring, even if she was a mindwalker.


    He looked west. Strange. He didn''t remember the caravan ever veering this far from the mountains, and where was the caravan?


    "Escha, where are we?" he repeated, this time in earnest.


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    Escha turned. "Further east," he answered and smiled that sad smile again. "I believe we are not the first to hunt."


    Harbend frowned but said nothing. Gring would have answers to his questions.


    Together they continued following the path Escha created ahead of them, Harbend trailing the khar and planning what he would do next.


    After some time he heard horses, and then a rider arrived. He didn''t recall seeing him before. Leather, dirty and torn, a short bow and a quiver dangling at the saddle and a sabre in hand. None of Trindai''s men, that much was certain, but neither did he belong to the men from Ri Khi.


    The rider barked a question in a language Harbend didn''t understand.


    "Who are you," he asked in De Vhatic, then in Khi and last in Veric. He didn''t receive as much as a glimmer of understanding.


    Another rider approached. This one he remembered. From Belgera? Yes, their guide in the capital.


    "Do you remember me?" he asked.


    "I remember you very well, Master de Garak." There was a haggard smile oh his face. "I wish we could have met in happier times."


    "Karia Graig?"


    "Your memory does you honour," Karia said. "What brings you here?"


    "Do you have to ask that question? By rights I should be in Verd now."


    Karia bowed in his saddle. "I didn''t, but it was only polite to do so anyway."


    "Where is Gring," Harbend asked. He was less than graceful, but need ate his soul.


    Karia frowned slightly but pointed across the grass rather than spitting out the sharp retort Harbend had expected.


    Harbend followed Karia''s direction with his eyes. A slight breeze carried the smell of the plains mingled with decay. Suddenly he was certain Gring had already started his work.


    Heavy steps announced another arrival. It had to be Gring. Anyone else would have come on horseback. It was.


    "Harbend, I thought you would come. Not this fast, but I knew you would come for the sake of your mate."


    Harbend stared at her and nodded. What should he say? He looked at her. How long since she cleaned her fur properly? How long had she been doing his work?


    "Karia, why are you here?"


    "I was sworn to Nakora," Karia answered as if everything came clear with those words. Maybe it did.


    "How many are left?" Harbend asked. How many do I get to kill?


    "They''re all dead. At least all who rode with us. More where she lived," Karia answered.


    Harbend felt fury rising. He''d been cheated. "None left?"


    "None," Gring said. "Not here. We are going to her home, as Karia said. Those truly responsible for the dishonour are still left."


    Not cheated after all then. He had promised himself to visit revenge on all involved.


    "Good," he said. "I have hired Khar Escha''s services for some time. We should be able to arrive there before anyone else."


    "Bastard gherin! They don''t even know!" Karia didn''t look happy.


    "They do not have to know. What need do the dead have of knowledge?"


    Escha grabbed Harbend''s shoulder. "I will help, but are you certain this is the path you want to follow?"


    "Want? I must!"


    Escha shook his head. The smile was long gone and in its place Harbend saw a sadness so profound that the dead man inside of him momentarily woke. It was no use. He couldn''t afford becoming that man again. "You understand, you must! Trai died and you had your revenge."


    "And an empty satisfaction that was indeed. Yes, Trai died. I lost him. He''s gone and my life is bleaker for that, but Harbend, that loss was nothing compared to the memories of what I did."


    Harbend shook himself loose. "I will have my revenge, just as you. I can live with what I did. I will not live with what I did not do!"


    Escha turned to Gring. "I promised him I''ll help. I won''t like it, but I will."


    "I understand," she said.


    "I need you to help him. I can jump us all to Ri Khi, but finding people is not my gift. I need the mindwalker you are."


    "I have started something I must finish. I am, as you halfmen say, getting second thoughts, but I am honour bound to finish in Ri Khi what I''ve started here."


    Escha clasped her arm. Harbend watched them. Escha''s unhappy face was easy to read, but he was surprised to understand that Gring shared those thoughts. No, not so much that she shared them as his being able to read her so clearly. At least that was what he said to himself. It had to be done, or else he would never rest again.


    "If we''re decided then we have a long ride ahead of us," Karia said.


    He was in for a surprise, Harbend thought grimly. "I said ahead of everyone else. Escha will jump us there."


    "I won''t leave our horses. Your blood thirst will have to be delayed."


    "Who said you would have to leave your horses behind?"


    Karia stared at him, then at Escha. "Are you serious? I''ve heard about the khars from Khanati, but horses?"


    Escha gave Karia one of those sad smiles. "Master de Garak is quite serious. It''s taxing, but I could jump a small army all over the world. I might die if I did, but I could."


    Karia looked as if he was about to protest, but then he took the reins and turned his horse around. "I guess I had best gather the men then," he said as he rode away. He even managed to radiate disappointment from behind.


    It was settled then. Harbend would join the quest for revenge that should rightfully have been his from the beginning. He pushed away the feeling of resentment. Nakora was one to love. He could hardly blame her friends for avenging her.


    He settled down and waited for them all to get in order. Gathering men and horses would take its time, and even if he was in a hurry there was little he could do to speed them up.


    Leaving the Sea of Grass, for the last time, he hoped. If he never saw the open plains again in his life it would still be too soon. They had taken too much from him.

 Chapter ten, Vengeance, part two

    They arrived in a bubble of clear air surrounded by dust. A couple of the horses shied away nervously and almost all riders were white faced. One gulped, gulped once more and threw up over the side of his horse.


    For once Harbend''s hate had to step aside and give room to another emotion. Awe, pure and simple awe. What Escha had just done went beyond description. They had become part of something as vast as the universe, had for a moment been part gods themselves and for the second time since he lived one of Arthur''s Weaves Harbend gleamed a little of what drew mages to immerse themselves further and further in the gift. He understood Trai''s scars and why Escha''s dead lover had faced the risks inherent in overusing the power.


    A look at Escha''s drained face sobered him. There was a reason for Escha''s reluctance to indulge himself too much. Maybe both khars had been equals in power, but one was dead, and Harbend saw that very little coincidence had played a part in the choice.


    Harbend turned his attention to his surroundings instead. He''d been here less than half a year earlier. Winter then. Of the wintry and barren landscape he remembered from their frantic attempts at locating Arthur nothing was left. Spring flowers filled the air with smells and promises of summer.


    A summer he by rights should have shared with Nakora. Well, he brought promises of his own here.


    The outer city still sprawled along the southern road barely hiding the stone structures of Ri Nachi proper, and people were everywhere. Not a few of them gaped at their sudden appearance. Harbend wondered why. Mages often came here, and then he recalled the way they had arrived. The jump tower soared into the air a fair distance behind them. Bringing horses to the glassy platform had been out of the question of course.


    He barely had time to throw Escha a questioning look before the khar nodded at Gring.


    "It was empty, Escha brought my mind here first," she confirmed.


    Harbend shuddered. Trai would never have given that a single thought. Jumping into something spelled disaster for anything involved. Escha had proved that when he tore down the castle where they finally found Arthur.


    Trai''s fiery magic may have looked more impressive, but Harbend suspected that whenever Escha used his gift of jumping as a weapon the results were only so much more horrifying.


    Slowly order returned, and Karia had his men ride through the gawking crowd in good order. Some of his men still looked slightly sick, but the need to handle horses among people quickly took over.


    Harbend walked beside Escha and followed the riders from Braka. No need to hurry now. Across the river answers lay waiting, and death.


    ***


    "I think he''s mad."


    "He is, and so were we. Let him have his revenge," Karia told Aphitus. "We cheated him. You know that. In his heart he feels cheated even if he never says anything," he added.


    Aphitus opened his mouth but kept his silence.


    "Yes, he is mad," Karia confirmed. "What would you do if someone killed your wife that way, or your daughters?"


    Aphitus mumbled something through his beard, but Karia could see his face redden slightly. The daughters were a subject you didn''t bring up easily. Two dead already, one this very winter when madness hit Belgera. It had taken him all his strength and ability to enforce the loyalty of a sworn man to prevent Aphitus from killing the outworlder outright when he learned she''d been captured.


    She hadn''t even been directly responsible either. A stupid accident. Two days after the attack a gutted house caved in and the falling walls had been enough to scatter a cooking fire. When the housewife got the children out of danger the girl fell from the stairs. The riders below never had a chance to prevent what happened later.


    The memory made Karia regret his words. Maybe Harbend was taking his revenge too far, but Karia was part of it as long as Gring was, and that made his sworn men part of it as well.


    He swallowed bile and moved forward in the night. They were dealing out justice to someone who didn''t even know he was guilty and that made it wrong somehow. He shrugged as he took another step. He should have had those thoughts before he promised himself to Gring. Now it was too late.


    Ahead of him she and Harbend moved like shadows. If anyone was awake in the building they still wouldn''t know that death approached. A steady drizzle cut noises to nothing audible in the wind and the darkness was absolute for anyone who hadn''t spent a season on the plains. How Harbend managed to see where he was treading Karia didn''t understand. Maybe Gring lent him some of her powers.


    They reached wooden stairs and Karia almost hoped they would creak to give warning. Another thought that shamed him, and he resolutely climbed them together with Hlavac.


    Aphitus had fallen slightly behind, and the rest of the men were guarding horses. Four were more than enough for what they had come to do here.


    As Harbend forced the door open it did creak a little, but they were soon inside. Gring waited just inside the door. Her weight would give them away if she entered walked too far inside. Her mission was to make sure no one escaped.


    Karia made way for Aphitus and hugged the wall to his left. The information Harbend had bought said he would find a doorway if he followed the wall far enough. Karia hoped it was correct. Getting lost in a building he had entered to commit murder in wasn''t what he wanted.


    It was correct, and he slowly made his way into the bedchamber where a secretary slept. Secretary and son, and thus somehow involved in Nakora''s death.


    The darkness wasn''t as compact here. A night lamp behind a screen shed a little bit of light in the room, and Karia saw the sleeping body in the bed. He drew his dagger as he bent over his victim.


    The deed was quickly done. Secretary, or son, or guilty. He would never know, and neither would the dead man he left behind as he made his way back.


    He felt dirty. It was murder. Nothing could change that. A defenceless man lay dead in his own bed, and Karia had been the one taking that life.


    Muffled noises reached him from the darkness. Up the stairs? Probably. A silent struggle signalling that Aphitus hadn''t entered unnoticed. Then the noises subsided and he knew that whoever had spotted Aphitus was dead by now.


    After that they killed undisturbed. An old woman, her husband, the master of the house and his son all went to the blades, and they returned out into the night.


    Karia tried not to think too much of what he had been part of. It was his duty, and duty knew no remorse. Maybe later there would be a price to pay.


    ***


    Gring ran over the hard ground. Behind her the farm roared and writhed in flames, almost as if it had been given life just to have it sniffed out. Two men ran for the woods and she followed them. Her task was to be as visible as possible. Karia waited with three of his sworn men behind the tree line she shepherded her prey toward.


    Setting the farm on fire had been an accident. Sloppy ambush, but they were in a hurry now. Rumours spread faster than they killed, and she needed to be done with this region before those rumours grew into knowledge. The real problems would start when they began killing north of the forest. Any hope of a local killing spree would vanish then.


    The smoke stung in her nose. Even halfmen would feel it, but for her it was painful. An acute sense of smell carried a backside as well.


    She ran on and laughed. Mirth sounded like roars to halfmen who didn''t know humans, and she wanted them to run heedlessly into the waiting ambush. It was only suiting they should run from the last show of joy they were ever going to experience. The irony appealed to her, as did the justice.


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    Cattle and chicken fled from her as she charged on. From time to time she released small bursts from her glands. It was involuntarily. She could avoid it while hunting just as much as she could avoid breathing.


    Ahead of her the tree line quickly grew until it dissolved into individual trunks and branches and at that time she heard the screams when her prey understood they''d run into a trap.


    Metal clashed against metal and suddenly one man staggered back into the field. She fell on him from behind but he managed to turn and face her just as she clawed into him. A flicker of horror and recognition reached her from his face, then surprise as she tore his chest open.


    There would be very little pain. She knew that, and his face only displayed resignation when his bowels spilled onto the ground. Then life fled him.


    The man caught between the trees lasted little longer, and Karia came out in the open.


    "Are we done here?" he asked. He seemed strangely subdued as he wiped his dagger clean. Something ate him from the inside.


    "We are," Gring answered. "Khar Escha waits with Harbend. He''s promised to jump us close to our next prey before dusk."


    Karia threw a glance behind him as the others emerged from the trees. "He''s tired, isn''t he?"


    Gring nodded in the halfman way of affirmation. "He is. I could not balance such amounts of the gift. I don''t understand how he does."


    They started on their way back to the horses as soon as Karia''s men reached them.


    "I''ve heard rumours about Khanati," Gring said.


    Karia grinned. "So have I. They say it never snows there."


    "I''ve heard that as well, but I was thinking about their khars. Those not strong enough either die or are forced to become battlemages."


    "I didn''t know." Karia kicked away at a small stone and swore. It was only the tip of a larger one. Nursing his foot he fell behind. "The khars in Ira are even stronger I''ve heard," he said from behind her.


    "Stronger than Khar Escha? I doubt that. A golden, and perhaps not just any golden maybe."


    "Maybe so," Karia agreed. "Just heard that Ira makes more khars and stronger khars than Khanati."


    Gring didn''t answer. Karia was right, to a degree.


    "I wonder what it takes to be a khar?" Karia continued.


    "The spark, and an education," Gring said and growled.


    Karia laughed and gave her a shamefaced grin. "You would know," he said and laughed again. Then he became serous again, and they continued in silence. Only Karia''s men kept up the small chatter men are prone to do after a fight, even one as one sided as this had been.


    Gring veered away from the burning farm. The smoke stung too much. Three dead lay inside. One of the oddities of Ri Khi. One farm for five unmarried men. Royal mercenaries paid with even more hard work.


    She felt an urge to rush inside and drag their bodies out. Killing without feeding was wrong. It grated in her. She forced the want away. Karia would never understand. His kind never ate their enemies, and she had to respect him with peculiar taboos, customs and all he''d grown up with.


    She looked at him. Once again he pretended this was just a mission like any other. She could smell that pretence, but she knew, and it worried her. The mindwalker in her called and warned her about the danger. Sooner or later she would have to release him from what they were doing or he would become twisted from the horrors.


    The warrior in her told her to be silent and kill more. That voice had grown stronger, and she realized that Karia wasn''t the only one she needed to be worried about. No mindwalkers were warriors. Warriors relied on their external senses only. Walking the mind of a prey while killing it was walking the path to madness.


    They reached the horses. Gring watched Harbend''s grim satisfaction as he watched the fire consume the farm only to be halted at the fields. Late in summer it would have spread across them. Late in summer they''d never been noticed during their approach, so maybe the farm would still be standing. She left the world of ifs, gave her warrior voice a hard mental kick and headed for the well behind the burning buildings.


    She washed herself clean from blood and drank a bucket of water as well. Thankful that the well lay upwind from the smoke she started on her armour and weapons. She barely noticed how Karia''s men joined her, and they worked silently side by side.


    The second boon of being upwind was that she didn''t have to feel the stench of burning flesh, and she knew it would have made her hungry rather than nauseous.


    By the time they finished birds of prey circled above them and carrion eaters had already gathered at the tree line. The sun glared down on its last rise and they left the ruins behind them.


    Gring didn''t mind eating among the dead, but the other, used to death as they were, still showed unease at the silent company. She allowed that insight of differences between humans and halfmen to bounce around among the others she had taken to heart since she took up company with the taleweaver that day half a year earlier. And one thought cut her short. She had promised not to think of Karia and his men as halfmen. They had deserved that she kept her promise.


    Fixed in that resolve she once again let her thoughts come and go as they made their way into the forest, and not until they paused to make a hasty meal did she focus her mind on the task ahead.


    More killing, but this time it wouldn''t be as easy as it had, or at least the second target would be harder to get at. They still had the advantage of surprise when they move away from the capital for the first time. When Escha jumped them away from the capital in a way few other living mages would have been able to, she corrected herself.


    She thanked Karia when he handed her a strip of dried meat, and most of the bones from the pig they''d slaughtered a day earlier. She could crush the bones with her teeth and the marrow was fresh food for her. The others didn''t like it much.


    The dried meat was but a trifle, but she accepted it for the gesture as well. Karia really wanted her to feel like one among them. He went to great lengths to show that in actions as well as words. If the thought hadn''t been so hilarious it almost was as if he pampered her.


    The leaves wrapped around pork fat was another matter though. She gulped the package down, leaves and all. She needed a lot of energy to keep her body moving. More than the difference in weight could account for. Tapping into the gift almost continuously drained her, but she was their eyes and ears watching far beyond where mundane senses reached. She could starve herself to death without never knowing if she wasn''t careful.


    The meal was over far too soon, and she made herself ready among the grim men around her.


    Escha looked at each of them in turn and nodded. Then he looked north, eyes fixed in concentration and she could feel the maelstrom of power gathering as he brought swirling threads of power around them. Strange words, more shouts than speech left his mouth, and even if she knew them for the tricks of concentration they really were, there was never a doubt about how rumours about mages and their words of power were born.


    Then she felt the nexus closing in and they reached a crossing point of two lines of communications between sleeping gods, and another one, and yet another one. Escha moved between the lines, forced them together and unleashed the power when he had managed to tie five of them together in a single point. The rush of power filled her and she left the world and re-emerged on it¡ªsomewhere else.

 Intermezzo

    Cardinal Garnhalt stared at the fields. Virgin crops, more or it than he would have believed possible. Satan''s work. The godless turned to idols whenever their faith was shaken, and when the thousand years neared their end they made unholy compacts.


    Devils and demons had bought their souls for food and good weather. So weak were the souls of the godless.


    He sent thankful prayers that God had allowed him to arrive in time to turn the tide. Missionaries sent north the last eightdays started to report back. At least those who survived did.


    He would send paladins along with priests to oversee the conversion. Those who didn''t live with God had to die without His grace, and it was his duty to make certain that the faith grew now when they had been blessed with signs and miracles.


    Never before had God''s own soldiers been blessed with miraculous gifts this way. An army charging on water! Who could doubt any longer?


    He stared again. Some did. They were paying the price now. Heathen priests and idolizers. The smoke from the pyres were thick from burning oil. He would not leave the corpses to carrion eaters, not even the dead bound for hell.


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    Maybe godless ones did that, but he was determined to behave like a civilized being. Especially when his mission was as hard as it was. To save souls he had to force conversion by sword and fire if needed. A shame, really, but bodies were only husks the immortal souls lived in for a short while. Husks were to be discarded but damnation was eternal and as a man of God it was his duty to save anyone he could.


    Save, not kill for the plunder, as some of the men from Chach did, and a few of his own soldiers he supposed. Bad men, evil men, but he had to do with what he could get. In time they would see the truth, and in any case God would, and if He chose to use them as His tool, then who was a mere cardinal to question His divine wisdom?


    Tomorrow he would send soldiers north. With no defenders left in Mintosa he felt the responsibility to take the role of protector. If, as he suspected, the madness was widespread then he would have to patrol far further inland than he had planned, but that was a burden he was prepared to carry. Soldiers anew, those he could get from Chach. It seemed soldiers was the only thing the Midlands produced in plenty these days.

 Chapter eleven, Skirmish, part one

    Mairild stared unhappily out the windows. Priests of pure faith, holy mothers, children of true gods and a hundred other beliefs were setting up shrines in and around Verd. Even the great square had become a marketplace for religion. Peddlers and hawkers now had to compete with their counterparts in trinkets for the soul.


    She hated it.


    The empire she loved tearing down the middle. The stubborn De Vhatic unity turned into fighting factions vying for followers. The fighting ripped right into families. More than a few people simply disappeared each night, and she suspected most of them would never turn up again. At least not alive.


    For once the great magic of Verd worked against them. Of course they had their share of bodies vanishing each night together with the rest of the waste, but murders were usually infrequent enough that the soldiers on guard duty found the remains a few days later. Now, however, she couldn''t be certain that the even the soldiers wanted those bodies found, and they were too many to begin with anyway.


    Verd ate her own, even those who lived.


    Mairild left the windows, as if not seeing the scene outdoors would make it go away. Her steps brought her through corridors and reception halls, down narrow stairs to cellars few spoke about and even fewer visited. Deep under the imperial castle chambers lay buried, mostly well furnished but all of them prison cells of one kind or another.


    She wasn''t on her way to one of the politely and comfortably tucked away guests they housed. There were a few cells for the other kind, and one where unspeakable things were done to the prisoner before death.


    It wasn''t anything she was proud of, and sometimes she even doubted the information they gathered this way was all reliable. People were prone to admit anything when subjected to pain, but the interrogators were skilled and avoided leading questions as far as possible. Usually they just tortured their victim until something spilled out.


    Mairild smirked at the double meaning of her thoughts.


    She turned around a corner and followed the sounds. Shrieks of agony rising over muffled groans like waves rolling rhythmically onto the beaches of the Liat Sea.


    A few days earlier riders had brought three missionaries from Chach as prisoners, and now the last one alive was screaming his lungs out in a futile attempt to shorten his agony.


    She entered the clinic and covered her face. The display never ceased to discomfort her. It was all so very, very red. Soldiers never lost this much blood and lived, but then enemies of the field of battle didn''t go to lengths to keep their opponents alive.


    "Anything new?" she asked after her stomach returned to normal.


    "Yes. They have some new kind of battlemages. If I didn''t know better it would seem those fanatic paladins have been imbued." The interrogator had the grace not to turn around as he answered.


    Mairild silently thanked him for that. "And..."


    The question she was about to ask was suddenly cut short by another shriek, and she shuddered at the sight of the convulsing body strapped to the table. That was a human being there. An enemy, yes, but still human.


    She choked back her feelings. An enemy. She had to focus on that.


    She stared at the marble, red covering the white and grey, and closed her eyes. An enemy.


    "Any numbers?" she asked.


    "Not exact enough to be reliable. Most from Chach, but quite a few taking orders directly from that church of theirs. Crusade. It''s the madness of Erkateren again."


    Mairild mulled over the analysis. Her interrogators were paid to think as well as inflict pain. She wanted them to come to their own conclusions. This one made sense to her as well. Too much sense in fact.


    "Does he have anything more to tell us?"


    "I doubt it, madame."


    "Kill him then," she said. It was the only decent thing to do now.


    "I will." The voice held only gratitude. Anyone taking a liking to the horrible work down here she immediately dismissed. Interrogators they were. She had no use for sadists.


    She stayed for the mercy killing. She owed the prisoner at least that much.


    ***


    Trindai walked along the southern walls together with the outworlder admiral. In their wake the new liaison, William Anderson, followed.


    He was, Trindai guessed, more amused than anything else. The more irritated Erwin got the more smug the Martian, Trindai tasted the foreign expression for a while, became. It was as if this was only a game.


    At the far end of the fields raw recruits were going through basic training, marching and turning, marching and turning. Closer to the walls the first to join the brigade went through far more complex manoeuvres


    Trindai saw how they turned to let crossbowmen through to lose a volley on straw targets and then close ranks and show those targets a solid shield wall again.


    Those men were as trained as they were ever going to be. The only thing that remained to complete their education was to send them to the butcher. That last of lessons decided how a unit would perform. There was nothing he could do to alter that reality.


    He gazed further south and pointed for Erwin''s benefit.


    "We''re sending artisans there as well," he said.


    The fourth of their company, the interpreter, earned part of her salary.


    "But you don''t have the numbers you require?" Erwin''s answer was translated back.


    Trindai followed the column of wagons heading south with his eyes. We don''t even have wagons enough thanks to that idiocy earlier this year. "No, I afraid we don''t. Craftsmen are arriving from Dagd and even Vimarin, but it will take them some time to get used to the rules. Especially those from Vimarin," he said instead.


    "You know, there is a solution to that problem. A partial one at least," William broke in, and in De Vhatic.


    Trindai turned. "Is there no end to your supply of surprises?" he grinned.


    "I have a few left," William answered and shot Erwin a vile smile. "You could have learned as well, you know," he continued to the bewildered admiral.


    The interpreter did her work and Erwin''s face reddened.


    That was a nasty surprise to spring upon him. William hadn''t been here for long, but with mastery of De Vhatic he was able to negotiate on his own without the need for interpreters. Mairild wouldn''t like this, Trindai thought. But then she probably already knew about her latest potential problem. Trindai had no doubt most, if not all, interpreters received an additional salary from her.


    He wondered just how many informers she had. Some probably went back as far as when she arrived here posing as an actor all those years ago. Posing, no that was the wrong word. She had been one, and a very good one as well. It wasn''t her fault the theatres had experienced a fall from popularity that lasted a full eightyear.


    Then he recalled why he was guiding his visitors on the walls. "Please, tell me, Minister Anderson," he said and searched for a spot from which they could attack in the exercise he had planned. If Erwin agreed, of course.


    The mock village wasn''t completed yet, but he still wanted to train the troops in combat among building sized obstacles, and if Erwin gave his go ahead the sky ships would do perfectly.


    Trindai saw William following his stare. "Yes, they could land there as well," he said.


    The Martian must have misunderstood what Trindai was thinking. Then the words registered? "Land?"


    "Yes," William said. "New Sweden, that''s the people in permanent flight above us, wants a piece of this place as well. They could earn their stay."


    "Orbit?" Trindai said after William explained the strange expression with one, single word in the outworlder language. "So this third kingdom also wants a presence here?"


    "Yes, and I''m certain they have enough artisans to fill your needs. Untrained but not unskilled. They don''t do it for a living."


    That made Trindai''s day a brighter one.


    "If you would be so kind to invite me into your conversation," Erwin said though the interpreter.


    Trindai ordered her to give Erwin a resume of the conversation and added the question about using the sky ships as houses for the exercise.


    Erwin nodded agreement.


    That was good news. Now, with more outworlders arriving on the training grounds they would receive both much needed raw materials as well as more sky ships to use for the training.


    "Minister Anderson, I would be grateful if you did, but formally you need someone in the council to agree as well. I doubt your suggestion will meet any opposition, but I can''t sign this kind of agreement."


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    "I understand," William answered. "I will go through official channels." Then he turned to Erwin and they immersed themselves in a conversation that had the interpreter bewildered.


    "What is it?" Trindai asked.


    "Sir, I don''t understand them. It is an outworlder language, but none I have learned."


    It was only to be expected. With more than one outworlder kingdom he shouldn''t have been surprised by the existence of more than one language. He still was, and worried as well. The outworlders weren''t supposed to communicate their secrets safely among themselves. Mairild would definitely not like this, and for once Trindai doubted if she had the knowledge. It wasn''t often he learned anything in Verd before she did, but this was the second time in a short time, he suspected.


    He frowned and pushed the darker memory back in his mind. The first time he had ordered his men to murder their own. He hoped the price wouldn''t be as high now.


    He glared at the troops below them. A price, and he intended someone else to pay in full.


    "Minister Anderson, we may have a problem though."


    "Yes?"


    "I don''t know where we should house the new arrivals."


    William smiled and turned to Erwin. This time the admiral shared the smile. "We thought of that problem. I think it''s solved," William said.


    Trindai looked at Erwin. What were they up to? "Could you clarify, please?"


    "Admiral Radovic and I will share that burden between us. Our quarters here are large, and we have the means to rent an empty building or two, even furnish it."


    "And that would also place you in control of the newcomers." There was no reason to pretend that he didn''t understand the underlying reason for their sudden generosity.


    "It would," William agreed. He hadn''t taken any offence from the tone of his voice at least. "You have to understand that while New Sweden is a very minor nation when compared to either the Republic of Mars or the Terran Federation they''re here, and we''re not."


    "And you would prefer if their local presence mirrors their actual political strength as closely as possibly?" Trindai guessed.


    William translated for Erwin, and they both nodded.


    Trindai really didn''t care. One outworlder was rather like any other to him, and if they could supply the help Keen needed at the moment he wasn''t going to be picky about it. In fact he preferred the current situation. A divided outworld scared him a lot less than one united. It made them more human in a way. With their own inability to put all differences aside and join in one, great and powerful nation.


    He drew a lungful of late spring. Yes, his day was definitely brightening up. For once he looked forward with genuine joy to supervising the troops.


    He would, of course, hide that grin when he barked at the officers and their soldiers. His job was to be General de Laiden, and if Trindai enjoyed a good laugh as much as anyone else the was supposed to eat recruits for breakfast and only save the trained men to have a mouthful for dinner.


    ***


    The second arrow flew as wide as the first. Arthur ducked anyway. To his right side Ken had done the same. Sacrosanct was not the same as invincible apparently.


    He crawled down the slope and walked to where the Bloodhounds were making their equipment ready. Fly cams would make sure they didn''t risk anything more than expensive equipment, and catching a battle, even a small one like this, was well worth a holo cam or two.


    Behind him Ken popped his head over the ridge from time to time. Watch and Weave. At least he was true to his words. He watched, even if it meant taking a personal risk.


    Arthur had no plans to join Ken. He vaguely recalled taking an arrow in his leg when he was rescued by Harbend and the others. Trai died there.


    He quickly walked behind the hovercraft. Not all arrows fell short of the ridge, and even though they weren''t really the target some idiot out there had decided that anyone who could be seen was also an enemy.


    From what Arthur had managed to see those fighting didn''t belong to any regular units in Keen, or at least none he had encountered. A few wore uniforms, but he could have sworn he saw the same uniform on both sides.


    Probably armed idiots having a religious dispute.


    He watched the cams take air, each one under the control of a crewman with a linked visor. A good cameraman could handle three or four cams. These were his old Bloodhounds. Twenty cams sailed over the ridge and spread out. Another ten were on their way, and from the bored face the fifth crewman didn''t even plan to don her visor.


    Arthur threw a sideways glance at a copse of bushes where Heinrich had led his group. They wouldn''t take part of the fighting, but they were his bodyguards. That still grated in him, but he''d been given no choice when the matter came up.


    At least Heinrich seemed to share his opinion about trigger happy lunatics in uniform. What he said about events around the launch port more than confirmed Arthur''s worst prejudices.


    Another arrow sailed gracefully over him and landed, point first, between him and the horses. Had they tied them too close to the skirmish?


    He looked back at Ken who protected his head with a makeshift helmet and was busy watching the fight. Probably not. Ken had as much as promised that the horses would be safe.


    A shift in the wind brought s whiff of smoke to his nose. Great! Just great! They had to add arson to the list of madness. He knew he could Weave all combatants into submission, at least if he got them within hearing range.


    Ken would have none of it though. Still, if he found a way to keep strictly to the actual truth, or at least truth the way he experienced it. But that required him to have some awful truths to Weave.


    And an idea was born.


    Arthur grabbed the casing for a fly cam and headed back to where Ken lay. Watch and Weave. Oh, he would watch. He would watch until he had enough horrors worth Weaving, and then he''d use it. Maybe not the way Ken wanted, but within scope of the damn rules anyway.


    ***


    Heinrich dragged another body away to the pyre. So fond of killing these devout soldiers of god, whatever god they happened to believe in. A sorry bunch of bullies and mercenaries in his book. Little better than pirates, and everyone knew what TADAT did to pirates.


    Still that was everyone back home, and they weren''t home any longer, and he had been handed very specific orders about when he was allowed to return fire. Civil war between fanatics were not included in the rather short list.


    He stared at the hovercraft ahead of him. Neither was protecting the news team. Erwin had made that absolutely clear. Almost gleefully.


    Heinrich wondered about that. It was an order he would disobey. He knew that. Erwin knew that. Something political probably. From the rules of a game Heinrich didn''t want to play.


    He lifted the body and threw it into the flames. It was the closest to a funeral they could give them. He hated having to watch the killing and see the dead left in the open. It wasn''t right. No respect.


    He turned and went back to the small shrine where they had found the scattered remains of whoever had taken refugee there. At least they had been armed. He didn''t like the idea of weapon less families getting slaughtered in what was supposed to be a holy place.


    He bent and picked the last body up. There had been six of them, all male. On his way to the pyre he admitted that he didn''t like to see anyone slaughtered, with the possible exception of pirates.


    There were always pirates. But he had a valid reason for his bias, one that would get him booted out of the TADAT if anyone ever found out. Everyone he had ever known dead before he turned seven. Pirates missing him by sheer dumb luck, and him permanently borrowing the identity of another without learning it for over ten years.


    That identity had got him into training, and he held on to it because it gave him an opportunity to strike back. And because it was who he had become.


    He stayed by the pyre at parade attention. This was not their duty but to his pride his entire unit joined him, including Granita even though she didn''t even have a body walker. It didn''t matter. Some things were just left unsaid, and respect for the dead was one of them.


    There had been too many funerals like this the last days and he wondered if things would degenerate even further. They were packing and making ready to continue south when they did. A signal over the command line tagged urgent drew his attention, and as he listened in horror Granita''s stricken face told him the news team had received the same message by their own channels.

 Chapter eleven, Skirmish, part two

    Mairild gazed west, for once just another apprehensive onlooker among thousands. Erwin had promised that outworlders would arrive out of the sky in greater numbers than ever before. Artisans, thinkers, doctors and volunteers willing to help with whatever labour needed to be done.


    She stared into the early summers sky, waiting for that promise to materialize.


    Below them the Imperial Guard had cleared the training grounds from people, and the outworlder soldiers in their moving armour patrolled both highways to make sure no one arriving to Verd ventured out into what would soon become a steaming inferno of landing sky ships.


    They were all needed. No matter that she''d sent town criers out well in advance to warn off anyone just too curious to stay out of danger, all grounds this side of Whore''s Crotch was a writhing mass of people eager to get closer to the spectacle. There was pushing and yelling, sharp elbows and hard words, but most of all the very air vibrated with apprehension, and hope.


    Mairild sighed with content. For once the religious hysteria was only a subdued murmur from misfits dissatisfied with losing centre stage even for a day. If she played this right she might just be able to keep it that way for several days to come. Not forever, but at least for a while, and maybe, just maybe, a sizeable number of the soon to be converts would bee too busy working side by side with outworlders to feel the need to join one of the new sects.


    As she daydreamed of making her work just that much easier a shrill voice, just below her, in the killing grounds between the south gate walls, announced the wrath of god, end of days and the general horrors waiting anyone who didn''t repent.


    She turned and stared down just in time to see the woman brusquely brushed aside by a guard. Mairild smiled. She wasn''t the only one sick and tired of listening to pious lamentations. Why didn''t anyone show up and declare eternal happiness and infinite gifts from joyous gods?


    Beside her Erwin Radovic smiled knowingly. He''d revealed similar feelings several days earlier, even mentioned something about civilized cultures outlawing missionary sects. That had resulted in a conversation she hadn''t believed she''d ever share with an outworlder.


    So many differences, and so many similarities between Keen and the federation of his. And now this. Him and the Martian official working together to lessen their respective importance by aiding a third kingdom to gain a foothold in Keen. For humanitarian reasons.


    She didn''t care about their reasons. Keen desperately needed all the help she could get. Still, Mairild made it a point to influence her council colleagues. The outworlders would be handsomely rewarded. That was part gratitude and part politics. After a crisis a new one awaited, and friends were always good to have, even for nations.


    A gust of wind caught her hair and threw it ahead of her. Had she gained so much grey the last year? She hadn''t noticed. For while she thought it was arriving sky ships disturbing the air, but the sky stayed clear and still.


    Then small dots grew from thin, white streaks in the west. She had thought them to be clouds. There were so many, but Erwin had promised, and she remembered. The dots grew, became shapes and she saw the sky ships for what they were.


    It was happening, it was really happening.


    Erwin stirred at her side, as did William. She turned, waiting for their arrogant, satisfied grins. They would have earned them and she didn''t care. Both faces displayed pure terror.


    Erwin roared frantic orders into his mouthpiece. They were in English, she understood as much, but they were the kind of words she had only heard General de Markand, or Trindai use. Terse, unyielding and filled with need.


    "What''s happening?" she asked.


    William stared at her with eyes filled with despair, and Erwin, the ever polite Erwin, waved her aside as if she was a fly to be swatted. The he continued shouting more words, numbers, directions and more numbers.


    She saw the moving armour turn and raise the contraptions she knew were weapons. They all pointed east and so she looked in that direction.


    There were sky ships coming from there. So small? How could they fit a driver into one of them? Then the outworlders on the ground let lose their arsenal, and even from a distance the screech of a thousand wounded beasts reached her, rolled over her and pushed her backwards as she saw the fiery inferno surrounding the armoured soldiers and clawing its way into the sky.


    Thin birds of death tore east, and she had a vision of vipers hunting vipers.


    High above them, still far to the east flowers of fire burst into blossom, withered and died in black smoke. Then the few surviving sky ships flew over them screaming thin protest of agony on their way west, on their way to meet the landing sky ships, and Mairild finally understood what was happening.


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    The people on the ground cried out in jubilation. They didn''t know. How could they? It could have been a fanfare. Mairild let out a silent scream of anguish and death rained among them.


    The very first ship to land never had a chance. Three predatory birds met it mid sky and it vanished in a white cloud of fire. The ships trailing her met their fates closer to Verd and muted thunder rolled over them long after the fiery clouds had separated into falling bits of burning debris.


    She cried each time a flower of death blossomed in the sky, and all the time she saw the outworlders in their intricate dance of metal and death as they moved their armour in ways no human should be able to do.


    They writhed, multiple arms flailing rhythmically to drums of murder, and eternally long banners of fire flew into the sky, always reaching for the killing birds from the east. Round and round they swirled, more frantic now as their cages of birds were empty and they had to resort to their mechanical crossbows.


    The sound changed. Small explosions of birds taking air in hunt for larger birds were replace by a sickening sound of ripping cloth.


    No muted thunder any longer. The surviving sky ships from the kingdom above them were on their final approach now. Whenever one was ripped apart the sound tore through them all like a whip wielded by a god, and Mairild saw that the flowers of fire were really explosions like a glass of brandy thrown in the fire.


    There was no glass shattering. Fragments of metal, and other debris fell over the training grounds, and some over Verd itself.


    On the training grounds sky ships were finally touching down. Most in renewed explosions of white fire from which they emerged miraculously unscathed, but a few in tumbling detonations of red and white ripping long gorges in the ground.


    Above her Mairild heard a whiplash to the north, and a burning wreck made its final decent somewhere over the city. Then, from the poor quarters came a roar from a gutted dragon, then silence and after that another growl of anguish as whatever fuelled the sky ships torched a building.


    Another clap of thunder forced her to her knees. Something stung her face, and when she looked up something, or rather somewhat, what was left of him, or her, bounced over the south gate and came still on the flagstones with a meaty splash. And arm or a leg, she couldn''t tell.


    And finally the thunderstorm abated. No more explosions but no silence neither. Screams of panic reached her from below. People were trampling each other to death in their attempt to escape a danger that no longer existed, and the butchers from the east continued killing long after the last of their weapons fell silent.


    William stared at her with ashen face, but he said nothing. To her left Erwin continued shrieking words to his soldiers. Even Mairild, with her limited knowledge of military matters could hear that they were orders no longer. He was shouting and crying, just an animal in pain releasing his anguish.


    She watched him. Traces of tears covered his face.


    Then, because someone had to, she slapped him as hard as she could.


    "The wounded! There are people alive down there. Help them! Let the dead rest for now."


    He stared back at her, uncomprehending.


    William wrested his mouthpiece away from him and started barking orders into it.


    Satisfied that someone was taking control Mairild turned her immediate attention to her own. There was no need. Someone, an Imperial officer had already made sure that her citizens were shepherded into the training grounds, dispersed so they wouldn''t crowd each other to death any longer. Behind her a final, brutal charge of cavalry made certain that the people turned their fears to something they knew and could apprehend.


    Order returned.


    Someone screamed.


    Someone died.


    The efficient machine that was the Imperial Guard forced room for the wounded.


    The surviving sky ships opened up and released their cargo of humans.


    The arrivals poured onto the ground, some wounded, a few already dying.


    Shocked and hurt they went to work, delivering their first part of the promised help.


    Here.


    Now.

 Intermezzo

    "I don''t understand!"


    Cardinal Garnhalt silently agreed. Where were the defenders? After the disorganized defence of Mintosa¡ªnothing. He had expected skirmishers, or at least scouts. Some, he knew, were out there. Not all priests returned, so someone was out there capturing them.


    Keen''s army was legendary. It was the very reason no warlord had ever attempted to capture any lands north of the Narrow Sea, so where were they?


    He shrugged his discomfort away. If they were leading him into a trap it was of a kind so elaborate he couldn''t even begin to understand it. The enemy had yielded a full three days forced march of territory without resistance. The narrow gorges he''d expected to pay with for an unholy cost in blood lay behind them. Passing through them unopposed he''d even accepted that he would have paid that cost in vain.


    And still nothing. Not that it mattered much any longer. They controlled the passes and enough of the fields north of them not to be ousted easily.


    Should the enemy yield even one days worth of land more he could order wagons through the passes with craftsmen and tools. Two days and he would be in control of the forests needed to supply the timber for fortifications.


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    He simply couldn''t believe it, and neither could Count Friedhafen at his side.


    The enemy had even been kind enough to leave a fleet of clumsy barges behind him, and each day new troops poured into Mintosa. By now the papacy, or more formally, Chach, had landed a full sized army on this side of the Narrow Sea.


    Paladins scouted unopposed an eightday north of him. Missionaries were setting up churches, using shrines already built. God was great. He would forgive the use of heathen temples, even embrace it. Evil turned to the use of good.


    Of course there were skirmishes, but nothing organized. Small groups of fanatic heathens sometimes defended their satanic beliefs, but they were poorly armed, if armed at all.


    So why did he have this nagging suspicion that the enterprise was proceeding too easily? Did the holy chair know something he hadn''t been told? A weakness Keen hadn''t displayed? Plague scything through the population?


    There were no answers to those questions, and he pushed them aside. Maybe it was simply a test of his faith.

 Chapter twelve, Retribution, part one

    "Should we go back?" Elisabeth asked.


    Heinrich didn''t answer. He had no answer. Erwin had told him to continue his mission and babysit Arthur Wallman.


    Now, he didn''t have to like it, but that was not an order he was going to disobey. The question was if they could do the babysitting where they could also help Erwin and the TADAT left behind.


    Would Arthur agree to return north? Probably. He wasn''t as callous as Heinrich had first thought, just too sure of himself.


    "Elisabeth, I don''t know," Heinrich admitted. "This is way, way over our heads."


    She looked at him. Her eyes were red from crying. She''d clung to him like a child during the night.


    Their own government guilty of an open act of war. Five hundred years of peace and it was the federation that broke it.


    Heinrich doubted if the government had ever been directly involved in giving those orders, but he didn''t need to be a political genius to understand that they would be blamed anyway. After all, someone must have given the explicit orders to send Goodard here.


    "I think it won''t matter. We''re too far away to get there in time to stop whatever Goodard is up to."


    "He murdered them!"


    "Elisabeth I know. I think everyone knows. Red News, remember. Three stayed with Erwin, well with that Martian goon anyway."


    She nestled under his arm.


    For the first time during their journey they''d set up field perimeter defences Not because they were needed but because he had seen their need to do something. Everyone helped, even the news team set up a few sensors.


    They''d done a surprisingly good job of it, Heinrich recalled. By now he suspected he knew how they managed to get those covert holos.


    From the other side of their camp the steady drone of a conversation reached him. Arthur and Ken. Talking, possibly comparing notes from seven hundred years apart. Anything that would banish what had happened yesterday.


    The only one who got no respite was himself, but he was in command. That was to be expected. If the need became bad enough he could cry on Erwin''s shoulders when they returned. For now though, he had to be their rock of confidence.


    "Liz," he had earned the right to call her that now, "today we rest. I''ll tell the others."


    She crept closer. The toughest soldier he''d ever served with, but a frontal assault into a pirate base was not the same as watching how your own shot unarmed and unshielded shuttles over a population centre Sometimes he wished they''d been forced to destroy their holo receivers, or at least that the last decade hadn''t seen them built into body walker helmets.


    He was worried, more than he wanted to admit. The TADAT back at Verd were effectively unarmed now. Vastly better armoured than anything Goodard could put his hands on, but unarmed.


    Gatling guns and needle grenades shredded whatever unpowered armour a soldier could carry, well, maybe with the exception of Gring and her kind, but Goodard had brought a few armoured vehicles with him. From what Heinrich had seen the unit in Verd had nothing left that could penetrate that kind of armour, and that, as far as he was concerned, was an invitation to disaster.


    What would eventually force the brigadier''s hand did work in his favour for the time. The launch port had a holo cube so whatever Red News had been casting was available for the officers there to analyse


    They might be trigger happy lunatics, but they should be able to realize the change in firing pattern of all body walkers when they ran out of missiles.


    Heinrich ground his teeth but held his thoughts to himself. Whatever happened there was nothing he could do, and if the madman in command at the launch port was prepared to start a war then he would certainly not balk at the thought of killing the man Keen valued so highly.


    ***


    Trindai listened to the pleading and denial with only half an ear. He was surprised he hadn''t become more furious than he was, but Keen was on war foot and that somehow made an attack more understandable.


    Admiral Radovic wanted Keen to allow him to throw explosives on the launch port from the sky and for once the council was united in their refusal.


    The liaison from the Republic of Mars, William Anderson advocated caution, but even he had declared that he would support the federation if they took military action against the renegade officer.


    The third sky kingdom, New Sweden, had no official liaison in Verd, not anyone alive at least. A woman named Anita Kirchenstein-Yui acted as their temporary official here, and she had been livid from the moment she found herself among the few survivors landing outside Verd.


    To Trindai''s supreme shock she refused to take part in any military action against Brigadier Goodard and his soldiers. Diplomatic channels and restitution were words she used frequently though, and Erwin winced visibly every time she used the latter. Still, they had been massacred. Of twenty sky ships only four landed safely and another two crashed with survivors, and still she refused what she called an escalation of armed conflict.


    That was something more that cowardliness. It was cowardliness raised to an ideal worth dying for, and Trindai was at a loss how to react. In his world you fought for what you believe in, and you made sure you had the best weapons and the best training, because if at all possible you should never have to fight, just show those big, ugly fists to anyone who needed threatening.


    That woman was prepared to die. She wasn''t happy about it, quite the opposite, but she just wasn''t prepared to use armed force to defend her beliefs. That made no sense at all. The third sky kingdom had no right to exist at all if it was undefended. The presence of outworlder soldiers proved that. If you had soldiers you had fighting, somewhere.


    He looked at the woman. Hair as black as those from the Sea of the Mother or Khi and face resembling that of a Khi citizen. That made her stand out. Most of the survivors were light in complexion, more so than the average outworlder.


    She was also far shorter, almost short enough to go unnoticed here. Made up for it with energy in abundance though, and a hatred so strong it made her position on armed resistance just so much stranger.


    Her stand, though, didn''t make Erwin pull his reins the least. He begged. He threatened. He lied and he promised. He was a man possessed, and Trindai had seen his share of soldiers close to hysteria to recognize deeply hidden combat memories emerging from the black corner where they had been safely stuffed away. There had been rumours, and the blossoms of death in the air confirmed them. Something had gone terribly wrong that day fifteen years ago when outworlders first came here, and Erwin had been among them.


    Trindai remembered. A younger man that day, but old enough to be colonel. Dragon flowers they had called the spectacle in the sky. Now he knew what those flowers were. His soldiers were just starting to bury their fruit.


    Had Erwin lost friends that day? Probably. Family? Maybe. How many had died? And how had they died? It smelled of dragons meddling. Ira, Rhuin or Khanati might have the power to take on a sky ship, but the dragon flowers had been all over the world. Trindai could hardly recall anyone old enough to remember who hadn''t seen them. It had the stench of meddling dragons all over it.


    He watched Erwin storm out of the council chamber spitting angry words in English on his way. The anger was understandable, but the outworlder general with his men were only a trains ride from Verd and Erwin''s allies were high up in the sky, and everyone had seen what happened to sky ships trying to land under outworlder opposition. Keen couldn''t afford to take that risk.


    William shrugged and apologized on Erwin''s behalf, and behind him an outworlder gathered together his collection of flying gadgets. Red News. One of the team from the first surprise landing on the training grounds.


    Trindai smiled at the man. He had been ordered to. Mairild probably thought a military man abhorred the presence of a mere citizen during an important meeting. He didn''t. If the outworlders could use their own version of the farwriter to tell their own what happened here Keen stood to benefit, and Trindai was far more interested in results than the means to get them.


    With the newscaster, he tasted the foreign expression in his mouth, out of the room they sat down to discuss how to meet the new threat without resorting to a military gamble.


    William didn''t have much help to offer. He promised to sign a statement where they protested against the killing, but there was little more he could do.


    "I''ll send out scouts," Trindai offered. It had to be dragoons. Horses would be too visible at close range, which meant putting the Imperial Guard in the field.


    "And Verd?" Minister de Saiden asked. He echoed Trindai''s thoughts.


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    Trindai tried to look thoughtful, but this was only part of a rehearsed performance for the rest of the council. "The brigade has enough training to take care of the patrols and be used for the training of a second brigade as well," he answered.


    Olvar nodded, as did Mairild and Makarin. Tenanrild looked unhappy but she agreed as Trindai knew she would. Even Glarien nodded his approval and that gesture quickly brought the others in line.


    "We still have a lot of wounded to care for," William translated Anita''s words.


    "We will do our best, but we''re stretched thin I''m afraid," the Minister of Education, Irtina de Gelven, answered.


    "More so than we had hoped," Garkain, Minister of Craft, filled in unhelpfully.


    Tenanrild glared at him. "Could not blame them. Not asked to be killed in the sky," she said. Minister of Transportation, and with a severe attitude whenever the transportation of anything ended in disaster. Garkain would pay for his choice of words for a long time.


    "I think we could help you," Anita persisted with the help of William.


    That got everyone''s attention. Even William halted his translation and gaped at her.


    "And just how do you plan to do that?" Irtina asked. "You aren''t all doctors I guess."


    Anita smiled, a sad, longing smile. "No, I am the one of two who survived. My husband is the other and he''s dying in that pigsty you call hospital," she added.


    "That pigsty, as you so kindly refer to, is the finest clinic there is, unless you resort to the dirty practices of Ri Khi."


    She had to say that, Trindai observed. He''d almost forgotten just how strongly she held to the views of the Ministry of Magehunting.


    "Any practice that saves lives without taking them is a good practice where I come from," Anita answered. William had to be coerced to translate that, but Trindai had seen Mairild''s grimace long before William''s words filled the room.


    "Relent! From such unholy thoughts comes the temptation to commit vileness!"


    Trindai shared a silent thought with Mairild. Hepaten ar el de Levius couldn''t have stayed his words even if he had wanted to, but the Minster of Magehunting was a fanatic believer in his work and never needed much of a reason to voice his thoughts on that matter.


    The heavyset man originally came from Ira, as did so many of those who hated the forbidden arts the most. It wasn''t so strange. Small but powerful Ira was a haven for any user of the arts, and those without that power were treated as second rate humans. Trindai knew more than a few fled Keen for a similar reason. Most ended up in Ira, just as fanatical in their opposite belief. There was a certain poetic balance to be found in that truth.


    He frowned. The last five years hadn''t seen many people moving anywhere a horse or their legs couldn''t take them. The raiders had put a stop to that.


    William shone with relief as he started to translate Anita''s next words, and Trindai saw Mairild smile approvingly before he heard them.


    "We would never resort to magic for the simple reason we don''t know any. The refined arts of education and technology are allowed here if I understand."


    Irtina smiled. Anita had tickled her ego the right way, and Hepaten leaned back in his chair once again.


    Trindai let out his breath again. That had been a little too close.


    "We could aid you with medical..." William stopped mid sentence and interrupted what Anita was saying. He gasped and Trindai had to look at Mairild for understanding. She sat upright as if someone had tied a spear to her back. Her face had drained of all colour


    William shouted at Anita, and to Trindai''s surprise Mairild joined in. He could hardly understand a word. There was far too much emotion and the words came too fast for his basic understanding of English to suffice. This wouldn''t do.


    "Silence!" He stared at Olvar. They had roared the same command with voices meant for the battlefield.


    It worked as intended.


    "Now, proceed," Olvar said, "so the rest of us can understand."


    "She''s insane!" Mairild said.


    "A madwoman," William agreed. "She thinks just because we''ve established an embassy here you''re bound by the treaties we''ve signed back home."


    Anita growled something. Part of it Trindai understood. De Vhatic had its own fair share of those words, and most never left the confines of barracks. Then she rose, still growling curses and left them with a satisfied grin on her face.


    "Mairild, please, and slowly for the rest of us mortals," Makarin said.


    William stood, but Mairild waved for him to take his seat again. "We need you to explain the words. I understood them, but not all they really meant."


    William sat. "I''ll tell you. Please wait with your questions until after I''m done," he said.


    Trindai shrugged. This was council business now. He''d be called to clean up the mess, whatever form it took, and from William''s expression it was certain to be dirty.


    "New Sweden has already decided to take matters in their own hands," William begun. "They''ve decided that Verd is a war zone with insufficient medical supplies."


    Mairild nodded for him to continue as he fell silent.


    "Using the treaty of Perth as an excuse they''ve declared the fields south of Verd as a restricted drop zone." He stammered, coughed but refused to continue.


    "We must know," Mairild told him.


    "We''ll have to declare war on the Terran Federation. She has to be stopped!"


    "What?" Olvar said.


    The room had become utterly silent. They didn''t fully understand, but it was clear that more than the present danger had been added to the scales.


    "All signatories have agreed to declare war on anyone who breaks that treaty," William said as if the words had any meaning for the rest of them. "The idiots have already announced that they''ll commit the forced drop of a field hospital into a war zone. They have also declared that it will be unarmed and unshielded." William''s voice broke, and Trindai saw that he was close to tears.


    "I think I understand where this is going, but be specific. If Verd is going to become a battlefield in a war between outworlder kingdoms we deserve to know," Olvar said.


    "A field hospital is a purely humanitarian organization. The treaty forces them to aid both sides in a conflict, and from what I''ve seen of your doctors you could use what they have to offer."


    "And the conflict?" Olvar nudged.


    "You don''t open fire on a hospital. Never. Not even by accident," William said. "The conflict will not be restricted to Otherworld. You have to help me stop her."


    "On the contrary," Verkai de Partaken suddenly said. The Minister of Law had sat silent and brooding for the entire meeting, but now his face radiated a grim determination. "Well make room for their kind offer. I''ll personally see to that our own doctors are present to welcome their outworlder colleagues. We will aid them in any way they want, even to the extent of supplying personnel to the hospital."


    You bastard! You wonderful, cold hearted genius bastard son of a gherin!


    "You''d..." William''s voice broke. "You''d declare war on the federation?"


    "Of course." Verkai looked around the table where one council member after another slowly nodded their approval. Even Mairild did. "We could never stand aside and watch such a noble cause succumb to murderers and lawbreakers."


    "You''re mad! You won''t stand a chance!"


    "We know. We''ll face annihilation if need be. Please make sure your government knows, and all other governments in outworld."


    William gasped, but eventually he slowly nodded. He still looked aghast, but a knowing frown took over from his previous look of utter shock.


    "You play a very dangerous game here, but I''ll do as you ask," he said. Then he smiled unexpectedly. "Erwin will like this. Oh yes, he will like this very much," William added and laughed.

 Chapter twelve, Retribution, part two

    "You know he''ll act soon."


    Trindai nodded. Had he launched an attack against landed raiders he would be moving his own soldiers into position to attack the bridgehead now. That was standard military doctrine for Keen, had been since the raiders made their first attempts to push inland. The outworlder general was bound to do the same now, or he''d risk reinforcements strengthening Verd.


    "Minister de Partaken''s estimate of our chances were blunt but accurate," Trindai said. About the same as the bastard raiders had when we finally understood what they were up to. Never manage more than pillaging a few villages, and now they''re food for the sea beasts. "I''m off to deploy my troops. With a bit of luck we''ll be able to ambush a few of the outworlders," he said aloud.


    Olvar grunted, but then what was he supposed to do? With Trindai, at least, he knew he was sending an equally knowing soldier into the grinder. The young recruits though.


    Trindai chose to respect his superior''s reluctance to word an answer. Besides, they hadn''t been entirely truthful with their outworlder guests, or at least not totally forthcoming with all truths. The analogy with the western raiders was too apt to be a coincidence, Trindai agreed to himself. Just as trying to attack the ships would have been suicidal any attempt at attacking Verd would be just as dangerous.


    He shuddered at what he had just been told. There were rumours of course, but they had only been rumours. Verd defended herself, as the saying went, but he''d always believed the capital still relied on soldiers for defence


    Now he knew he was wrong. The soldiers were needed for the defence of Keen. Verd had been built when the city wasn''t a safe capital in the middle of an empire. The frontier had been close to the east at that time, and the city was built with that in mind. There were things hidden in the city, and more magecrafted defences had been added during the centuries when Verd was the capital of magecrafters as well as an empire.


    Trindai wondered what Minister de Levius thought of the matter. There was simply no way that Magehunting could be happy with the thought of weapons of magic being used against an enemy, but then there wouldn''t really be anyone using them. Trindai didn''t really understand, but he accepted what he had been told¡ªthat Verd would indeed defend herself.


    He would still lose a lot of good men before that. Any attack against the capital had to be real to trigger those defences


    He left the city through Vimarin Gates. Krante Gates weren''t sealed off in any way, but the training grounds were. The council had decided to play the charade out in full and the Imperial Guard made certain no one with weapons left the highways.


    Riding along the tracks he watched his men file up and make ready for the march east. This was going to be the expensive part in lives, and the soldiers had all been lied into believing they stood a chance against the outworlders. To enhance the illusion all eight of Erwin''s men walked with them in their moving armour It was at least a little more than an illusion. As soon as they left the city far enough behind them those men would spread out and act as a screen for the vulnerable phalanxes. The cavalry he had available were mostly to act as messengers.


    For the moment though, they marched in column, using the highway to make as good speed as possible. If Olvar''s estimate was correct they would encounter armed resistance within half a day, and Trindai desperately needed to have broken all rules long before that. Phalanxes were supposed to take the field packed even more tightly than an outsider would have thought possible, and it had taken more than a little convincing to make him agree to spread his infantry so thin they for all real purposes ceased to be an effective fighting force. Most of that convincing had been done just east of Vimarin Gates. Outworlder weapons shredded a few hundred straw dolls in even less time than it took to line up the walking armour The message wasn''t lost on anyone.


    Noon saw the cavalry ride ahead of the column and spread out like a fan with the outworlders taking point positions. As far as Trindai was concerned they were skirmishers, and skirmishers with vastly superior weapons. When they were forced to fall back the forces they were screening would have very little to add, but that was as it should. Their mission was to die after all.


    Where the Vimarin Highway and the tracks to the sky port separated Trindai split his column of infantry in two. From here each one would be commanded by a colonel each, and he knew there was nothing he could add in the ways of orders to change the outcome of what was coming.


    To some degree he planned to make use of the farwriters in the region, but he suspected they wouldn''t be standing for long after the enemy realized they were used for communicating orders. Coded as those orders were supposed to be Erwin had disclosed that what Keen considered unbreakable codes were pitifully insufficient for outworlder knowledge machines. If the enemy was able to read his coded orders as fast as he could send them he could as well dispense with the codes, and so Trindai had decided. At least they would be able to read information while it was sent as fast as the enemy.


    He grinned at the last thought. They really would. His outworlders, and he was thinking of them in those terms, had machines reading enemy codes just as easily. The main difference lay in that the enemy didn''t know their codes were worthless. He planned to make the most of that small deception.


    Early afternoon he had his first reason to feel pride in his home. Long before a messenger returned in full gallop, even before he heard the low rumbling that heralded outworlder weapons hammering at his troops, a farwriter told him where the enemy was, what numbers they held and how they were deployed. The crew, insanely brave or just stupid even managed to send him another three messages telling him in what direction the enemy spread as they reacted to being on the receiving end of their own kind of weapons. After that Trindai received the message he''d been waiting for: farwriter lost.


    He grimaced. Fire or storm was the usual reason for such a message, and in this case, in a way, it was a matter of both.


    Now came the part he hated the most. He took shelter with his staff, several messengers and a small unit handling the messenger birds. Verd needed to know how effective their sacrifice was, and that meant he wasn''t allowed to get in harms way. His soldiers would do the dying. He had to stay behind and tell their tale. For a moment he glimpsed what it meant to be a taleweaver, and he quickly forced that thought away. Seven hundred years rumours had Ken Leiter to be. Seven hundred years of watching but never take part. Again Trindai pushed the thought aside. Defeatism lay in that direction.


    A staff colonel shot him a worried glance as the outworlder hammering came closer, but Trindai only waved him away and climbed up the slope to see for himself.


    North-east were the small forest where almost half his men were hidden. The trees offered more than just cover. A narrow river hid in a shallow valley and the survivors should be able to flee along it. Not retreat, flee. He held no illusions about an ordered withdrawal.


    South-east was the direction from which he knew the assault would come. He could see the ridge just west of the sky port from here. Half an afternoons march for his men, less time than it took to gulp down field rations for outworlder vehicles.


    A gutted farm, flames climbing high into the sky and smoke obscuring his sight further south, told him where the enemy was. He couldn''t believe his luck. The reports had told him enemy vehicles were deployed just west of the ridge, and that more than a few had gone north when attacked by moving armour The rest hadn''t moved at all. The enemy commander was spawned by the mother of all incompetents and allowed Trindai''s sacrificial goats to spread out and take cover unmolested.


    Instead of taking the field and run the pike men down they stayed and used their weapons from a distance, and there was nothing of the horrible efficiency he''d seen just outside Verd in display here. Streaks of white shot over their targets most of the time, and even though it must be a frightening experience for his men most of them lived to stay afraid.


    The small outworlder guns were different from their ship mounted raider brethren. Instead of the white smoke followed by a dull boom they were smokeless, and whenever they overshot their target high enough a sharp crack reached him from an impossible direction. He had asked about that the first time. Something about the projectiles moving faster than sound itself. He didn''t understand fully. The speed of sound was a well enough known factor, but why that cracking sound should occur whenever something moved faster was beyond his learning. It mattered little. It was the sound of a projectile gone wide, the sound of a soldier unable to keep his weapon trained on target and therefore a good sound as far as he was concerned.


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    Trindai watched in fascination as enemy soldiers spewed out their deadly missiles all over the fields. Horrible marksmen or not, they certainly had an abundance of missiles available. A goodly amount of them of the explosive kind as well, he noted as another farm house went up in flames. He hoped it was empty. His men were under strict orders to stay outside of them. They offered no protection against anything but crossbows.


    Far east a hovercraft started moving in his direction. It passed the irrigation ditches where his forward units lay hidden and advanced on the last farm set on fire. A little too far south. The deadly surprise would have to wait a bit longer.


    Now, one after another, the floating wagons took to the fields and one of them passed right over a spot marked on the map Trindai held in his hand.


    "Sixteen!" he shouted.


    An eightday earlier two of his outworlders had joined a patrol disguised as cavalry soldiers in the imperial army. The two who had something resembling a riding training. Now the real reason for their presence became apparent as the enemy vehicle was suddenly engulfed in flames and fell over.


    It had only been a precaution. When the slaughter on outworlder sky ships started he had no men close enough to the mines to use them, and he hadn''t expected the enemy to stay at their base long enough for him to arrive in time to use the traps.


    The ditch closest to the burning wreck erupted with soldiers and they went to work with pikes and daggers among the dazed survivors.


    If only the wagons north of the victims would oblige him by coming to the rescue. One stopped, but it didn''t move. Trindai could only stare in horror as its weapons shredded his men on the field. Then, slowly, it moved south. To pick up survivors? Are they daft? They must have seen what we did? But it continued south.


    Trindai nodded left and grinned. "Seems we get another one." He counted moments as the vehicle closed in on its dead comrade. "Wait, wait, fifteen!"


    Again the field came alive with a distant thunderclap. This time there were no men close enough to kill survivors, but at least the enemy had lost two of their wagons with soldiers on top.


    They moved more carefully now. Just as Erwin had said they would. Soldiers climbed down the sides of the wagons and spread out in front of them. This was the reason Trindai had deployed troops well ahead of the visible units marching onto the fields here. All over the fields ditches hid soldiers who had arrived here early in the morning. Whenever the enemy came close enough crossbows took their toll, but it was clear that it wouldn''t be enough.


    Trindai ordered the retreat. This was the risky part of his plan. Up went three banners. Normally they would have stayed until they saw that the order had been obeyed, but visible was dead against outworlder weapons, and he left the slope with his entire staff as fast as his legs would carry him. Three birds took to the air behind him and they were well out of harms way when the first grenades ruptured in the positions they''d held just moments earlier.


    This was something he was far more used to than Erwin would have believed. Raider cannons fired explosive shells as well.


    It was time for Colonel Berdaler to show that he deserved his new command.


    The woods released a line of cavalry charging across the fields. Suicide, or at least that was the impression it was meant to give.


    On the fields the enemy was slow to appreciate the new threat, but when the cavalry was joined by moving armour the attack became apparent for everyone. Two hundred horsemen and eight outworlders. Trindai grimaced. The two hundred were there for show only. To give the impression of a threat easily dealt with, but primarily to be seen. They would not add to the battle apart from dying.


    It was something he had to accept. Sending men into battle was ordering them to die. It was rational in all its insanity, but sending men into battle knowing that they would never even get to use their weapons grated against his conscience. It was simply immoral.


    The dying started.


    Colonel Berdaler ordered the retreat. The massed line of horses dispersed as quickly as possible and a desperate flight to safety begun. The outworlders continued on their path forward. This was where their screening would count.


    Trindai saw how they unleashed a hailstorm of missiles into groups of enemy soldiers. Any group daring to use their weapons became a target, but they had weapons. Most of them didn''t even manage to stop his outworlders in their tracks, but they''d been warned of real cannons, and suddenly it became apparent that not even moving armour was invincible.


    The eight showed that they were as prepared to face death as any soldier in the imperial army. One moment they were charging ahead and the next a blinding white light left only seven of them. They charged on.


    Trindai ordered the rest of his men to show themselves and the forest released rank after rank of pike men. They marched on in good order, but so thinly spread he shuddered even though he had given the order himself. Bait, they were nothing but bait.


    It was time to return to Verd. He faced a long afternoon of death and panic, but for the first time Trindai believed most of his men would survive the day. It would take days, eightdays even, before all survivors returned. Those who did at all. A lot would desert, and he didn''t blame them. They had been lied to. He had made certain they were never told the truth about what would happen this day.


    A second set of banners went up over a rooftop they had scouted earlier and were abandoned.


    Behind him the slaughter continued as the enemy slowly started to make effective use of their superior weaponry.


    As a grenade took the barn Trindai ordered the rest of the mines armed. He would have to live with this order, but it was a must if the rest of them would stand any chance to make it back to Verd.


    They were marching back in small groups when the mines started exploding. He never even knew if it was the enemy or his own soldiers who triggered them, but he knew for certain that any imperial soldier left on the fields was dead. Mines or no mines, it didn''t matter.


    ***


    Heinrich shook his head for the third time. Granita could plead as much as she liked, but he wasn''t going to release his helmet to her.


    She could have bullied someone else in his unit to lend her their helmet, but the holo casting came over the command channel only, and only he had a feed of what happened just west of the launch port.


    It was not pretty. He could understand the rationale behind what General de Laiden was doing, even why the TADAT left behind followed him, but it didn''t make watching the madness any easier.


    At least Brigadier Idiot Goodard lacked even basic knowledge of what he could expect from Otherworld soldiers, and the federation troops handled their enemy as if they were some kind of local guerilla back on Earth. That gave them time to act and react in ways soldiers equipped with spears and crossbows should never have been given the chance to in the first place.


    When the third body walker went down the TADAT finally decided they had had enough and retreated. On their way back they poured out the last of their anti personnel munitions and made it into the forest from which they had arrived.


    Heinrich sighed with relief as he saw them temporarily safe. They had given as good as they took though. Now it was time for the insufficient help he was able to provide. Twice his two launchers roared and the four guided missiles he had brought screamed into the air. Within minutes four armoured vehicles would be gone, and that would force Goodard to assemble his anti missile defences More time gained, but Heinrich wished he''d been back with his unit. They had enough short range missiles to turn another fifteen vehicles into burning wrecks, and that should have been enough to give Goodard a reason to halt.


    Heinrich growled at himself, but he had his orders. Sometimes staying out of harms way was more frightening than risking his life, and this was such a time.

 Intermezzo

    Vivian confirmed the question. There was little else she could do.


    Down there the world had gone mad. Or at least a federation officer had.


    She wanted to drop her shuttles, but the local government had explicitly forbidden any bombardment of their territory, and she had to accept that.


    Another question came in, but it was one her crew could handle.


    The bridge was a nightmare of frantic communication since the previous day, and she shunted anything not involving her directly to her subordinates. She had to make certain New Sweden''s next drop was documented in detail and answer to most whatever they demanded. They gambled. She knew that, but it wasn''t as insane as it might have looked. Violating the treaty of Perth was out of the question.


    Soon enough twenty shuttles were on their way planet side. Their design was purely civilian. No weapons and only basic friction shields. One hospital on its way, and the medical staff would have their hands full as soon as they made ground. The reports arriving were crystal clear on that point.


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    Short range artillery shelled the capital and had done so for half an hour. The death toll was horrendous. Still, not a single grenade came even close to the area cleared for the hospital.


    Vivian waited while Goodard''s men continued killing the citizens of Otherworld and questions and data arrived to her bridge. Just as she started to hope that the madness wouldn''t escalate beyond the atrocities she had to watch she received three messages almost simultaneously. One made her laugh with relief, the second had her gasping and the third saw her entire crew join her in screams of denial and wrath.


    Goodard was a closet Christian missionary, and most of his senior officers had been hand-picked by himself. They weren''t there to represent the federation. He had taken upon himself to go on a crusade, and as the first shuttles safely landed Vivian saw how the artillery fire was redirected. When the first shuttle detonated New Sweden declared war on the Terran Federation, and the next hour Vivian received over a hundred more such declarations.


    She could only guess what was happening in the solar system. Orbit one was safe though. Declaration of war was a formality, but it was not the same as taking any hostile action.

 Chapter thirteen, Regrets

    Harbend parried and slashed. The third of their attacks north of the woods had started bad. They were spotted long before they even saw those they had come for.


    He swore and ducked under a wild swing. Stepping inside the guard of his opponent he stabbed with his knife and withdrew. The man gasped and went limp.


    A short dash brought Harbend to the next defender, and he cut him down from behind. Aphitus nodded and together they advanced over the courtyard. They sprinted across it and took cover behind a low wall before anyone could get a good aim at them.


    Aphitus stepped out of cover and made a rude gesture before jumping back. Two bolts slammed into the wall and both men rushed across the courtyard one again. The heavy crossbow might punch through almost any armour, but it took forever to reload. Harbend waited as long as a quick crossbowman would take and jumped into the open and back again.


    They aimed almost as bad as they thought, and another bolt went wide.


    He hoped Escha jumped the rest at the exact time. Sooner or later someone would get lucky and Harbend had no wish to take a bolt when he was this close.


    Yells of frustration and fear told him it was unlikely. Then the sounds of metal reached him from behind the walls. They were going to finish their deadly work this time as well, but there had been a price. Two of Karia''s men lay wounded, and Harbend wasn''t sure both would survive the night.


    He followed Aphitus to the gates and forced his way inside when they were opened. The fighting was all but over and the time for revenge had come. He accepted that word now. As much revenge as vengeance. The mission had taken a life of its own by now, but he didn''t care. As long as the killing continued he had a reason to live. It had to continue. A bit of Nakora stayed alive, and even though he suspected that last remnant would die with his last victim there was no longer anything he could do about it. What had started must be finished.


    When he came into the main building Karia made way for him. They had long since stepped aside when the real killing began. It was as if they no longer agreed with the necessity, but they simply couldn''t understand. Not the way Harbend did. No one could. Nakora hadn''t loved any of them, so they hadn''t lost as he had.


    As he killed the remaining members of the household he wondered about his own sanity, but if that was the price he had to pay he was willing to.


    ***


    Escha nodded as Karia continued. "This has gone too far. We''re nothing but murderers now."


    "Would you have me break my promise now?" Escha asked?


    Karia shrugged. He didn''t know. "Are we to become the same as those we hunt? Isn''t there a border you cross when breaking your word becomes the lesser evil?"


    "That is a question you have to answer for yourself, young Graig," Escha said.


    Karia looked among his men. He would get no help from them. They followed him out of loyalty. Just like Gring wore her honour like chains his men were tied to him in their own way. It had gone beyond right or wrong now. And a border had been crossed.


    "I release my men from my word. I will break it myself."


    Escha nodded, as did Gring to Karia''s surprise.


    "What we saw last night I will not be witness to again," Karia continued, "and nor will my men. Those were children. There''s no possibility they had a hand in Nakora''s murder." He had reneged on his word. Where shame and self disgust should have been prevalent he only felt relief. A strange elation spread through him, and he smiled for the first time in days. "Who will tell Harbend?"


    "I will," Escha said. "I got you into this. It is only fair I should get you out of it as well."


    "And you?"


    "I will keep my promise to him. He has after all already paid me for my services." Escha''s smile belied his mercenary words, and Karia understood that Escha had never really cared for the fee he extracted.


    "I don''t believe I''ll ever understand you," Karia agreed at last. "Are you all the same in Khanati?"


    "No. We are as you. Humans with faults and merits, and individuality. I am Escha er Achnai Khar, responsible for my actions and with no common behaviour to hide behind." Escha let go of his smile. "You should remember that. It is never who we are and always about who I am."


    The growl from behind him told Karia that Gring had understood as well. He wasn''t entirely certain exactly what it was she had understood, but from her sound it was a profound truth indeed.


    He stared at the ceiling. They really should be on their way before Harbend woke, but not before they had rattled enough weapons to convince any would be assassin that attacking Harbend this night would only be an exercise in futility. A deadly one.


    ***


    Gring made her mind up the following morning. Not because killing young offspring was evil or wrong, because it wasn''t, but because she finally accepted what she had suspected for some time now. Harbend was broken beyond healing. The man she had grown to respect, and in some ways even like, was gone forever. Inside the shell that was Harbend de Garak only a splinter of humanity resided. The true man had died, probably died the moment she killed him by revealing what had happened to Nakora. She had no allegiances to the monster behind those eyes, but she owned a lifetime of repentance to the man she had murdered. A debt she''d never be able to repay, and she felt remorse as well as regret.


    She didn''t know what do about those feelings. They never came easy to one of her kind. She regretted that last thought, even resented it. It took a strong person to admit such faults. Human, golden or halfman probably mattered little. For all she knew even dragonlings had feelings, even though she had never walked the mind of one.


    Unable to postpone the inevitable any longer she gathered her few belongings and strode away. She was as craven as the rest. Escha would have to tell Harbend she had gone as well. Oddly enough it didn''t discomfort her. Harbend was dead. She owed nothing to the demon she left behind. Karia should have known that, but he wasn''t a mindwalker, so maybe she was unfair.


    It took only half a day for her to catch up with Karia and his sworn men. One mission left. They hadn''t even told Harbend, but there was one killing left to be done, and neither she, nor Karia and his men felt any regrets about that one. Someone in the royal castle had paid for the rape. That much she had gleaned from one she killed. Not for the killing but for the preceding rape. To halfmen that was a crime some held worse than killing, and they would extract a price in return.


    Ri Nachi lay due south, and so they marched north-east as fast as Karia''s men were able to ride. The royal castle was far beyond what they could hope to breach, even beyond Escha''s abilities as it had been built with jump mages in mind.


    North-east lay Ri Kordari, and there a tribe of humans lived. If what she had heard was correct they valued halfmen ethics higher than their own, and she might be able to convince them to join her cause before they killed her. She was from Gaz after all, and anything Cor was anathema to Gaz.


    The presence of sworn men from Braka would help of course. Especially if led by a lordling like Karia. He represented the kind of heroics idolized in Ri Kordar and Gaz alike.


    With that thought firmly in mind she walked on until they reached the eastern forests. A few days trekking would take them to the mountains, and from there she could only guess. She didn''t know exactly where the tribe lived, only that it was somewhere in rocky Ri Kordari.


    ***


    Harbend spat in disgust. Betrayed, and by those he would once have called friends. Only Escha stood by his word, but Harbend wondered for how much longer. It mattered little. The two of them couldn''t finish what needed doing. For the first time in his life he would resort to asking for help from home. Without Escha that would have been a laughable idea. Home lay an entire continent to the south. It would have taken him years to get there and back again. With the help of Escha it was but a moment of the monstrous strength the khar mastered.


    They waited, or rather Harbend waited. Escha slept. He was worn thin from eightdays of continuous abuse of the gift. Even Harbend was able to see how much it cost him, but he was relentless. If necessary he would pay Escha more than he had demanded.


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    A trace of a protest grew in his mind. Escha was a friend, not a mercenary to be paid and discarded. Harbend killed that thought. He couldn''t afford thoughts like those. There were still people alive who needed to be killed, and he hadn''t even begun with the relatives of those responsible.


    ***


    Gring held her breath and waited. They hadn''t even reached the mountains but she was certain they were surrounded by humans. Somehow someone had known her plans. She couldn''t even begin to guess how that had happened. She was certain it had though. There was nothing wrong with her sense of smell.


    Waving Karia to attention she stepped forward and released a full burst from her glands. That should make certain whoever stalked them knew they had been spotted. She wanted help, not a fight, and telling them she knew that they knew was a good start.


    Something stirred in the air. A few birds took off and a rustling in the undergrowth suddenly demanded her own attention. They were closing in, and she still didn''t know whether there would be a fight or not. Now was the time for her to decide.


    She dropped her weapons and made herself a perfect target. She was honour bound after all.


    ***


    Karia jumped as the forest burst into life. He''d known something was out there stalking them, but woods weren''t something he was used to. Too many trees and too few mountain peaks for his taste. Now, at least, he knew what it was that had followed their trail.


    As khraga went Gring was all but petite. The ones arriving were anything but. It was apparent they ate better here, but he wisely held that thought to himself. They had come for help, not to insult people.


    Aphitus whispered a question, but Karia shook his head. The moment for drawing weapons had come and gone. He was certain of that. The way Gring spoke with her own only confirmed that thought.


    Knowing he had nothing to add Karia ordered his men to start making camp. They wouldn''t go anywhere more this day, and an early camp would go a long way toward restoring some of the strength only rest could give. They needed that rest. He could feel it in his bones, and if he tried to fool himself all it took was a look at the drained faces of his sworn men to recall him to reality.


    Making camp took even less time than he had hoped, or feared. They were lacking in supplies now. Only their horses had enough, but they would make do with what they had. He watched the sorry excuses for shelters they put up. At least the forest provided both branches and firewood. They would get a warm nights sleep.


    He left the camp and joined Gring in hopes of learning what was happening, but she was still talking in the language of hers, and for once she didn''t use her gift to invite him into understanding. He knew he shouldn''t feel offended but he did.


    He sat down and listened anyway. As the conversation continued the feeling of being left out dissipated and he relaxed and merely watched. Had anyone told him the voices of khraga would be soothing before he met Gring he would have scoffed at the concept, but now he allowed himself to be lulled to sleep by the rhythmical grunting and growls with a sharp, indrawn, hiss thrown in from time to time.


    ***


    Gring growled in approval when Karia''s snores interrupted the meeting. Falling asleep in a circle of true warriors. That took some audacity.


    She noted how the leader bared his tusks when he shared her thoughts. Some expressions didn''t need a mindwalker to decipher. Then she traced Karia''s men as they made the camp ready. To her surprise they hardly gave her or the new arrivals any notice. They had been brought to the brink of exhaustion and she feared some were already dangling on the wrong side of it.


    "They can''t go on much longer," she said to the leader, a male in magnificent white fur, almost the colour of pure snow rather than the bony white she recalled seeing in Gaz.


    "You are a bold one, little mindwalker. By all rights you should be dead now."


    She stared at him. "If you want to kill us, do it now and don''t talk about the deeds you shy away from." She slowly realized that Karia and his men weren''t alone in breaking down from fatigue.


    Her last response earned her a surprised smile. "We were on our way to do that. We heard a mindwalker scout from Gaz had brought mercenaries to Ri Khi to kill those loved by the crown."


    Gring was too astonished to answer. She just glared.


    "Then we heard a halfman from Khi and a halfman jump mage from Khanati had joined you. That tickled our curiosity." He growled. "Imagine our consternation when rumours spread about sworn men from Braka following you."


    That wasn''t too hard. Humans from Gaz didn''t meet halfmen from Braka other than on the killing field. For both of them to be joined in one cause either party must be guilty of betrayal. "I am the renegade. Karia and his men are true warriors. They have lost no honour"


    "You are truly a surprising one. You would have halfmen valued as humans?"


    "Don''t you dare call them halfmen! Any and all of them are twice what you can ever hope to become!" Gring wondered about the vehemence in her own voice. For the first time for as long as she could remember she involuntarily emptied her predator''s glands. Stupid! So stupid.


    Eyes widened, but to her astonishment not a move was made to attack her.


    "You are tired little one. I apologize. Let my shame be part repayment for the honour I have sullied. I am in their debt. Will you tell them so?"


    Gring growled with mirth. "Are we really that simple minded? They haven''t understood a word. How could they feel insulted? There is nothing to repay. Mine is the shame. You could not know the kind of honour they carry as a warriors badge." She bowed in the halfman way, because she had once heard humans in Ri Kordari had adapted to halfman ways along with other oath breaker trappings.


    The leader bowed back. "Would you tell me if we have to kill you or not?"


    That was a question as politely worded as any. By rights she should have done so long ago. "Vengeance. One we had promised to protect met a bad death."


    "What would make sworn enemies share one duty to protect?"


    "I followed a taleweaver," Gring replied. That statement brought a few hisses, but at least they understood. Allegiances had no value compared to the sacred duty to protect the taleweavers. "Nakora, the woman whose death we must honour, shared my duty. Her own men killed her?"


    He looked nonplussed. "A female war leader from Ri Khi?"


    "I''m not familiar with halfman customs in this part of the world, but yes, I heard it wasn''t common."


    She got a sharp grunt in reply. That sound was apparently shared among humans no matter where they lived.


    "Less than common?" she asked more to confirm what she had just learned than anything else.


    Another grunt.


    "Someone paid men to mate with her against her wish. We were on our way to you for help."


    "That was a bad death indeed."


    "Will you help us?"


    "Why should we help you rather than kill you?"


    Gring thought. She was tired, not stupid. "Because Imperial Colonel Trindai de Laiden would have wanted you to had he known what became of one of his officers," she chanced.


    The hiss told her she had chosen well. "You have gathered strange friends, little enemy of Gaz."


    Very well. Those last words were worth a future home for her. Enemies of Gaz. The only human enemies of her old home lived here, and they had just told her she was one of them. A full season of tension ran off her, and with it her remaining strength. She sat down on the ground no longer caring if they would see it as a sign of weakness. Home, she was home at last.

 Intermezzo

    Cardinal Garnhalt wasn''t sure if he should be aghast or relieved. Pushing north they had finally encountered resistance, which removed the gnawing feeling of unease that had been his companion ever since he left Mintosa behind him. That gave him a known enemy, and he preferred that to the rumours that spread like wildfire as they marched on unopposed.


    He hadn''t counted on what they met though. Skirmishers, scouts and a gradually stiffening resistance would have been more familiar to him. Even a herald declaring that he was unwanted and that a rested army stood ready to evict him by force if he didn''t return was an event he was ready to handle.


    Scattered survivors from his supply lines was not. Somehow he had managed to miss an entire army. How he couldn''t tell. It was not due to grave incompetence, even if he was well aware that he risked listening to a different song when he finally returned back. There simply was not way to sneak an entire army through other than by sheer mistake. He had forced marched his troops by night and he suspected the opposing commander had done the same, or one side would have ambushed the other, or they might even have blundered into each other with the following nightmare.


    The result was the same though. Two opposing armies were firmly in control of each others supply lines, and both, had excellent ways of reinforcing the same from behind. That spelled disaster for them both. Without supplies he couldn''t risk wandering into reinforcements any more than his unknown enemy. Not unknown, they were from Keen. The reports had been crystal clear on that point, but he didn''t know exactly how many or even what kind of forces they represented.


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    All in all it was a splendidly disgusting situation with both commanders fully able to launch a surprise attack far into enemy controlled territory, and both commanders lacking the strength to do so for any stretch of time.


    That had been two days ago. At the moment he held the field after routing a column of irregulars, and even though they hadn''t put up any resistance worth mentioning there had been a battle of sorts, and they had to break open the medical supplies, and even a common soldier could see that there was no way to replenish those stocks.


    To his south, as the northbound survivors arriving into his camp could tell, the enemy was experiencing much the same. They must have captured one supply caravan, but with no reports arriving from the north Mintosa wouldn''t send any supplies without a strong escort made up from the troops he knew still poured into the port from Chach.


    When that caravan met the enemy things were going to take yet another turn, and from that moment all lay in God''s hands.


    It was time for prayer.

 Chapter fourteen, Battlfield, part one

    The blast threw him off balance, but at least Trindai had experienced something like it before. The explosives were far, far more powerful than what Ulfsdotir''s thugs had used in Belgera though, and instead of blowing holes in walls entire buildings were gutted with each detonation.


    Another explosion spread shrapnel all over Ming Hjil de Verd, but this time no one stood unprotected. As always any grenade falling directly on a street failed to do any damage other than to surrounding walls. Windows were another matter of course.


    He ran along the battlements and made it to another watchtower just before the barrage started again. At least the magic of Verd prevented any damage to foundations and city walls. That went for the towers as well, and anyone inside one was safe.


    Pushing himself further inside he climbed the stairs to the first missile platform. It was manned, not because there was anything within spear''s range, but for the simple reason it was a vantage point and soldiers needed to do something to feel useful against an enemy they couldn''t even see.


    The men there looked scared but not panicked. Good, they had listened to his warnings as well as his comforting words. He climbed another set of stairs, and another.


    Up here the explosions seemed more muted, but they were still loud enough to hurt his ears. Being caught inside the city would be awful now, and in difference from his soldiers the population had nowhere to flee. They could only stay indoors and pray that the next shell didn''t turn their home into a tomb.


    Trindai sighed and wiped dirt from his face. Unfair, but the boys in uniforms had become men only a little time earlier. He had managed to bring most of them home, but close to a thousand lay left behind like a string of corpses all the way from the sky port to Verd. Unsurprisingly his cavalry were the least hurt. Horses were a lot faster than running men. A phalanx had nothing to do in a battle against outworlder weapons, but he had known it was really only a pretend battle. They were a sacrifice. He had sacrificed unknowing boys because Keen needed the dead. There would be a reckoning later, but now he had to continue sacrificing soldiers until Verd herself woke and activated her defences


    Exactly what was going to happen was a bit unclear, but old documents suggested it would more than even the odds. And it was all pure magic, which made him more than a little uneasy. Tolerant or not, he was still a citizen of Keen.


    He stared out the slits. Waiting. Waiting and listening to how his city was shredded by the invisible enemy. They had to come here, within sight. The scholars had been adamant on that point. Magecrafters working on Verd''s defences hadn''t even begun to fathom an enemy who couldn''t be seen. To this end he allowed the men who trusted him to die.


    A long line of them were manning the walls now. To be seen and to lure the enemy closer, and to die.


    Shells started their slow march from the centre of the city to the eastern walls. It had worked then. Someone was out there watching them, telling whoever worked the outworlder cannons that uniformed targets were on the walls.


    Soon after sharp cracks announced direct fire from the smaller guns, and Trindai''s men were cut down where they stood. Most were simply thrown backwards. Dead before they hit the streets, but a few managed a cry before they fell to their deaths.


    He closed his fists in impotent rage. Yellow and black. Yellow and white. Yellow and brown. And now, yellow no longer. The soiled uniforms were red, and the men inside only broken bodies.


    Then, finally, morale broke, and a few survivors fled the walls. His victims, his accusers. Each one a silent witness to the worst losses any commanding general in Keen had taken for hundreds of years.


    After that the march came to a halt, and grenades ate even the few who had managed to reach the streets safely.


    Satisfied that the shelling had done its work whoever directed the guns ordered them to return to their primary target. Again explosion after explosion tore at the imperial castle. Trindai hoped they would continue to do so for a long time. The castle was magecrafter built, and nothing the outworlders had could as much as scratch its surface. Shrapnel were still a danger, but even ordinary stone walls kept it at bay as long as it had to travel all across the square before slamming into a building.


    Tears welled up in his eyes. He could stop them no longer. Another two hundred dead. Only the gods knew how many thousands more lay dead inside the ruins. That question forced him to stare south.


    On the fields outworlder sky ships burned. How many dead there were inside them he could only guess. Another sacrifice, but not one of his doing. The council had declared war on the outworlder kingdom known as the Terran Federation as soon as the first sky ship blew up.


    He turned his attention eastward again. At last. Outworlder floating wagons made their way here. The idiot commander was so confident he allowed them to come on a column following the Vimarin Highway. Trindai swore silently. That idiot commander had every right to be exactly that confident now. After the first disasters on the fields west of the sky port nothing in the world had even hinted at a functional defence


    It was time to take cover again. A lucky shot would make it through the slits and he was no use dead. Olvar had explicitly forbidden him to die together with his men. When this was over, and it would be within the day, Trindai promised himself he would meet Olvar and punch him to the floor. Gross insubordination or not, it didn''t matter. No one was supposed to stand and watch his men murdered. To order those murders.


    Then the world turned itself inside out. He was no longer in Verd. He was nowhere. A landscape he''d only seen in his dreams stretched out before him. Fields moving like waves under green clouds, and the world wrenched again, and he was back.


    Whatever had happened it wasn''t anything he wanted to experience again. He''d felt the world move when Escha and Trai used their magic two seasons earlier. He knew both were horribly strong, but it was nothing compared to the sensation of the world chewing him up and spitting him out again.


    Below him the floor trembled. Dust danced in the air and he lost his balance. Crawling to the wall he watched how the racks with spears suddenly emptied. One moment they were there, neatly locked in place, the next all racks were empty.


    The shaking stopped, and he was able to rise again. He came to unsteady feet, driven by a longing to see with his own eyes what had just happened. His hands cramped over the closest slit and he stared out, and down.


    The ground was alive with men in ancient armour Larger than life men, and they marched toward the enemy. Verd held no such regiment. Trindai doubted Keen had used the type of armour he saw since days of legends almost forgotten.


    Hundreds of men, each the size of a khraga, walked to meet an enemy as outlandish as themselves. How they expected to survive was beyond him, but he stared in fascination as they continued their steady march.


    Slowly he realized they weren''t cut down they way they should. Nothing had a right to survive that hailstorm of outworlder missiles. Nothing but outworlder moving armour perhaps, and again realization struck him. This was moving armour. No human made them move. They were automations created to kill. Simple-minded and horrible.


    Then one of them went down, and another. Whatever the magecrafters had done to them they were still not indestructible. He gritted his teeth. Had it all been for nothing? Unfair! Trindai yelled the childish thought over and over again, but the armoured monsters conjured from beneath the capital fell over one after another. Then they stopped. All of them, and Trindai cried out his denial.


    A long line of armour just stood on the field, gaping holes in the formation showing the losses they had taken, and they did nothing to prevent more of them from crumbling under outworlder fire.


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    The next moment spears arrived in their hands. Trindai gagged down a laugh. Spears, the magic defences of Verd depended on spears. It was so laughable he could only shake his head.


    And the spears flew. Nothing made in Keen could throw a spear like that, nothing at least that he could imagine. Hundreds of lamps away a deadly shower of spears rained down among the enemy, and by that time another volley was already in the air.


    Again and again he felt the sensation of unreality as the towers magically emptied their racks. Beneath him he heard men yelling, and he knew they had just experienced the same impossibility. Soon those cries turned to jubilation as it became clear that the outworlders could die just the same as the defenders.


    Trindai watched as the line of armour strode toward their targets never ceasing to release the deadly rain of spears. He wondered if the outworlders would break or not, if they could even start to comprehend what was happening or if they would just accept it as just another type of missiles.


    The spears flew no more. Enemy guns once again started their hammering, but the monstrous soldiers shrugged it off and jumped into the air. And flew. They quickly caught speed, faster even than Goldberger''s men had been able to run in their armour


    A few fell from the air, broken shells of metal, but most made it all the way to the enemy lines.


    Silence.


    Silence so profound he wondered if he had turned deaf. At first he didn''t understand. Then he yelled with relief.


    He saw the walls manned once again. With no outworlder missiles scything them clean any longer a grim curiosity took control of his men, and they climbed stairs and ladders to see what had happened.


    Far away something went berserk. Hundreds of somethings. Trindai knew for an absolute certain that the killing machines had taken the battle to close quarters, a kind of combat he was sure outworlders were not properly trained to handle. They did their killing from a distance. Most, he guessed, hadn''t even been trained for a battle where they had to actually see the results their weapons inflicted. They would break. Faced with swords wielded by soulless monsters they would break.


    Another thought claimed him. A question. Would the automations cease? Did they care if an enemy yielded or did they just go on killing until nothing was left to kill? Would they even cease killing after that? That was an awful possibility he didn''t want to linger on. Magecrafters weren''t stupid. He hoped they hadn''t been when they built the disgusting machines busy at bloody work.


    It was silent no longer. Beneath him he heard the Vimarin Gates opening, and Colonel Berdaler rode out with his men. Ingeld must have come to the same conclusion, and now he was on his way to confirm that they had indeed won the day.


    Trindai stared east. Still no sharp cracks, but the muted thunder of outworlder weapons told him they still lived and fought, and died. The dull booms came more seldom now, and Trindai doubted Ingeld would find any enemy soldiers alive when he finally reached their lines.


    ***


    "They''re dead! I don''t believe it. They''re all dead!"


    Granita looked at him.


    Heinrich shook his head. Otherworld had proven it wasn''t toothless, not even against federation equipment. He wasn''t even certain he could have stood up against those body walkers with his own unit. So many! And we never even knew they had them!


    "Listen up everyone!" He let his gaze linger on each face turned to him. "We got whipped. Otherworld just won the day against Goodard''s troops. As far as I know the launch port is undefended, and I don''t think anyone remaining there is interested in trying to hold it against what I just saw."


    He looked at the ashen expressions around him. Yes, we got whipped good. What the hell happens now? The thought was slightly disturbing, but it was in a way also exhilarating. He had expected a massacre, but never in his wildest nightmare had he expected it to take this turn. We''re the Terran Federation. We just got slaughtered by a bunch of farmers!


    "What happens now?"


    Heinrich turned to Arthur. So there were more thinking the way he did then? "I don''t know. We violated the Perth treaty. I hope Admiral Radovic signs our surrender as fast as possible."


    "Surrender?" One of Granita''s crew voiced the question.


    "Yes, surrender dammit! Federation''s supposed to be there to make damn sure everyone keeps that treaty. How do you think I feel knowing my own people broke it?"


    "You''re so holier than anyone else, and..."


    "Shut it!" Granita ordered. "Heinrich''s not part of this. Don''t think anybody but that fucker is."


    And his goons, Heinrich thought. How the hell did we end up here? Our own damn military let a bloody missionary through! Damn! Damn! Damn! "It''s al-right. I think I kind of deserve it on behalf of my idiot fellow soldiers." It was true, but the truth didn''t make him any happier.


    "So, we surrender, and what then?" Arthur asked.


    "I don''t know. Not my problem, or at least not my decision to make." And that was another truth, and this one did make him happier, or at least relieved.


    "I apologize," Arthur surprisingly admitted. "You lost good men back there."


    They hadn''t really been his men, but Heinrich accepted Arthur''s words. Six TADAT dead. He nodded some kind of thanks. "I guess we continue south anyway," he said. "Goodard probably isn''t among the dead. I wouldn''t be surprised if he just abandons the launch port and comes after us with whatever troops he has remaining."


    Arthur''s eyes showed he hadn''t expected that. They were wide open, almost comical to watch, and Heinrich allowed himself to smile for the first time that day.


    Slowly they went to gather their belongings, and he had Elisabeth oversee the packing of the portable alarms. They needed them now, maybe even more than before.


    The news from Orbit One about Goodard was all but comforting. He wondered who would have to clean out that mess back home, but first they had to escape a madman. Once again he wondered how they had arrived here. What it was that made someone go insane with greed or fanatic belief. There were no easy answers to those questions.


    Arthur and Ken mounted their horses, and they were on the way south again. There would be long days to come, days with a lot of mental looking over the shoulders. At least they had a good head start.


    He climbed his body walker, strapped himself inside and turned on the engines. It made a small squeak, one that he had once wondered about, but now it only made him feel at home. A very mobile home.

 Chapter fourteen, Battlfield, part two

    It was even worse than she had feared. Thousands dead in the ruins of their homes and not one single survivor had emerged from the wrecked sky ships on the training grounds. Trindai had lost over a thousand of his men as well, and in the immediate aftermath farmers no longer dared the roads. Verd ate her stores, and within a few eightdays starvation would come to visit if they couldn''t force the influx of food.


    Mairild walked in a landscape of destruction. One of selection. Public buildings and palaces were all unblemished, but the poor quarters were a maze of rubble and gutted ruins. She had an escort to protect her from her own citizens. Where she put her steps today few could feel elation. Keen had claimed victory in her first major battle in a hundred years, but to the survivors here it mattered little. Their lives as well as their homes lay in ruins. Most had lost family.


    She sighed. For her it had been a choice to enter a lonely home after a long day, but the thought of having that closeness stolen from her like this built a painful lump in her stomach.


    Arriving here in spotless clothes, surrounded by imperial guards in equally faultless uniforms made her just another intruder. She didn''t need the accusing looks from the sullen faces she passed to know she was gloating. A perverted fascination, a need to see the destruction with her own eyes was as much reason as her responsibilities for coming here. More, she regretfully admitted.


    Makarin or Tenanrild, even Garkain had more reason to be here. She traded in information, and those she saw had little to give. They needed food, clothes and homes and she had nothing but words to give them. So why was she here? If not to gloat.


    Around yet another ruined corner they walked into a group of outworlders surrounded by children and what Mairild hoped were parents. She stared into tired faces, tired but determined.


    It took her a few moments to recognize the New Sweden envoy among them. The others were unknown, but their clothes told a story of different origins. A few from Anita''s kingdom but most tourists who had been unable to return home after the enemy general landed with his soldiers.


    A stretcher served as a table, and on it a boy, barely out of his first eightyear lay covered in blankets. Somehow Anita must have managed to organize an outdoors hospital of a kind. Machinery of a kind Mairild had never seen buzzed and hummed, and the boy''s face visibly caught more colour as she watched.


    Anita looked up when she was finished working whatever miracle she had done.


    "Left quarters. Give him water and a blanket," she said to a tall woman with an unnatural green haircut and more gold dangling around her wrists than Mairild thought safe to carry in these quarters even with an escort.


    Rich or not, she obeyed without question and carried the child away with the help of another female, her daughter possibly, inside the ruins of what had once been a tavern.


    "You here to stare or to help?" Anita asked.


    "I didn''t expect you here," Mairild answered.


    Anita smiled. "It''s my job."


    Behind her a few guards made as if to force a protective circle, but Mairild waved them back before they started pushing people around. She didn''t want to create more hostility than she had already earned just for being here.


    "I''m safe. These are our own," she said more for the benefit of their audience than to explain anything to her guards. They were paid to obey her orders without her explaining anything. "Your job is to represent your kingdom," Mairild stated flatly. This was a conflict she had to take here and now. "Saving a few lives makes you a hero of the people, but not taking your real responsibility will kill hundreds more."


    Anita''s face reddened and for a moment Mairild feared the outworlder woman would flare out in rage. Then the anger sunk back and left only a hollow shell. "This is what I do best, but you''re right."


    That was the reason she had been chosen by her kingdom. Admitting a hard truth in the face of her accuser. That took a lot of strength, and Mairild wasn''t sure that doctoring was indeed where Anita''s true calling lay.


    "First of all I have to give you my condolences," Mairild offered to break the sudden silence.


    The words must have worked a spell, because around her muffled voices came alive, and it took her a while to understand that people were wondering about the conversation. They didn''t understand English.


    Maybe the foreign language seemed more natural when outworlder spoke with outworlder, but Mairild''s was a known face, even among the poor. She knew the older recognized her from her days as a celebrated actress. Not all plays had been staged indoors.


    Then the lack of an answer finally registered on her. "Won''t you mourn your own?" she asked before her shock would show.


    "Mourn? Of course, but we''ve already put our dead to rest."


    Mairild stared at Anita. "You call leaving your dead in those metal wrecks putting them to rest?"


    "I don''t..."


    "Why didn''t anyone survive?" Mairild interrupted, suddenly suspicious. There was something shifty in Anita''s expression she hadn''t noticed until now.


    "Enemy artillery hit all shuttles."


    Now Mairild knew for certain that the other woman was withholding something. "Someone should have survived, and you should at least be busy extracting bodies by now. What have you done?" She voiced the question as a direct order.


    "I haven''t..."


    "Hold them!" That was directed at her escort when the crowd grew restless and started pushing to see what the commotion was all about. The guards lined up and pushed back even before Mairild had given her command.


    She turned to Anita again. Now was the time to add ice and steel to her voice. She needed the truth. "How many did you send down. People, not machines?"


    Anita''s resistance broke as Mairild knew it would unless she represented a direct threat to Keen. "None," she said. "We sent no one."


    "You landed empty sky ships and started this war just to make a political statement?"


    "No! My friends died the first day!"


    That was also true. Mairild forced herself to admit that. Anita''s kingdom had taken very real losses earlier. "But why this charade?"


    The outworlder paled. "I don''t really know," she said. "Counting missiles to know if we can land safely I was told."


    Mairild brought the memories of the previous day to her mind. Then she compared them with those from when Anita had arrived. There was a difference. One apart from the destruction of a large part of Verd.


    "I saw no ship killers. Your ships all landed before they were destroyed. Am I right?"


    "I think so. We will drop a field hospital. Just not where we said. We needed to know it was safe."


    "And to that end you had thousands upon thousands of my people killed?"


    Anita paled again, but then colour immediately returned to her cheeks. "What difference would it have made if we sacrificed several hundred of our medical staff to show we can die as well?"


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    None. It would have made no difference, at least none for the good. Mairild bowed an apology. "When?" she asked. The answer to that question meant the world to her.


    "You hammered the bastards to the ground. We saw that. Before noon."


    "Before noon!" That was fantastic news. "At noon outworlder doctors will arrive here with help," she announced loudly in De Vhatic. Her part in the council was to trade information, and if she could gain a measure of gratitude for it in return it was only fair.


    The crowd silenced, and then the cheering begun.


    ***


    Ken turned and averted his eyes. It was not like he had never seen a deserted battlefield before, but the way the reporters from Red News descended on the broken bodies like scavengers was an experience he wished undone.


    "I apologize," Arthur said shamefaced and averted his eyes as well. "I personally apologize. I trained them. Never thought it would come to this."


    Ken stared at him. "Thinking first really never was one of your stronger points?" he finally asked.


    Arthur didn''t answer. Ken saw him staring in the direction where Heinrich had his unit setting up some kind of surveillance post. They were military men, and with so many bodies killed with weapons this close they were probably more than a little nervous. Nervous in their own, detached and professional way.


    Ken suddenly wished Arthur could have had some of that in him. So many dangers could have been averted then. But that wasn''t really fair. The outworlder, and Ken could think of them as nothing but outworlders, earth born as he was himself, hadn''t become with any tutor close by.


    What was worse by far was that Arthur saw himself as all knowing when it came to tale telling of any kind. He had made a living of it, and from what Ken knew he really was seen as a godsend by his own. That made him dangerous. Twenty years was a long time for a human, even for one who could expect to live to a hundred and fifty. It was far more than enough to cement the idea of expertise, and Arthur had mastered that specific flaw to a fault.


    Ken, he could hardly recall the days when he hadn''t lived without the Weave. Whatever Arthur thought twenty years was nothing compared to seven hundred, and those seven hundred was barely enough to understand just how much more there was to learn. Ken accepted that. He enjoyed learning. It made life exciting.


    A few steps brought him back to where he could see for himself what the news team recorded. It was disgusting, but in a way they were only doing their own version of what he had done for so long.


    "They''re not ours," he heard Arthur''s voice from behind.


    "We watch and Weave," Ken said. How hard could that be to understand? "There is no ours or theirs in what we do."


    "And when did you die and grow mold in your heart?" There was equal amounts of anger and resentment in that voice.


    "Dammit man. Look at them! Your own crew. They don''t care about what side the dead belong to. They report. You should learn from your students."


    "They care," Arthur answered. "We don''t have sides the way you took for granted before you came here. Of course we have our own fair share of barbarians who just can''t give up wars, but most of us only have to worry about piracy."


    Ken turned and laughed. "You are too much! Last news was most every damn nation declared war on you because you started slaughtering a rescue mission."


    Arthur mumbled something. Then he came up to Ken''s side. "What I was trying to say is that I don''t think they''re from Keen," he said and pointed over the field where the dead lay scattered.


    Ken watched where Arthur pointed. A few were. Dot''s of coloured linen showed where a De Vhatic soldier had fallen, but Arthur was mostly correct. The vast majority of the dead wore leathers from what could only be the Midlands. One banner especially caught his interest.


    "No. Wherdin, Hirgh and mostly Chach I''d guess."


    "Never heard of them."


    Ken wasn''t surprised. "Kingdoms in the Midlands. None strong enough to be called a nation by your definition."


    "How can you have a kingdom that is not a nation?"


    That lack of understanding did surprise him. "People live there, but they don''t think of themselves as part of a greater unit like you do. Just over a thousand years ago it was much the same back on Earth," he explained. From Arthur''s blank face he guessed he''d have to turn that explanation into a lecture if he really wanted the message to get through. If Arthur''s reality lacked the ever present daily reports of wars and contested borders it would take too much teaching, and he might never understand fully anyway.


    Ken shrugged and went ahead. There was watching to do for future Weaving.


    "As far as I understood things Keen planned an attack over an inland sea south of here," Arthur called after him. "A lot of dead bodies here means someone on the other side made the same plans, and they set them in motion first."


    Arthur was obnoxious, but he wasn''t stupid. "Yes, you''re right. There''s more to it I''m afraid," Ken said after a moments consideration.


    "You mean with new gods and superstitious frenzy?"


    Sometimes he was just a little too observant as well.


    "And if that isn''t a cross I never read my history," Arthur continued undaunted.


    Ken gave the banner a long glare. What was the papacy doing here? They knew the northern empire was a sanctuary. And since when had they started to employ battlemages? Users of magic were as anathema to them as to Keen, even though for a very different reason. The papacy licensed users of the gift, to work God''s miracles they said. To even the balance Ken knew. Battlemages, however, were not among those given a papal license.


    Walking further out in the fields he saw the unmistakable burn marks scarring Keen''s dead. Fire mages then. Primitive but dangerous. That meant Khanati, or Rhuin.


    Another dead caught his interest. He had taken a lance through his chest, but the hoof prints were impossibly far apart. That took a kind of magic he hadn''t seen before, and he had seen a lot.


    "I think we have a problem here," he announced.


    Arthur walked to his side and looked at the corpse. "Spear? Why is that a problem?"


    Did it take so short for an overprotected civilian to become so callous? Then Ken recalled that Arthur had spent the better part of a year on the road. He had probably seen his fair share of death and mutilations by now. "Lance, and that''s not the problem. Someone is working magic on the horses, or at least one horse."


    "And?"


    "And I haven''t seen or heard of it before," Ken replied. Arthur''s last comment made him irritated.


    "And just because you haven''t... oh, bloody hell!"


    At least an admission that had Ken grinning. "Bloody hell sums it up quite adequately," he said.

 Intermezzo

    When three days had passed without a single panicked survivor arriving from the south Cardinal Garnhalt admitted he had run into trouble. When, after another two days, he routed a supply column and replenished his baggage train he knew disaster brewed south of him. The sheer amount of food they had taken told him much more about the size of the enemy army he had left behind than he wanted to accept.


    Mintosa was safe, but whatever troops landed there and tried to push north would be hammered into the ground. They would emerge victorious in the end. His presence here guaranteed that, but he would receive no reinforcements for the better part of summer, and without additional soldiers he doubted the wisdom in pushing north.


    Still, the thought of returning south grated in him, and when they burned a farwriter erected far, far further south than any should have stood he knew he was committed.


    Now the godless enemy knew where he was. The deadly game of hide and seek was over.


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    The last uncertainty of if he was truly following a path laid out by God himself vanished when he a few skirmishers returned with the message that they''d been chewed up by a full regiment or more of infantry on their way south. That part of the message wasn''t what made his mind up, but the part where outworlder demons searched the field with unholy creations that flew like birds made his mind up once and for all.


    For years they had hoped the outworlders were angels returning, but they never visited any but the godless, and slowly the hope that they were bringing the word of God to those who needed it most died. It had been a day of horror and sorrow when His Holiness himself had to declare that Eden had been taken by Satan. No angels but demons came from there, and holy mother church''s last outpost was here.


    This was the world of the last battle. God had imbued his holy warrior in preparation for the war of all wars, and Cardinal Garnhalt led an army into the heart of darkness.

 Chapter fifteen, Thunderclap, part one

    They fled south. Madness, but madness with a rationale.


    Ship buster missiles against cavalry. The outcome should have been obvious, but the singing horsemen just shrugged them off and continued charging.


    Heinrich groaned. He still hurt where a lance had pierced his body walker. A full burst of needle grenades, enough to wipe an entire company of modern infantry from the ground, had taken down the horseman in the end. They managed to down less than a dozen more. Then several unarmed men suddenly appeared out of nothing with fire in their hands and slaughtered half of Granita''s crew. At least one single burst killed all the arriving mages, but it was enough for the charge to break though.


    He lost four there. Lances and swords cut through body walkers with little effort. An impossible nightmare, and one they couldn''t survive.


    Arthur Wallman saved the day by using his unnatural tricks in return, and Ken had been screaming at him time and time again for most of the three days and nights they fled south.


    Heinrich didn''t care. He had his orders, and even though Arthur seemed fully capable of protecting himself those orders still stood. How he should carry them out with less than half his command still alive was currently beyond him, but he had to try.


    He compensated for a slight malfunction in the right leg motors and continued on. Nothing more he could do right now, and he had taken the rearguard. Chang was almost out of munitions and Panopilis was flat out. He served as point anyway. His sensors had taken the least damage, and they desperately needed to know what lay ahead of them.


    They also needed to put as much distance between them and the riders to the north as possible. One more such encounter and they would all be dead, and that, he thought grimly, would prevent him from carrying out his orders.


    ***


    Trindai de Laiden sent a few scouts ahead and waited for the phalanxes to get ready to march. He had lost several days and many, many more men. And yet duty called them all. By all rights he ought to be close to Krante with his troops on his way to join General de Markand''s forces.


    He pondered the reason he''d ordered scouts ahead. Farwriter down wasn''t a message he''d expected from the south. Apparently the more militant of the religious sects didn''t all rush ahead in suicide attacks. One, at least, must have gone underground while de Markand marched his regiments past their hideout.


    And then they came back into the open and burned a farwriter to the ground. Trindai held no illusions about what had happened to the crew manning it. He would tread carefully so as not to lose men before they embarked on de Markand''s barges and sailed to Chach. Well on the other side of the Narrow Sea losing troops would once again become unavoidable, more so now as they were already severely understrength courtesy of the outworlder invasion.


    Well, they had sued for peace, or at least Admiral Radovic had on their behalf. Trindai doubted his superiors would be especially happy when they learned about that, if they didn''t already know of course. Outworlder communications were a wonder to behold.


    But, he thought, they had reason to accept the terms set by the council. Keen had crushed the invasion, and as far as Trindai was aware the outworlders had no way of knowing that the disgusting magic tied to Verd was one of a kind. They would have to consider the possibility of encountering defensive magic each and every time they closed on a city or town.


    He mounted, rode along the city walls and tried, as much as possible, not to look at the outworlder wrecks littering what could no longer be used to train troops. A year, at least, before they had cleaned it up enough not to pose a danger to anyone entering it. Outworlder shrapnel or deliberately hidden caltrops made little difference to soft soled boots. A few men under the skilled care of Envoy Kirchenstein-Yui had already proved that.


    That was possibly the single best piece of news they had received lately. The entire first landing a decoy and after the enemy was crushed several hundred outworlder doctors with vast amounts of supplies landed west of Verd. He grinned at the memory. That Anita had been sly one, more of a diplomat than the doctor she stubbornly said she was.


    And something else made him grin even wider. The Krante Highway offered a lonely rider coming at good speed. A messenger of some kind, which meant the way south was far safer than he''d dared hope. He put a hand to his eyes to deflect some of the sun, but the glare was still bright enough he couldn''t make out any details in the haze.


    As the messenger came closer Trindai saw the brigade ready to march, and with a dull thud spreading dust into the early summer they took the first step to whatever destiny awaited them. With a bit of luck the rider would agree to share her information with him, unless it was for the council, but the only reason he could think of for a messenger coming from the south was General de Markand wondering what took the gherin spawned demons so long, and Trindai was that very demon in person.


    If it was a woman, but most messengers were.


    It took the better part of a dinner''s meal to see the entire brigade on the highway. One cavalry regiment waited behind and would overtake them later. By that time Trindai saw that he''d been wrong. The messenger was a man, and he didn''t carry de Markand''s colours


    Money letter then, or just a spy for the merchant houses? Minister de Verd hadn''t shown any reluctance to turn death into money. It was clear that for him war was just a different way of making business.


    Trindai hesitated a little but decided to force the rider to stop. Maybe he could be coerced into yielding whatever news he carried. Or threatened or bullied, he thought dully. His right hand still smarted from smashing a fist full in the face of Minister de Saiden. The giant killer hadn''t as much as given a word in reply. Just like Olvar to be the one inflicting lasting pain even when struck. Trindai nursed his fist. It would pass. It always did, only a little slower for each passing year.


    Then the messenger reached him, and halted.


    "Thank gods you''re ready! We have to hurry!"


    That made no sense whatsoever. "Slow down man!" Those are client colours. Younger nobleman? "Start from the beginning!"


    "They''ve taken Mintosa!"


    Whoever he was he refused to listen to advice. "Attention!"


    That worked. How he managed to stiffen in the saddle like that without falling off eluded Trindai, but at least he had the full attention of the lordling.


    "Now, slowly." Trindai shifted a worst case scenario through his mind and probed. "Did General de Markand storm Mintosa?" That would set relations back more than thirty years.


    The messenger exhaled, drew a deep breath and started over. "I am Count Mintosa. Chach invaded us earlier this spring, or rather the papacy did."


    The world stopped. "Would you care to repeat that?"


    "A fleet from Chach arrived at the harbour, but I saw that most of the ships really belonged to the papal fleet. When their cavalry charged we had to abandon the city."


    Trindai blinked. "By all unholy gods, how did you manage to slip flanking cavalry behind you with the city gates open?"


    He received a challenging stare in return. "I didn''t say that. They came over the water. I don''t know what magic they used, but they charged the entire waterfront from the sea. We never had a chance."


    Trying to visualize what he had just heard Trindai barely managed to gag down a sharp reply of his own. Trebuchets against cavalry. He could see how futile that was, and ballistaes weren''t much better. They would have been swarmed long before they really understood what awful fate had just befallen them. He had to live with everything turned upside down for a while.


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    "How many," he asked.


    "I don''t know for certain. At least five hundred horse, the water riding type. Another fifteen to twenty ships. I had to leave to tell someone what had happened."


    Trindai''s world spun once more. "But why here? Why didn''t you tell de Markand, or did he send you?"


    Count Mintosa stared back, eyes filled with incomprehension. "De Markand? What good would that do, and where should I have found him?"


    "Where should..." Trindai gaped. "He marched for Mintosa almost half a season ago. He should be almost there by now, and he''s in command of several regiments worth of cavalry. You couldn''t possibly have passed him without noticing if you stuck to the main road from Mintosa."


    Trindai received a negative wave in reply. Gods, if the lordling really had made it here without meeting de Markand, where was he, and his army for that matter? "Follow us!" he ordered the baffled lordling. I''m going to need someone who knows the lands from now on. They attacked us? Those sail barges. "Did they...?"


    "Yes, we never had time to set fire to those ships of yours. They can transport just about as much as they can produce across the Narrow Sea until the weather takes a turn for the worse."


    Trindai swore. No chance to take Mintosa back then. In the worst of worlds de Markand had already been defeated, but that was unlikely as the young count must have had at least a few days head start, and if he hadn''t met the army then it was probably not headed for Mintosa at all.


    And the day had begun so well. Now he tasted ashes again, but he could do nothing but head south. The question was what troops he should bring.


    He decided to continue and sent a few messengers back to Verd. If they wanted to exchange troops all left in the capital were mounted and could catch up with him at will.


    Still a lousy way to start his campaign, but then he hadn''t experienced much anything but lousy events since the day he received his new orders. He should have stayed the colonel. Life had played its ugly jokes on him last time he held general''s rank as well.


    They rode side by side, but none spoke much. Young Count Mintosa had reported most of the useful information anyway, and Trindai needed the silence to revise his own plans. A campaign to retake what they had lost rather than a pre-emptive strike to prevent Chach from training battlemages. They should have guessed some were already fully trained.


    He shook his head. There was a lot of things they should have known. Not sending two full regiments east would have been a good beginning. Not cleaning out Vimarin and Erkateren of food so the population starved would have been a good way to continue, but they had failed there as well. Now, what they didn''t have to guess was that the papacy would get directly involved and lead an assault on the northern shores of the Narrow Sea, because that was unheard of.


    With holy warriors suddenly able to ride on water and the unholy gods knew what more demon spawned surprises they had waiting he was at a loss how to proceed, but proceed he must. It was all beginning to resemble the awful running tax collection mission Mairild had set him on a few years earlier, and what a nightmare that had been. The difference was of course that he knew and trusted each and every of the thirty odd men he''d led that time. Now he was responsible for five thousand trained and half trained men.


    When the daylight finally gave way to dusk he still hadn''t decided on a plan, but he knew he''d have eightdays of worry ahead of him during which he could imagine one disaster after another and plan for it.


    ***


    "He struck you?"


    "He did," Olvar grinned back. "I won''t hold it against him. We put him through an indecent amount of pressure, no, I did, not we."


    Mairild nodded. Whatever Olvar was, craven was not one of those things. He was so honest she sometimes mistook it for stupidity. She didn''t repeat that mistake often though. A great brain on a huge body. The brain of a brilliant killer.


    She watched him from the corner of her eyes. A brilliant, deadly child was probably closest to the truth, but that thought scared her more than she wanted to admit. They couldn''t afford a child in the council, at least not a vengeful one.


    They walked down a flight of stairs and emerged just outside the tavern where the outworlder taleweaver had allegedly taken refuge during the riots. At least a hastily written sign said so, the part of it that wasn''t riddled by cuts and holes from the shelling less than an eightday earlier.


    "Is there a reason you didn''t tell General de Laiden we''ve known of the attack?"


    "Yes," Olvar agreed, "a good one. We didn''t."


    "We didn''t?"


    "No. I believed there were irregulars terrorizing the countryside south of the highways, maybe even a baron or count who had grown megalomania, but a full scale attack by Chach? No I didn''t know that."


    "Neither did I," Mairild admitted. She hated doing it. She was supposed to know. It was her job to know, even when it was obviously impossible for her to do so. The council took for granted that she should deliver the impossible on schedule. She gave Olvar a long stare before she voiced her opinion. "Someone paid good money, very good money for silence. I''ve never been overpaid before." That was as close to admitting she used forbidden sources she dared go.


    He just shook his head. He probably didn''t care the least. He wanted her information so he could send his soldiers to do the killing. In that way he was refreshingly simple-minded, and dangerous.


    "I think Lady Kirchenstein-Yui will agree to lend us a few of their self moving wagons with the crew to man them."


    "You think or you know?"


    "I know I''ll be able to convince her in the end," Mairild answered.


    "I don''t know how you do it, but go on. Play your magic with your words and I''ll put the vehicles to good use."


    Mairild shivered at Olvar''s choice of words. Magic was the last she could afford to use now. Too may eyes were directed at her now. Magehunting''s not the least worrisome of those. That minister was about as much of a fanatic as any of the sect leaders she''d encountered since the last deity showed it''s ugly, shining face in the night sky.


    How many enemies had she made since then? Or even before? She shook the emerging suspicions away. Always keeping an eye over her shoulder was no way to gather information. Paranoids made bad spies.


    They made their way down a few streets¡ªthe boulevards were busy with carts and wagons emptying Verd of rubble. For once manual labour had to be used to move debris out of the capital.


    Just on the west side of what had once been the crossing between Artists Street and Runaway Alley she found Anita. Even though the outworlder still had her duties as official envoy she were most often found among her own giving a hand wherever one was wanted.


    The problem, as Mairild saw it, was that too often it was. Not that she was about to say so, not when she was going to ask a favour or in worst case demand restitution from the very people who had saved them.


    She bowed when their eyes met, and from then on the haggling started, and to Mairild''s enormous surprise she found herself enjoying the entire episode almost as much as she''d loved taking the stage over thirty years earlier.

 Chapter fifteen, Thunderclap, part two

    Arthur was in an ugly mood. Ken never ceased his shouting fits, and Arthur, honestly didn''t understand what it was all about. He''d not lied, not even made better the absolute truth as he''d seen it, and only his Weave had got them out alive.


    We don''t take sides. He''d be damned if he didn''t take the side of his own life. Besides all taleweavers were supposed to be sacrosanct here, and the charging horsemen had made their very best to trample two of them at once. Didn''t that make them doubly damned?


    Now he was on his way to force this last piece of information down Ken''s soar throat. We are sacrosanct. I just saved an entire kingdom from eradication by Weaving. I took the side of as many survivors as possible. I didn''t kill anyone, so get the bloody hell off my back and find someone else to pick on! That kind of conversation was what he had in mind.


    Of course Ken would have none of it, or almost none. The part of sacrosanct and wiping out kingdoms from the face of the earth worked surprisingly well. So well, in fact, that it had Arthur scared for several hours. Ken must have some rather awful memories of his own from if his reaction was anything to go by.


    Arthur wondered about it. If he''d got his calculations right Ken should have been here during what they called World War. Had he played some part in it? Was that the reason for his unwillingness to do right rather than some holy rules applying to all taleweavers?


    Too many questions and far too few answers. Always a situation that grated on the newscaster in him, and that created personae carried over to the taleweaver as well. Arthur was aware of that, Ken''s words to the opposite effect aside.


    Nothing he could do about it, nothing he really wanted to do about it for that matter. He''d cleared the air, or at least emptied his lungs in Ken''s face, and that would simply have to do.


    Just as he''d done on the way to Braka, almost a year ago, he joined point and scouted ahead as much as he was able to to without the sensors all body walkers had feeding the TADAT. He still beat them here. This was forest landscape, and none of the three survivors seemed used to it.


    Point, he had to remember that. He was alone. This was no armed vanguard. They were pitiful refugees on the run. So, they were heavily armed refugees on the run, but he suspected the three had far less ammunition than they admitted. The walkers didn''t look too healthy neither. That scraping sound hadn''t been part of the background noise when they left Verd.


    He clung to the trees, quickly dashing from one to another after he''d made certain none had seen him. Some equipment he''d coerced Granita into giving him helped of course, and this was as close to the stalk outs during the perpetual Chinese civil wars he''d covered in his youth as he was ever going to come. At least so he hoped.


    Fifty meters, fifteen seconds scanning, clear, another fifty meters and repeat. This was the deadening repetition needed for anyone who skulked among the trees. On Earth, without the scanners, it would have taken him longer, much, much longer. The human senses were only so good.


    This way he was almost certain he outclassed anyone in a deadly game of hide and seek, but he couldn''t be sure. Gring would have made short work of his attempts, as would Neritan. Did the unseen enemy use mindwalkers as scouts? Did that enemy even exist?


    He stalked through the forest for the remainder of the night and relayed his all clear messages over the silent link he''d appropriated together with the scanner. Panopilis could probably have done it almost as well, without tiring, but Arthur had a need to be alone. The daily quarrels with Ken had taken their toll, as had the deaths, and the fear, and the not knowing what the hell was really going on. It all ate on them.


    So it was that morning found him hidden in that thin border between forest and fields, uncertain about what to do. He stared into a foggy nothingness even his portable scanner refused to see through, and with little else to do than to wait for Panopilis and the military grade equipment he had Arthur did the second best. He fell asleep.


    ***


    Damn! Damn, damn, damn, damn! Now what?


    Heinrich stared into the holo. It didn''t lie. No, that wasn''t entirely true. Unless someone waited on them, someone with those brain twisting powers he''d been forced to accept as true, his readings told the truth. He didn''t care for those readings. More cavalry and therefore more problems.


    The strange thing was that they seemed to be heading in a south westerly direction. That didn''t make much sense. A patrol, yes, but a patrol with hundreds of riders?


    He turned to Arthur. "What do you think?"


    Arthur relayed the question to Ken who stared into Heinrich''s helmet for a few moments. A long tirade of words later and Arthur translated back.


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    "Possibly De Vhatic. That means ours. He doesn''t know why though." Arthur smirked. "I''m just the tourist here. You decide," he added for his own benefit.


    There it was. From creepy and barely something to believe he had to upgrade magic to a measurable military threat. The problem was that he had to make all the estimates himself. The link back to Verd provided some help, but by now he accepted that Verd was hardly the centre of expertise on the subject. Well, apart from killing any practitioner they could lay their hands on.


    He juggled the possibilities. Effectively out of ammo, body walkers in immediate need of repair and only three survivors out of what had been one of the best trained TADAT units in the entire solar system. He couldn''t go on alone any longer. Just getting food each day proved an unacceptable risk.


    If he chose wrong they''d be dead in less than half an hour.


    He exchanged looks with Arthur who nodded in response. It was decided then.


    "We go out in the open. Make sure they see us!"


    Hesitantly, more like a scared flock of birds than members of the Federation Finest three body walkers buzzed into motion and entered the fields.


    Heinrich took point with Panopilis guarding their left flank. Chang held the right, where they knew soldiers to be. If he could trust the information Ken had given, and Arthur had confirmed, the fog should be gone like magic in minutes.


    As it was he could.


    They had covered less than a third of a field in what looked like a pastoral idyll when they were apprehended by several riders. Ken was right again. Yellow and brown. Cloth rather than leather. And most important of all, they all carried the crossbow he''d grown to expect was part of every rider''s armament on Otherworld. He''d been wrong, but that hardly mattered now.


    He met the commander''s gaze with what he hoped was a level look. Then he remembered he was still visored. Heinrich grinned at himself and mentally wiped the expression of consternation from his face before sliding the visor back into his helmet.


    They stared at each other. For once Heinrich only felt gratitude at meeting the eyes of a fellow professional. The officer represented what the federation army ought to have been.


    He received a question in the language he started to regret he had never learned well enough to use. Answering was out of the question so he waved to the other to wait until Arthur could catch up with them.


    The surprised and angry shout caught him off guard and he had his weapons ready to fire just as Arthur roared at him to hold his fire. That didn''t prevent the soldiers he faced to lose three quarrels squarely in his face. The only thing that saved his life was his body walker automatically shutting his visor when he went into full combat stance.


    Arthur shouted something in the Otherworld language and all riders immediately relaxed. Heinrich dared opening his visor once again.


    "What the hell was that all about?"


    "Idiot!" Arthur barked. "Think first! Everyone tells me to think before I act."


    Heinrich understood nothing, and it must have shown in his face.


    "Bloody hell, I wasn''t close enough to hear what he said, but that wave of yours was a flat denial from your side. Damn, you must have seen the people here wave their hands the way we shake our heads."


    What? Oh shit, how incredibly stupid! "Yes, yes I have. Never gave it much thought."


    "If you''re going to tell armed people no in their faces with no way to explain yourself you''d better stay in that moving cage of yours," Arthur grumbled and turned to the officer who''d started to make impatient sounds.


    Heinrich waited for the two men to finish their conversation, and when they were finally done Arthur was laughing loud with a mixture of relief and mirth. He sat down and clearly waited for the others to gather before he told them what he''d learned. One by one they arrived. Panopilis and Chang first, and then Granita with her surviving crew members on their dirty and buckled hover. Last Ken arrived on horseback.


    "We''re welcome to join them," Arthur began. "In fact we have an invitation to dine with a General de Markand," he pointed due west to show them where the dinner was supposed to take place, "and lastly the gentleman here wondered what the bleeding hell took us so damn long," he said and laughed again.

 Intermezzo

    One by one shuttles arrived from Royal Crown Stockholm and RMS Red News.


    Vivian sighed and ordered her crew to attention as the first guests entered TSS Orbit One. Her flag.


    For the first time in weeks she felt only pride over her government. Their reaction had been as stunning as prompt.


    When all guests were seated and they had received the best she could offer, which was what she''d bought from Her Majesty only hours earlier, Vivian handed documents to each one present. She had already signed them, two copies per person. One she''d receive in return if the recipient decided to put their signature on them as well.


    Her hand ached. Pen and paper wasn''t anything she''d handled for years, and by now she knew of muscles she hadn''t been aware of earlier. Still, an occasion like this required the formality.


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    Hadn''t it been for the sheer amount of copies she needed to sign she''d have waited until they were all present, but it would have to do with the single doublet she presented to Her Royal Majesty the Queen of New Sweden personally.


    The moment came, and went. The queen, a plump and rather nondescript woman in her early hundreds countersigned the documents and returned one copy into Vivian''s waiting hands.


    "All signed?" Vivian voiced the formal question. "No refusals or further demands?"


    They were all signed.


    "Then from this moment the war is over," Vivian said, and before her voice broke she continued: "The Terran Federation hereby surrenders unconditionally to each and every sovereign state previously declaring war on us. We await your judgement and your mercy."

 Chapter sixteen, Execution, part one

    To find a home and then to have to leave it before ever seeing it. It was hard for any homeless, but for the tribe-less it cut to the heart. Gring felt that pain like a claw ripping at her innards, and only the steadfast guiding of Rahak dir corin Aghender got her through the first days of desolation.


    That the leader had given her his name without a moments doubt also helped. She wondered if she''d been able to display such a show of trust in his place. Probably not, and that should have shamed her, but it never did. She had Rahak to thank for that as well.


    The war leader made sure she never had a chance to grab the shame and hide it within her. How he knew she would have tried she couldn''t understand, and as she refrained from even the subtlest of walking of his surface thoughts she couldn''t learn without asking. That, however, would have shamed her no matter what he tried, and so she refrained from that as well so as not to place any extra burden on him.


    The previous night they had crossed a border of sorts. They were back on the fields clinging to Ri Nachi.


    One mission. To strike at the heart of a kingdom. She had expected to die in the attempt but not any longer. Every day they travelled halfmen warriors joined them, some accompanied by human warriors, all silent. How they found them they never told, and she never asked.


    In what spread out on the moonlit fields Karia, his men and she was only a small group. There were hundreds of silent men methodically moving across the fields. Not in the disciplined but predictable pattern the colonel from Keen would have chosen, but with a confidence born of purpose nonetheless.


    Small clusters of shadows reached the walls. A few swam the moat, and not once could she hear a sound. The warriors from Ri Kordari had brought their own mages. She could feel the power singing in her mind, but to those not brought into the secret of the senses they would be invisible and inaudible. She couldn''t even smell the men around her. Not that it mattered. Ri Nachi had its own stench which would have covered the smell of sweat and fear, but whoever was responsible for hiding their approach wanted to be thorough.


    When the first scaled the walls she held her breath like any halfman, scared she would give them away if her nostrils disturbed the air. Still no alarm was sounded and soon she climbed the walls herself.


    Inside she knew they had only managed the easy part, and she saw how the killing started ahead of her. Not all guards were asleep, and a few had sparks strong enough to alert them to the wrongness of the night.


    When they reached the castle they would be discovered. Nothing could prevent that. They were simply too many to hide from a strong mindwalker, and she expected nothing less than the strongest Ri Khi could offer around its royalty.


    They waited. The moon vanished behind a cloud that shouldn''t have been there and the final assault begun.


    Whoever worked the gift dropped all subtlety and the shadows became a swarm of halfmen and humans dashing up stairs, climbing walls with grappling hooks and ropes and smashing windows to get inside.


    A horn sounded. At the agreed signal she closed her eyes and covered her ears. The screech still forced her to the ground, and through closed eyelids she could feel how the night burst into glaring daylight. Then darkness, and silence.


    She opened her eyes and ran.


    All around her defenders flailed blindly before they went down under swords and daggers. She ripped through a throat and threw another into the moat. These weren''t who they had come for. If they lived she didn''t care.


    Ahead of her soldiers closed the gates and barred them from the inside. Then sudden heat, but not of fire. Whoever the jump mage was he lacked Escha''s strength and skill. Too much of the gift was used to control the power, and too little to achieve what the mage attempted, but it was strong enough. One half of the gates simply vanished before the mage collapsed to the ground.


    She didn''t wait to see what had become of him. The opening was still easily defended and she had no intention to make a closer acquaintance with the over sized crossbows favoured in Ri Khi.


    Four leaps and a roar later she was in the centre of chaos, arms flailing, claws ripping and tearing and tusks closing over enemy faces over and over again. Battle madness took her and she danced to the music of death.


    Around her men screamed and died, pleaded and fought, but they were like dream ghosts, immaterial, unimportant until the moment they became targets for her frenzy. Only then did they take form just to vanish again when they became broken and shredded remnants of thinking beings. She dropped the bodies where she killed, clawed and ripped an arm out of its socket and used it as a weapon for a while until the bones were so mangled she could no longer crush men with it.


    When the entry hall emptied she rushed along a corridor, found another hall and took the stairs.


    Speed was of essence here. Even in her trance she knew that. They needed to kill faster than reinforcements could arrive, kill so fast arriving soldiers chose to flee rather than join in the defence of a lost cause. They were immaterial as well. Defenders only, not targets of their own.


    Deep inside the castle, several stairs up, lay the chambers where their real targets lived, and she had to get there before they managed to gather their mages and flee out of reach.


    A young lordling arrived from a room, half naked, dazed eyes but with a sword in his hand. She brushed him aside. It was faster than killing.


    Another flight of stairs had her viewing more exceptional finery, living statues, draperies, paintings and the idiosyncratic artwork of Ri Khi she couldn''t begin to grasp.


    She passed under a line of lamps usually only found in Verd, artefacts from a time when magecrafters had made Verd famous for the riches it produced, but to her they mostly meant light, and direction. The enemy could as well have painted signs for her to follow, and she never veered from the mage crafted lamps.


    Behind her sounds of heavy feet reached her, and she turned to assess the new threat. Humans, with Rahak leading them. They caught up with her just a she turned through a doorway and entered a large hall. A courtroom or reception hall, she wasn''t certain.


    As Rahak overtook her he offered her an ironic growl and waved his warriors onward. They rushed over priceless mats, leaving red footprints as proof of their bloody work, and just as the hall widened soldiers emerged from the other end.


    Careful now. She forced the frenzy under control. These were not the same as those guarding the outer walls. Cold eyes, even from this distance she saw the calculating, detached looks they gave as they readied weapons.


    Rahak noticed it as well. He slowed and fell back into a defensive stance. She followed his movements and settled into a crouch behind the warriors. If true warriors over twice the size of the defenders deemed caution to be in order she wasn''t going to play out any overconfidence.


    And it was time for her to fulfil her mission. This time there would be no unknowing deaths. Those guilty should know why they died.


    She wrapped herself in the gift, touched each warrior lightly with a thread of power and extended new ones to the enemy, and beyond. The minds behind the crime hid behind that screen of armed men. As she became aware of minds she touched them, walked their fears and surprise, but she never walked deep.


    She never did uninvited. Enemy or not, it didn''t matter. Maybe she would have found out faster if she did, but human mindwalkers didn''t violate the gift that way. Golden did, she knew that for a certain now.


    The memory of Neritan discoloured a strand, and she quickly reasserted control over it. Sharing language only, she wasn''t here to lend her thoughts to anyone.


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    Rahak hissed his approval and relaxed his swords a little.


    "Go! We are here for the king mother."


    The defenders didn''t move.


    "Stand down! We are not here to harm your king."


    We are not? Gring didn''t know that. What happened here? She pushed herself back in her mind and concentrated on handling her powers. She had promised to amplify the spoken words as well as translate them. That took more of her that she was used to, but she didn''t intend to overextend herself the way that jump mage had done at the gates.


    Rahak repeated his request, and the tension crackling between the armed groups slowly sank back. They were the king''s defenders. That much was certain, but she''d been as certain they''d come here for him.


    Then the king entered the hall, and by now she was aware they''d arrived in the throne room. The simple chair between the defenders was the throne of Ri Khi. She hadn''t even given the unadorned and bruised piece of furniture a single glance until the king sat in it.


    A young man but probably older than he looked. They usually were from Ri Khi, or the halfmen from Braka looked older than they were. She didn''t know, hadn''t really considered the differences between one halfman and another until she met Arthur, and Harbend, and Nakora, always Nakora. Karia, however, tipped the scales once and forever.


    She wondered where he had gone. By all rights he should be here now.


    With that thought firmly in mind she sent a single strand back, through the doorway, down the corridor and a flight of stairs, and searched. She tasted rooms where people hid, corridors along which soldiers fled and she found Karia. He was on his way here and even managed a brief smile when she made her presence clear to him.


    Growling with mirth she gave him the directions here and felt how he and his men disengaged from the battle and ran for the stairs.


    "What is the meaning of this," the king said suddenly. He didn''t tremble much. For anyone but a mindwalker it would have seemed he believed he was firmly in control of the situation, but she could smell his uncertainty with senses enhanced by her handling of the gift.


    "We have come for the king mother," Rahak repeated again. "Order your men to stand down!"


    The king blinked and sat up straighter. "I am Panared, king of Ri Khi. Why should I do your biddings human?"


    "You should undo wrong, because you are king. The king mother has done wrong. She must be undone."


    The king mother? But she''s as much a woman as Nakora was. Why should she be involved in this?


    "State your accusations and leave," Panared ordered.


    "Nakora of the Weinak family is dead."


    A shadow of grief spread over the young king''s face. "I know. Clan leader Garak has paid for the killing of her murderers. I have chosen not to stand in his way."


    That was more news. Had the court known of their mission for vengeance all along? Had Neritan told them?


    "When the caravan returned with only an imperial escort I personally ordered an investigation. I have confirmed the unlawful murder of Nakora of the Weinak family. In honour of her I also ordered the family risen to full clan."


    Gring coughed with surprise. Her hold of the gift faltered for a moment and she hastily grasped control of it once more. The second time she almost lost it during a single session. She would shame her teachers if she didn''t keep her threads in order.


    "We are aware of this. Rumours spread. When young Garak spread his coins tongues loosened further than he had planned."


    And events slowly unfolded for Gring. It hadn''t been a coincidence that they''d encountered the war party so far inside Ri Khi.


    "And you still believe I had something to do with her death?"


    "We have already told you that is not the case. The king mother, however, is guilty of a vile crime and must be undone."


    "Why should my mother involve herself?"


    "We know young Weinak caught your interest. We know you made true the dreams of a warrior girl."


    King Panared blushed.


    "We know you acted, not like an oath breaker but with the honour a halfman can muster. The king mother did not. She must be undone."


    And Gring had a flash of events from long before she had ever met an outworlder taleweaver. She saw a young king infatuated with a sword woman and how he gave her her due in a land where women usually had none. She understood a mother''s fear and jealousy, and she guessed the rest.


    "Weinak''s murderers forced her mating before they killed her. Perhaps they would have done so anyway. Halfmen ways are not easy for humans to understand. The king mother sent coins to ensure that the mating took place before the killing. She must be undone."


    This time Panared paled. "You dare accuse my mother of an atrocity like that?"


    Rahak''s fur bristled with rage, and Gring felt how he barely managed to keep his glands closed. "We are human. We serve Cor. We do not lie. You could ask anyone who serves Cor when a human in His service last lied."


    So it was true that the tribe following the white god of war and healing were as strict in their ways as her own. More so, she admitted. No human had ever been imbued with Cor''s powers, but the same was not true for her own.


    She saw the young king tilt his head, swallow once and stand. "I apologize," he said, and there was a tone of slowly burning wrath in his voice. "My mother sleeps in the south wing. I will have her fetched."


    "The king mother does not sleep. She and her entourage are on their way here to sway the mind of a king."


    "I understand," came the curt reply.


    Rahak rose to full height. "You do not understand, young king. We are finished here. You have been proven guilty of being born by the king mother. She must be undone."


    Panared stared back. Something unflinching had entered his eyes, and his mind was hard as a golden''s. "I understand," he said at last.


    "Mindwalker, we are finished here. Follow!"


    Gring looked up just in time to feel the presence of Karia behind her. He had entered the throne room undetected when she concentrated on not to lose control of her gift a third time. With him stood all his sworn men, stone faced, silent. They had listened, and understood long before the message came clear to King Panared.


    They turned and followed Rahak out, and so did Gring. She threw a last glance over her shoulder and looked at the boy king who had just grown into a man. A passing feeling of regret touched her. Then she left the throne room before the sound of running feet made their way into it from behind the throne.


    Slowly, filled with sorrow, she made her way down the stairs. Above and behind her she heard loud voices of fear and denial. Then a sharp command. Then the screaming started.

 Chapter sixteen, Execution, part two

    Harbend hurried through the streets. Something had happened in the royal castle the day before, something, he suspected, that intruded on his revenge. There was little he could do about it. Alone he was helpless. He needed swordsmen but Ri Nachi wasn''t the place to buy them.


    Neritan Hwain had solved that problem for him. Not by doing anything but by sharing information. Somehow the death of his uncle hadn''t been an accident. The entire main line of his clan had been killed, as had his father and brothers.


    He would carry out the vengeance for them later, but for the moment he planned to make the most of his sudden rise in power. Clan leader. Duke as they called it in the Midlands and the northern empire.


    Vast riches waited for him home in Khi. That was an unnatural word. Khi hadn''t been home for many years. Now it was again, by definition. And home held armed men. Thousands upon thousand of armed men. From his clan only he could field an army larger and better equipped than the entire kingdom of Ri Khi. Not that he intended to, but a few hundred men jumped here with the help of Khar Escha would allow him to finish what he had started.


    After that he would have to bring the killing all the way to Khi. For a different reason, of course, but killing just the same.


    Getting to Khi wouldn''t be too hard on the khar, but Harbend wondered how much he would have to pay for the jump back.


    Two or three hundred men should suffice. At least if he included several mindwalkers and a few magehealers. He firmly trampled the tiny voice inside him that protested against using Escha like a common mercenary. For each need a resource, for each resource a price. Escha could name his, and Harbend would pay.


    He''d reneged on one principle though. When the wagons arrived in Ri Nachi he sold his goods, horses and even the wagons. That lost him money he should have made in Verd.


    He even paid his drivers enough to travel back to Keen in style, which cost him even more, but he didn''t want to leave a stain on his reputation in Keen. Reputation was also a currency. Last he ordered a letter of money so that Arthur would be paid in full, with a small interest to cover the risk he''d taken.


    When all was done he waited for Escha under the jump tower south of Ri Nachi. He arrived with that sad smile he carried on his face these days, and after a short nod he jumped them both onto the tower. There he rested briefly before gathering enough of the power for Harbend to marvel, and they jumped.


    ***


    "Gone home? What do you mean with gone home?"


    Neritan sighed and smiled. "Duke Garak has unfinished affairs. To set them in order he had to go home first."


    Karia shrugged. He admired Gring for trying, but silently he suspected that the caravan chief was a lost cause.


    "Gring, if she says he''s gone, he''s gone. There''s nothing we can do here, not with Khar Escha gone with him."


    "He was a good man. I would see him saved yet."


    Karia bowed. "Was, Gring. Was. He''s lost in his world of revenge, and he''s become powerful as well. He''ll use that power to finish his revenge. I''m sorry, but I believe he ate his soul even before we came here."


    "But..."


    Karia dared interrupt her despite her size. They were enemies no longer. "Leave be. Save those who can be saved. There''s war brewing to the south, I''ve heard. Erkateren starves. Please, honour Nakora''s memory among those still living."


    The golden mage smiled knowingly and he turned to her. "And you stay out of my head. I hold you in lower esteem than a gherin. Whatever honour you once held you lost it all. Return to your true home before you destroy more lives!"


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    "Despite what you believe we are not evil," she replied.


    "I know, just uncaring. That''s where honour comes in," he said in turn. Just because they lived forever they thought they knew everything as well. Well, she was wrong.


    He turned to the khraga. "Gring, are we done?"


    She looked back. Soft, brown eyes in a sea of black fur. "I thought you would return home now. You have paid your sentence."


    Karia smiled back. He even made an effort to show as much teeth as possible. "I think not. It will be a long time before I return to Belgera, if ever. They worded my banishment kindly, but it''s for life. My men could, of course. One or two will, I reckon, but not all."


    "You are a strange one. I value your friendship, Karia Graig."


    Behind them Neritan''s smile turned smug, but Karia let it be. He''d steered Gring from the impossible. It hurt a little to desert a good man, but Harbend was no longer a good man. He would have to save himself.


    "So do I," he replied and laughed. "What would I do without it?"


    Gring grunted a question.


    "Oh well, I like you as well," Karia said and sauntered down the stairs and back out on the streets of Ri Nachi again.


    Behind him Gring''s heavy steps muted her growl a little, but only a little. He laughed again.


    ***


    They made good speed south. Close to the Roadhouse, or what was left of it anyway, Karia released two of his men from their oaths, and they watched the pair ride up the mountain road on their way back across the Sea of Grass to Braka. A mere season earlier Gring wouldn''t have given them much of a chance to make it all the way, but now she wondered. The halfmen nomads would do well to leave them alone.


    She slung her bow across her shoulder and took the first steps in another direction. Erkateren. What did it look like? Another nest of halfmen?


    Unworthy thought! Another thing to learn from. Halfmen differed among them just as much as humans did. Karia had proven that, as had Rahak. Besides she remembered the time when Harbend had found himself forced to order the execution of traders on their way to Braka. As early as that a clear division between those from Erkateren and those from Ri Khi had become visible.


    Were those differences the reasons halfmen loved their wars so much? Were they perhaps the reason they too often killed without honour?


    She grunted, kicked a small stone off the road and walked on. Erkateren then. Another place, and one people called home. Like Rahak did.


    His insistence to join her had surprised Karia, but she felt the signs already. Soon she would be in season. She was certain both his followers would put up a mock fight for the right to mate with her, but they were just followers.


    Karia wouldn''t understand, but he would respect her need when the days came. Another reason to give him an equal amount of respect in return, and his men.


    Somewhere far to the west a taleweaver she had promised to protect had to fend for himself, but it was in a place where her kind weren''t welcome, neither as humans nor as mindwalkers. She couldn''t go there, but walking through Erkateren, and maybe Vimarin, giving whatever help they could, she could come closer. If the brewing wars spread, like wars had a tendency to do, Arthur was certain to follow. Taleweavers were drawn to events of change.

 Intermezzo

    He was aghast. A dozen irreplaceable paladins lost to the demons. He should have known Satan''s minions tested faith and strength both. It had seemed so easy, so right to undo wrong when the charged in glory. When His warriors sang their faith to the lord and stopped the flying demons in their tracks he had jubilated. Then the paladins got caught in a hailstorm of outworlder weaponry, and he knew the true enemy used evil from hell as well as weapons made by man.


    A disaster followed. A full third of their battlemages died after doing their holy duty but once, and after that the demons killed paladins and merely faithful soldiers indiscriminately as they fled into the forest.


    Garnhalt ordered his outriders to be more careful as they advanced north. Hubris, he had been guilty of hubris, and God in his divine wisdom had slapped his fingers.


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    Cardinal Garnhalt bowed his head in shame where he rode. Thinking he could do God''s work by himself. Had he fallen so low? Or was this merely a test to strengthen him for what lay ahead? Or, and this was a fear he had nursed for days since the horrors, had he been warned not to continue north. Could it be that God needed him to wait and gather his crusaders before thrusting deep into the lands of the godless, to ensure he had enough of God''s warriors to ensue he could throw back the demons to the nothingness from whence they came?


    All questions he alone had to answer with the help of prayers, and so he allowed his men to rest while he sought knowledge together with his priests.


    Outriders and skirmishers alone continued north. He didn''t even send more priests afraid that he would invoke God''s wrath if he did.

 Chapter seventeen, Clash, part one

    Trindai smiled when he read the message on the farwriter. The brigade apparently had no problems patrolling Verd.


    He''d force marched two companies of infantry until they nearly dropped, but it had proven worth it. Now Krante was garrisoned, even if with soldiers tired beyond belief, and he had gutted her of all but a single platoon of cavalry. Together with the bulk of the Imperial Guard the council had ceded to his command he now had close to three full regiments of cavalry and dragoons.


    It would be enough to handle any skirmishers they would encounter, but he was well aware he lacked the strength to both take the enemy''s northernmost army and push south to join General de Markand. Wherever that elusive man had gone with his army, but that was another question and one Trindai had no way of answering before he had more information on what happened in the southern client states.


    The young count of Mintosa was overly eager to take the fight to the enemy at all costs though. He never spared a moment to egg officers and soldiers on, and Trindai thought of restraining him forcefully more than once. In the end he didn''t. Trindai remembered what it was to be young and angry. And besides they could use a client count to their benefit. Keen needed allies now.


    Trindai didn''t much care for that need. Client states never trained armies. They weren''t allowed to. Keen made certain they adhered to that law, but client states sent most of the men wanting to join the Free Inquisition, and one result of the religious frenzy spreading like wildfire this spring was the inevitable counter reaction. Men eager to stand against evil sought entry into the yellow and green, much to Trindai''s dismay, and, he suspected, in an equal degree to Minister de Levius'' glee.


    Hepaten was as much a fanatic as anyone he sent his goons to hunt down. Magehunting needed to be, and Trindai could see why. That didn''t mean he had to like it. And he didn''t. The Free Inquisition were a bunch of undisciplined thugs no matter how soldier like they looked in their official uniforms.


    Even the Holy Inquisition scoffed at them, and they were the most fanatic of them all. Fathers, brothers and sons alike. Steady farmers or craftsmen who took the sabre and crossbow together with the wow to fight magic in any form it took. Never warlike until the moment they sniffed out their prey. Trindai feared that mild mannered fanaticism a lot more than the bullying attitude of those in the yellow and green.


    Which made the vanguard his main concern. Olvar de Saiden had ordered him to take command of more than a hundred of Keen''s finest, and the reason Minister de Levius had so readily agreed was something Trindai preferred not to linger on longer than absolutely necessary. That Count Mintosa never as much as blanched didn''t make things any better.


    Worries or not. The sunny day, almost but not really stifling hot saw them crossing the Avarin river in good order. Not that they needed, but Trindai had thought it would be good training voiding the use of the bridge. The latest arrivals in his army didn''t. The outworlder wagons couldn''t handle the steep river banks, and he didn''t want to risk the precious medical equipment they carried.


    To be truthful he was as happy as surprised that the sky kingdom had agreed to bolster his baggage train with ten doctors, as many nurses and four hovercraft with drivers attached.


    He was even more surprised to learn that the Terran Federation had ceded all lands around and including the sky port to Keen. They still manned it, under the supervision of New Sweden and the Republic of Mars, even though the latter hardly had sufficient men here to do any real supervising.


    That also brought back the most horrible of all news they had received. Of the refugees around the sky port only a handful were alive. First they though the mad general there was to blame, but he wasn''t. Not directly anyway. Trindai didn''t understand it fully, but somehow the outworlders had come up with a way to cure diseases before they could break out. The army landing had received no such cure, and by now doctors from New Sweden were driving frantically all around Keen in their hovercraft setting up small hospitals to prevent the plague from spreading.


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    A sudden sound brought him out of his thoughts. A wagon overturned in the river and men swore as they brought the horses under control while trying to save the contents of the wagon. They barely managed. Trindai swore some on his part as well. He didn''t like the prospect of losing supplies, but he liked the possibility of them losing it all during a hasty retreat even less. So he let the crossing go on and tried to pretend he didn''t hear the angry words shouted at the men he''d placed on the bridge to prevent anyone from taking the easy way across the river.


    ***


    "And they haven''t stopped it yet?"


    "I''m afraid not, Minister."


    That was bad news. They hardly had time to celebrate one obstacle overcome before the next disaster struck. Well, it would be Tenanrild''s problem. She was responsible for transportation and that made her indirectly responsible for forcing the population to stay where they lived. Olvar helped out with armed muscle, as did Hepaten. Mairild wasn''t too happy about the last, but they were spread thin and the latest recruits weren''t trained enough to take up soldiers'' duty yet.


    "You may leave. Send messengers to Hasselden. They are to continue rebuilding the fleet, but if they run out of timber shipbuilding will have to stop until the plague is contained." Mairild waited for the courtier to nod understanding. "These are orders signed by Minister de Dagd." She handed the papers over and waited for the woman to leave.


    The day could have begun better. Now she had to send message to Roadbreak by farwriter. The plague couldn''t be allowed to spread into Vimarin, but using the farwriter for her message spelled danger for her personally. Speed was more important than secrecy though, and she needed the magehealers in Ri Khi to know of the invisible killer that was headed their way.


    The plague had started in Keen. It was their responsibility to warn others now. For once they had the luxury of doing so while treating a disease safely at home, or rather, the outworlder medics did the treating. Keen had no knowledge sufficient enough in those matters.


    Mairild hurried to the wing set apart for New Sweden. They were the only sky kingdom here in force now, and they supplied help to Keen in a scale the federation had never done. That made them Keen''s most important ally at the moment, and so the council had agreed to temporarily cede them two floors of the Imperial Castle''s east wing.


    Anita Kirchenstein-Yui was there for once. The last days she had occupied the rooms assigned for her and her staff more and more often. Maybe she had finally agreed that her primary task was that of an envoy, or maybe she''d been directly ordered to by her queen. No matter what, it made Mairild''s work easier.


    Mairild was on her way to beg. With Tenanrild halfway to Krante on a mission to sort things out after Trindai''s forced acquisition of most anything on wheels. The grand caravan and the sudden need to feed Vimarin and Erkateren alike had drained Keen''s resources of vehicles to almost nothing. She suspected the general would even have forced carts into his use hadn''t speed been a priority of his.


    Which was the reason she was taking the steps two at a time to meet with the outworlder envoy. The sky kingdom had a seemingly endless supply of those hover craft. Since they had started handling the daily operations of the sky port one or two of the incredibly fast vehicles had arrived in Verd each day. If Mairild could only lay her hands on three or four of them on Tenanrild''s behalf.


    They should able to exchange information with the client states on the Ming Peninsula, and more importantly, with the isolated villages in marshy Levs. If what Mairild had heard was true those hover crafts could run on water which would make those marshes open fields to traverse rather than a deadly maze.


    She ran on, paused and straightened her clothes and strode into the New Sweden quarters as if she''d just happened to stroll in that direction. Time for begging. She''d grown skilled at that art the last eightdays.

 Chapter seventeen, Clash, part two

    Arthur cringed at the summary of their doings since leaving Verd. Another uniformed goon with far too much brains. One with a paranoid streak that first had Arthur believing that he was facing a mindwalker from Keen. He hadn''t lived here long enough to appreciate fully how absurd that thought was, but as he had a suspicious mind of his own that just made it more likely that somewhere hidden away in Keen were small groups of practitioners of the forbidden arts. Magecrafters more likely than mindwalkers he guessed.


    Still, General de Markand, or someone in his staff, had guessed just about everything that had befallen Arthur and his entourage of bodyguards and bloodhounds alike. That was uncanny, especially as it soon became clear that it had nothing to do with mindwalking. The young officer with his dry humour in his red linen and black leather represented a presence that all but guaranteed that no users of the gift were present. The Inquisition, those who called themselves holy and behaved like a well organized team rather than a gang of thugs. Which mean they''d verify that a person used magic before the execution. Dead would still be as dead in the end though.


    Arthur was a bit unclear of his own status, but Ken had made it clear that Weaving had nothing to do with the use of the gift, at least not directly.


    At the moment he sat in a foldable chair, a holo cam circling the tent, which had the inquisition officer fidgeting, facing one of Keen''s most senior military men and Arthur felt very much like a child who had been dressed down in public. He would regain his confidence, he knew that, but for the time being he could only admire the person who had just delivered such a succinct, and more importantly, correct summary of his whereabouts.


    "And now that we have arrived according to your plans?" Arthur asked. It was less of a provocation than it sounded.


    "We return north west, I guess," a staff officer answered in de Markand''s place. A middle aged woman. Most of them were. It had surprised Arthur at first, but he guessed it made sense to use women as brains and let the men handle the actual killing. There was only so much you could do about muscle mass.


    "Haven''t you listened at all? Those riders all but massacred soldiers in federation body walkers!" That part was one they hadn''t guessed, which indicated that de Markand''s staff weren''t all knowing.


    The general smiled. A tired smile, but one anyway. "Yes, we have heard what you say. That''s the reason we have to face them. Those battlemages have to be killed one by one unless Chach manage to get enough of them together in one place to shift the odds too unfavourably"


    Arthur turned and threw Ken a glance. "I don''t think they are battlemages," Arthur started. Ken nodded, but unhappily. Watch and Weave. Arthur guessed he didn''t even approve of helping one side with information about the other. This time Arthur had won him over though. Giving away information or Weaving, those had been the choices Arthur had given, and Ken had caved in. Apparently a taleweaver could chose when and why he Wove.


    "Why not?" General de Markand looked at Ken directly. "You are known as Walking Talking, but you''ve been silent throughout this meeting."


    Ken didn''t answer, and Arthur hadn''t expected him to. He wouldn''t prevent Arthur from supplying Keen with the knowledge they needed, but he refused to take a direct part in what he felt was a breach of neutrality. Well, neutrality be damned. Keen was where Arthur felt at home. In a way they had gone to lengths to help him find a place to live, to the point of facing up to the federation military might. If they took his side he wasn''t going to betray them.


    "Ken doesn''t approve of me openly siding with you," Arthur answered.


    He wasn''t naive enough to believe they did it out of kindness. By now he had grasped the political value of being associated with a taleweaver, but he wasn''t asking for reasons.


    The general offered him a questioning look. "And you have?"


    "Yes," Arthur admitted. "I have. I''ve seen my share of this world. Some I like and some I don''t. But for your fanatic attitude on magic," he met the inquisition officer''s glare with one of his own, "you seem to be one of the most civilized nations here."


    "How kind of you to approve of us," de Markand said with an ironic glint in his eyes.


    "Considering how much further we have advanced you should be," Arthur bit back. Why Otherworld had lost over a thousand years of development was beyond him, but they had and he wasn''t about to apologize for that lack of progress. "Look, the federation might not be the promised paradise, but part of what you''ve done to yourselves is outright appalling."


    The general looked like he was going to respond in turn, but the he just seemed thoughtful and sank back in his own chair. "Maybe some of what you say is true." Then he leaned forward again. "But you didn''t see total devastation. History tells me we lost hundreds and hundreds of years of civilization there."


    There it was again. Another reference to World War. Arthur suspected Ken knew a lot about it, but he''d been strangely close mouthed whenever the topic came up.


    "As a matter of fact we did," Arthur said. That got Ken''s interest for certain. "Why did you think the federation surrendered so bloody quickly?" he spat at his fellow taleweaver. "You believe this is going to be cheap for the federation? Then you''re more daft than I believe."


    "You haven''t said anything about a major war," Ken said.


    "Oh we had one. Real big and real ugly. Half a billion dead and so many cases of radiation sickness it took over fifty years for global population to rise again."


    "Oh."


    "And that taught us the lesson we needed."


    "No, I meant I thought it had been worse."


    "Worse? How the hell can it get much worse?"


    Ken just stared back unhappily.


    Oh hell! It could, couldn''t it? "Just how bad was this World War here?" Arthur forced himself to ask.


    The silence in the tent was total. Even if it had to be a legend all had heard about few enough ever saw a taleweaver who had lived through it.


    Arthur watched Ken meeting the eyes of each one present, one at a time. "This is our history, yours as well as mine," he began. "We watch and Weave, but we never interfere."


    Arthur had heard that sentence enough times to make him sick of it, but the others present only nodded in response.


    "They are also my memories. Seven hundred years I have carried them. Not a legend but something that stays with me when I awake and when I go to sleep."


    Something resonated in his soul, there was no other way Arthur could explain it, and he saw that look of recognition in the eyes of de Markand, and then the very same look in each and every face he watched. Bloody hell, he''s already Weaving! How does he do it?


    Ken''s voice meandered through his thoughts. The soothing voice of a father, a slight tinge of a warning in it but most of all love. "We made mistakes among acts of bravery and care. Heroes and villains, very few of whom took their roles knowingly."


    Arthur sensed the thoughts of men and women in power, of those who had none. Fear, greed, love and the decisions they made. Rational decisions, emotional decisions and some made on a whim. A few, only a few, he recognized as evil, even if that term was one of his own choosing. He lived thousands of lives, hundreds of small wars, each one eating away a little on what he called home and he shared the resignation at the thought of forcing an end to the wars. Anything would be better than the endless line of atrocities, and nothing was.


    The world bathed in flames. How they ever got access to thermonuclear weapons he didn''t understand, but he knew that of those present he and Ken alone understood the flames for what they were.


    The world lay in ashes. Empty shells of cities. Remnants of villages rotting as years became decades, and dragons. Impossibly huge dragons crawling the lands or flying over it. They killed, they ate, and they gave life. He never knew how or why, but he did know for a certain that they unleashed the gift in ways neither Escha nor Trai would ever have dreamed of, and they healed the very lands.


    Something happened with the ocean west of Keen. It grew warmer and snow ceased falling during winters. There was a price to pay, and he saw how the forests that once spread endlessly withered, fled the cold and gave way to the Sea of Grass.


    And more than anything else, he saw the world through the eyes of the surviving few. Thousands had become scattered hundreds. Ten dead to each living. One grave for ten survivors. Bones covered the places where people had once lived. Surviving a nightmare, living an impossible hope, and generations lived as little more than animals.


    Dragons vanished and returned, and when they returned they brought back lost knowledge, and new rules. Somewhere, hidden among the multitude one shone: We watch and Weave, but we never interfere.


    Arthur shook himself out of the waking dream. Whatever Ken was or who he believed himself to be, he mastered the Weave in a way that still lay far, far beyond Arthur''s grasp. For once he felt envy, but that feeling soon gave way to one of resolution. He would learn the secrets of the Weave, and he would surpass Ken.


    "I had heard it was bad, but I never imagined," the inquisition officer said. "I understand fully why we have the laws against magic now."


    Arthur sighed inwardly, but not before he saw Ken gifting the young man with a look of disdain.


    "It didn''t start as laws against magic?" he asked Ken.


    He looked back and shook his head. "No. Slaughter on this scale could not be the deed of humans. We couldn''t be responsible for what we did to ourselves."


    "And if it wasn''t your fault then foreigners, and when those were too hard to find then the gods themselves were to blame?"


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    "But we can''t punish gods," Ken said. "I see you understand what happened."


    "I understand what, but not how?" Arthur said.


    "Magecrafters from all around the world came to Verd. With most of them being foreigners they had to buy their welcome. When people started to search for someone to blame they were only too happy to provide the tools."


    Arthur shuddered. "And anyone even remotely religious was hunted down and killed?"


    Ken nodded. "Those who survived went into hiding, some even joined the inquisition. Then, of course, whenever a god is born it becomes impossible to keep the lid on. You''ve seen it first hand."


    "I see. And that doesn''t happen very often. So when they ran out of priests to kill they refused to disband."


    "That is a lie!" It had taken him a little longer to see where the conversation was heading than Arthur first thought.


    "I am Ken Leiter de Ghera, Protector of the Geralin Islands, taleweaver. I am Walking Talking. Do you wish to repeat that statement?" That was the first time Arthur had heard the blend of steel and ice in Ken''s voice.


    "I didn''t mean to..."


    "You did, and it was a lie. The inquisition, whatever form it takes is a leftover from times of revenge. When you ran out of holy men to kill you turned on the magecrafters who provided you with your staffs. The ban on magic is, what, three hundred years old? Idiot!"


    "But Keen is a sanctuary."


    Ken scowled. "At least you got that right. You weren''t supposed to police it yourself though. Without the gift Verd would be a boiling cauldron of chaos. It used to be."


    Arthur saw how the rest of General de Markand''s staff looked among themselves. He assumed they hadn''t heard this version before. Why should they. The inquisition was part of their daily reality. They had no reason questioning it, and recalling Trai Arthur suspected they did more good than bad. At least the disciplined men and women in red and black. The uniformed trash in yellow and green was just that¡ªtrash.


    "That was an interesting lesson," Arthur said to defuse the tension.


    "In more ways than one," de Markand agreed. "Now I know how to handle those riders. Battlemages or not."


    "Excuse me?" Arthur said.


    General de Markand grinned at the man in red and black. "Gather your men. From now on you have vanguard duty."


    ***


    Mairild stared at Olvar de Saiden. "No wagons?"


    "Correct. Over a company''s worth of escort are back here, but the caravan was dissolved in Ri Khi."


    Mairild slunk back into her chair. "That was bad," she said.


    "I don''t know. Major Terwin reported some severe losses of men but almost none of the merchants were lost."


    "And that is good?" Sometimes she didn''t understand the meandering paths Olvar''s thoughts took. He''d just received word that a highly trained special unit had taken abysmal losses, and those were good news?


    He smirked. "From your point of view, and from Glarien''s. The caravan was a success. It actually paid for the escort we provided and a substantial amount of gold and silver arrived here with the escort."


    Mairild tried to see it from that angle. It almost worked. "We needed the public display of returning wagons," she said.


    "You got the public display of over a full company from the Vimarin Gate Regiment returning in parade formation escorting what was obviously an unholy amount of money." Olvar bent forward. "You got another of your precious heroes returning home. Make the most of it. I am. I have half a brigade of partially trained farmers to care for. That returning company was a gift from all unholy gods." He turned on his heels and left. Whenever he got agitated enough he started behaving like a man in uniform, which he had once been.


    The last part she did understand. Olvar never ceased to complain about the lack of seasoned soldiers to help out with the training. As for the former. Yes, she could make use of it, and dealings in information was her responsibility. She made a mental note to have the news relayed to Trindai. He wouldn''t be happy to learn about the losses his men had taken on the last leg home.


    De Markand should learn about it as well. She almost forgot the lucky events placing Arthur Wallman and his bodyguards together with the southern army. Now Olvar could coordinate the movements of both armies thanks to outworlder equipment.


    Which freed up the farwriters for other needs, like finding out what in the bastard spawned gherin was going on in Ri Khi. Someone had released a vengeance demon, or at least that was how rumours went. Her informers, those who still lived, told tales of monsters killing in the night. If what she heard was true khragans were involved somehow, but that made no sense at all. There hadn''t been a khragan problem this side of the mountains for hundreds of years.


    Mairild smiled. The hover craft stationed at Roadbreak would carry her missives to Ri Khi almost as fast as she could order it by farwriter. Three days, four at most. Outworlder vehicles were a wonder. She sent silent thanks to Anita for her willingness to rent the flying wagons to Keen. Rent, not lend, but Keen would pay in due time. Some services were well worth paying.


    There was another thing she had the newcomers to thank for. The sky port was operational again, much to Tenanrild''s joy. Outworlders arrived in ever increasing numbers, and they brought raw materials and outworlder gadgets with them. In return they mostly demanded works of art, and clothes of all things. Khanati silk and Erkateren furniture were in steady demand. Now, if they could only have more merchantmen built trade with the Sea of the Mother could resume, and Glarien could supply the outworlders with what they wanted.


    With that thought lingering in her mind she went to meet with the Minister of Commerce. A distasteful duty if any, but there was an item she couldn''t afford to dodge any longer. The business with burial rights were a great success. Maybe too much of a success. Rumours about people disappearing had grown more frequent, and she needed to know who supplied the bodies the religious sects bought.


    If Glarien knew anything, if he was somehow involved in something more than he said she would personally see him executed. To that end she made a detour to fetch two of her interrogators, and a full squad of the Imperial Guard. There was no way he could mistake the reason for imperial questioners being present at a meeting.


    ***


    It took a single volley to cut down the men once they ventured out in the open. Did they think he was an idiot?


    The bulk of the regiments continued on column on the road, following the vanguard into the forest, but Trindai hardly gave them a thought as he joined the outriders to inspect the bodies.


    They emerged from the village where they had hidden in wait for the skirmishers his scouts had reported the previous evening.


    Stupid. You had no business among skirmishers and scouts if you believed an advancing army didn''t use a screen. Well, he wasn''t about to complain. The enemy had taken his bait, and he wouldn''t even pretend that the ambush had been a battle.


    As they came upon the dead men he saw that they wore leathers from the Midlands. No uniforms as he would have defined them, but there were enough details for him to recognize the different kingdoms they came from. That confirmed the council''s suspicions about something more than just Chach trying Keen''s patience.


    He hadn''t believed that anyway. Chach wasn''t the centre of anything but civil war. There simply was no way anyone there would have taken the risk to move troops across the Narrow Sea to attack Keen or her client states. That was a certain way to lose whatever holdings you had in Chach.


    So, who? Reports from de Markand indicated the papacy, and they certainly had the naval force to ship the soldiers. Church infantry were decently trained, and their holy warriors made good cavalry, but there were simply not enough of them. Six, maybe seven thousand men in total. Not nearly enough to take on the full might of the northern empire.


    He stared down at the bodies from his horse. Bolstering that force with men from all the kingdoms pledging allegiance in equal terms to their kings and the papacy? That could work.


    "We''re done here. Pay the villagers to bury these. South! I don''t want to see any of you closer than fifty lamps from the main column."


    Trindai left the men and started back toward the road. If de Markand was correct they would catch the enemy army between them within an eightday.


    That army had to be starving by now. He had caught up with his own supply trains, or de Markand''s really. The enemy would get nothing from that source any longer. The southern army lived from the lands, but at least those lands were client states. And they controlled the enemy supply lines by now. As long as anyone sent food north from Mintosa they would only feed their enemy.


    The thought made Trindai grin. For once he was in no hurry. Every day spent leisurely marching south was a day the enemy got less to eat than they needed. Hard on the people living here, Trindai accepted that, but war was hard. Rushing into battle just to lose would be harder. Everyone knew how people lived in appalling poverty in the Midlands. Life south of the Narrow Sea was a nightmare. Nothing Mairild could cook up would be half as effective as the frequent stories about horrors travelling north from Mintosa.

 Intermezzo

    "I''m afraid we''ve lost contact with Cardinal Garnhalt."


    The messenger was young. Not surprising considering that he was the lordling who had arrived here a couple of months earlier.


    So, Garnhalt had overstretched himself. Cardinal Zaarbach let out a long sigh. He guessed he should feel sadness but he didn''t. The northern coast of the Narrow Sea wasn''t part of the Midlands. Had never been, even if Chach had controlled most of it just a little over a hundred years ago.


    They spoke De Vhatic there. They were godless. He was confident that God would mete out justice for their godless ways in due time. There was no holy duty to convert someone with a sword. Belief came from the soul, not at sword point. That was, of course, not a thought he would ever voice. Not if he cared for his own health.


    "Young Friedhafen, what about those imbued with the voice of God?" What about the mindwalkers we hired for money and gave divine certificates so hastily the ink never had time to dry?


    "I don''t know, your grace."


    Zaarbach pondered possibilities. We had over a dozen mages sent with you. Probably more I never learned of. You can''t possibly have mislaid the all. "Any reports from Mintosa?" Or did you leave them behind?


    "Mintosa is safe. Messengers arrived by ship less than an eightday ago."


    Zaarbach raised an eyebrow.


    "I... I was ordered to make haste."


    The next followed, and a frown.


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    "Jump tower, your grace. To do God''s duty."


    Have we fallen so far? But there was no reason to chew up the messenger. He most probably had been ordered just as he said. The boy was too young to lie confidently, at least not to as lofty a person as a cardinal. Zaarbach almost felt sorry for the messenger, almost.


    "Would you tell me on whose orders you came by that route?"


    Young Friedhafen flinched as if struck. "Father Garic, your grace. He even led me to the holy mage who brought me here."


    Either a certified magician had arrived very timely in Friedhafen or the holy chair had recently made a habit of supplying priests with carte blanche certificates to be handed out as they saw fit. Zaarbach suspected the latter. Now the war takes a life of its own. We went to war to do God''s duty, and now God''s duty has become to make war.


    "I see. I would like to have a word with this holy man." He deliberately made his voice as mild as possible, but the raw fear he saw in the boy''s face told him all he needed. "I assure you I have no more questions for you, and neither have my redcoats." Zaarbach used the derogative for members of the holy order of truth. He secretly agreed with it as well. It attracted sadists and madmen, and the holy chair made entry all too easy for anyone wanting to inflict pain on another human being.


    Relief competed with worry. Zaarbach could see that. Young Friedhafen was afraid of what would come later. Well, a little fear didn''t hurt. For now he would attempt a meeting with the mage, but he already knew that meeting would never take place. Jump mages were notoriously difficult to catch. It was after all their profession to be able to come and go as they chose.

 Chapter eighteen, Hammer, part one

    Ken watched as General de Markand lined up his army before the battle. Arthur was right about one detail. The presence of men in modern battle armour held back the enemy charge until de Markand had his battle order in place.


    This was the moment Ken feared, and the one he had come for. To watch and Weave. He found the killing distasteful, but to Weave he had to see.


    De Markand placed most of his men on a low ridge. Ken had seen it all too many times before, and he had to admit the general knew what he was doing. A nights light rain left the field slippery, but the morning sun had already dried away most of the water from the ridge.


    Further west skirmishers and what would form up as the left wing slipped and skidded in place. Made a show of slipping and skidding from what Ken could see.


    Behind him, below the ridge and out of sight from the enemy what little infantry Keen had here were marching west to stand ready behind the wing. If the battle proceeded as Ken suspected the enemy would charge with their right wing, maybe even attempt an outflanking manoeuvre. Which was why the skirmishers were there to begin with. Their job was to funnel the enemy closer to the left wing.


    He watched how the men lined up just north of the ridge. A poor position. One the enemy commander couldn''t possibly overlook. So, a charge from the enemy''s right, then the line would break into a rout with men scrambling up the slope in a futile attempt to reach safety, and on the other side three hundred men with crossbows and pikes ready.


    That left de Markand''s right wing. Ken saw their formation, but for once his memories failed him. The way they lined up they would meet the enemy centre dead on, and that left the De Vhatic army horribly vulnerable to a flanking attack. The general either didn''t know what he was doing or he had already planned some trick. With incompetence out of the question Ken tried guessing, but again he failed.


    North of them the enemy lined up as traditionally. Two wings and a centre They were already in disarray as their commander made last moment changes to take advantage of Keen''s weak left wing.


    Ken looked west. A line of trees covered the entire left flank. With the skirmishers in place in the forest it shouldn''t be too difficult to dissuade the enemy from attempting a flanking manoeuvre He smirked. Forests. What they called forests in Keen was laughable. Erkateren and the wilderness north of Kordar, those were proper forests. The one shielding their left flank could be walked through in a short meal''s time.


    He frowned. Where had Arthur gone? Then he saw the man riding in front of the men, facing them and obviously talking to them. Damn, he''s Weaving! Ken felt the strands of the Weave each time the wind carried Arthur''s voice to him, but at this distance it was weak. At least the few strands tickling him carried no impurities. Whatever Arthur Wove it had been watched.


    Ken still didn''t like it. Arthur had picked a side in the conflict. He used Weaving as a weapon, and Ken had a sinking feeling of what he would do if the enemy came too close to breaking through the centre What he was doing now, though, wasn''t anything Ken had a right to stop. The soldiers faced a battle and a taleweaver gave them a moment of hope and pride. Ken had done it himself when he happened upon a battlefield. It was their gift. To watch and Weave. But for once he had himself interfered.


    ***


    "Here they come!"


    "Liz, take out their signalists!"


    Chang whirled and glared back angrily through her open visor. "I''m trying dammit! Those unarmed guys are doing something and I don''t register a single hit."


    Heinrich ordered a recording displayed and turned it to maximum enhancement. Elisabeth was correct. Some kind of invisible barrier had been erected to protect the enemy staff, and it simply ate Elisabeth''s rounds on their way in. Needle grenades just vanished mid-air


    "Cease fire!" he said when he accepted the futility. "I don''t know. Take pot-shots at their infantry?"


    "Sure, I can do that. Just shift targets if those damn shields go up again?"


    "Do so." It didn''t matter much. A few soldiers torn to pieces by detonating needle grenades would lower enemy morale, but he also knew they were critically low on ammunition. Panopilis was flat out. Heinrich had a mission of his own. Ken Leiter had given him an idea, and absurd as it sounded he had become convinced in the end. For someone preaching strict neutrality at all costs this was manipulative to say the least.


    Whatever the reason. He had seen this world for over seven hundred years. That kind of experience had to count for something.


    A week had passed since the initial contact, and now it was time for his last casting.


    Heinrich switched on the holo caster and sent his recorded message. Now all they had to do was to survive the next few hours, and that was General de Markand''s problem.


    ***


    Arthur stared in horror at the results of the first charge. He stood together with the general, a fair distance away from the carnage, but not far away enough not to see how the singing horsemen cut through the left wing like they had never existed. Not a single man had been unhorsed by the volley of crossbow quarrels loosed at them. They just rode through the line of men opposing them, cutting down anyone unlucky to stand within reach and continued up the slope.


    The men hidden on the other side fared little better. They managed to get off two volleys, equally ineffective, before the enemy was among them. What followed was best described as slaughter. A few survivors fled for the protection offered by the forest.


    A low murmur from his right made him turn his head. De Markand had ordered his right wing to take the field, and now they advanced across it. This was a game Arthur accepted he knew little of, but even to him the line of horsemen advancing, not ahead but from right to left seemed strange.


    They charged diagonally across the field, passing his view and offered battle to the enemy''s right wing, slamming into it less than a kilometre from where Arthur stood. Then the advance force of enemy cavalry returned back up the ridge, and seeing how their own got mauled charged back the way they had come.


    Arthur exchanged a worried look with General de Markand. What had happened to their left wing could hardly have been part of his battle plans. Then he looked at the TADAT, Panopilis, and translated de Markand''s request. Panopilis cast the orders and Arthur saw the two remaining body walkers rumbling after the horsemen at full speed.


    The sound of guns spewing out their deadly contents cut through the eerily silent battlefield. This was no gunpowder world, and the killing, for all the screaming, was not nearly as noisy as Arthur had anticipated.


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    "Have Hadarin sound the retreat," de Markand ordered.


    "But sir?"


    "They don''t stand a chance when those paladins return. It seems the taleweaver was accurate. I want the regiment into that forest now."


    Arthur didn''t wait for the formal request but translated de Markand''s orders immediately. After Panopilis cast the orders Arthur saw Heinrich''s body walker make its way to Colonel Hadarin.


    A small rearguard died to a man while the bulk of the demoralized regiment fled the field.


    To their left the shattered remains of Colonel Servinus de Lathan''s regiment gathered around their banner and took up position as left wing once again.


    Arthur shook his head. Apart from a few casualties caused by Elisabeth Chang''s occasional sniping earlier the enemy centre and left wing remained intact. Now they slowly took to the field to rout the beaten army opposing them. Of the enemy''s right little remained. They had chased after the men fleeing for the trees, and now the forest hid friend and foe alike.


    "And now?" Arthur asked the general.


    "And now we wait." He turned to a staff member. "Get Captain Warin. Time for them to do their holy duty."


    "Warin?" Arthur asked. "Isn''t that..."


    "Yes," de Markand cut him short. "I don''t want those bastard battlemages burning down my men. The inquisition will see to that it never happens."


    Arthur recalled his arrival here on Otherworld. A staff master who allegedly was able to prevent magic from working had rummaged though his luggage to make sure the gadgets he brought still worked in that magic dampening field.


    "That''s a lot of men to cover," Arthur said silently.


    "It is, but those red and black uniforms are there for a reason. No practitioner of the forbidden arts wants to get close to the Holy Inquisition."


    Arthur could see why, but he kept that thought to himself. He didn''t agree with Keen''s official view on magic. After all magic had gifted him with their language and it had saved his life at least once. He threw a glance at the inquisition soldiers as they spread out in front of the line. Whatever they were, cowards was not part of it.


    The enemy came more slowly this time. Without the invincible paladins pawing the grounds for them they wouldn''t go unscathed through the battle, but the odds were still two to one in favour of the papal forces.


    Distant horns announced orders to the soldiers from the Midlands and around Arthur messengers left de Markand''s staff with orders and counter orders. They would return later, receive new orders and depart. At least until battle was joined. After that moment Arthur knew they''d rely on horns just like the enemy, and the visibility of the imperial banners. Those would become important rallying points later from what Arthur had understood of this kind of warfare.


    He looked ahead. The enemy grew from a brown line of leather to soldiers clothed in leather and linen, and just as their faces displayed individual features the volley was ordered. This time there was no holy singing stopping the quarrels from penetrating their targets.


    Arthur looked away from the scene. Then the world became a madhouse of horseflesh as Keen counter charged. There was nothing subtle about it. Seven hundred horsemen charged straight ahead, sabres drawn, and rode over those they didn''t cut down. Then they veered left and rode to support the left wing that had fared a lot worse.


    He was left standing alone, but it was as if his presence alone was enough to finish what had happened. The shaken remnants of the enemy line dissolved and he saw men throwing their weapons away and run back the way they had come. A few fled east, almost a coordinated retreat, and Arthur wondered what made them seek shelter further away from the security of their own.


    The answer was appalling. De Markand''s use of the inquisition had worked, but the routed enemy had no staff masters among them. There might have been a rationale behind the decision of the enemy commander, but watching how battlemages tore into their own soldiers with fire, lightning and ice sickened Arthur nonetheless.


    No matter how draconian it was it still seemed to work. Surviving men turned, some weapon less, lined up and became a military unit once again. Arthur watched and slowly realized how precarious his situation had become. He mounted and rode after General de Markand and his men.


    Of the De Vhatic left wing little remained, and the flanking attack had come barely in time to give the soldier breathing space for a frantic retreat.


    Arthur took his mount a bit closer to what had once been the enemy lines and made for the forest. There was nothing he could do on the battlefield.


    Closer to the line of trees he saw a few dozen crossbowmen in yellow and red and joined them. This wasn''t the place to be alone in clothes screaming the preferences of the northern empire.


    Soon enough Ken arrived with Panopilis in tow.


    "Away from here!" the TADAT shouted. "Regroup at zero hundred!"


    Arthur stared at him, as did the men around him. "Eh, the outworlder wants us to move," he translated into the silence.


    "Move? Where?"


    One of the men, a junior officer of some kind, followed Panopilis'' stare across the field instead of staring blankly at the metal apparition. "Move gherin spawn! To the eagle!"


    That was enough to force the men out of their apathy and they started marching in the direction of the thick of combat. A few even threw thankful glances at the two in red and black, but then discipline took over and they became a unit, more parts of a mechanical device than humans.


    Arthur followed them from a distance. He stared in fascination as they halted, raised their crossbows and fired a volley into the backs of what he sincerely hoped was enemy soldiers. They they drew their sabres and rushed the men they had ambushed.


    "Why?" he asked.


    "Shut up and listen!" Panopilis answered.


    Arthur stared back. The rolling wave of screams and metal was had the same ring of death and pain as it had since battle was joined. Then something out of the ordinary. He offered Panopilis a questioning look.


    "We''d better get out of the way now. Those are our mines."

 Chapter eighteen, Hammer, part two

    "Wait, wait, now! Eagles in the air! Regroup behind banners!"


    Out of the forest came groups of soldiers, sometimes alone men.


    That''s not possible! Where did they get enough battlemages to hurt us that bad? Trindai gasped at the condition the emerging soldiers were in. This wasn''t a staggered retreat. Those men had been soundly routed, and only the massed lines of a friendly army could hope to return a sense of safety to the broken men. That and the banners of the Imperial Guard raised in the air.


    "Sound the horns. We take our chances," he ordered.


    The colonel next to him threw an unhappy glance but relayed the order anyway.


    Trindai had to hope the enemy in pursuit would mistake the horns for a futile attempt by the routed enemy to rally on the other side of the forest. The way the fleeing men looked it could as well be one, he accepted darkly.


    "This had better work," he growled at the outworlder by his side.


    "You just get the bastards this way and I''ll handle the killing," was the chilling response.


    Revenge, what a bad reason for going to war. We sold them the revenge, so we''re no better. Trindai didn''t respond. The outworlder was a civilian. Some kind of mining expert who had lost his family to the outworlder attack on Verd, and now he took out his frustration and hatred on an enemy he had never seen.


    Finding not one but several men and women from the newly arrived sky kingdom had come as a surprise, but they were as mercantile as Keen herself. Knowledge was money, and so they had taught themselves De Vhatic in preparation for coming here. Not everyone, of course, but enough knew the language that it was impossible to herd them the way they had contained the outworlder traders the last ten years.


    Sounds of horns brought Trindai out of his thoughts and he turned his attention to the forest. If the men came as scattered as they did he was likely to have to order the killing of their own. Well, he had done so at Verd, and he would do so again to finish the war here and now. They had waited here for the better part of a day, waited and prepared for a battle the enemy hadn''t known would take place.


    Outworlder talk machines gave an advantage that was almost impossible to value. Farwriters didn''t even come close.


    He heard yells of fear and a few of surprised joy. Some of the fleeing men must have noticed they had friends waiting for them on this side of the trees.


    The disorganized horde of men quickly melded into units as they dashed for the promised safety, and after them cavalry arrived from among the trees.


    One young officer came running straight at Trindai.


    "Demons, they''re demons!" he screamed.


    Trindai looked at the youth. Too young by several years. Money should never buy commissions. "At attention!"


    "General!" came the reply, and with it a visible straightening of his back.


    "Get your men here and stand!"


    "But, but they''re demons. They used magic against our staff masters!"


    Trindai gulped down his shock. He couldn''t afford to show his men his true feelings at this moment. "I don''t have staff masters." A lie. "I have the Imperial Guard." A truth. "We stand."


    And they did. It helped that the panicked flight turned into an organized retreat. It gave the Imperial Guard time for two full volleys, but the young officer had been right. The enemy horsemen glowed as they sang their way through combat. Inquisition squads throwing themselves into the thick of combat made no difference. They went down just like any other soldiers, and the staff masters failed to remove whatever magic shielded the enemy from quarrels and sabres alike.


    Trindai understood why the planned retreat through the forest had become a rout. He turned. "Outworlder, use your devices now or the day is lost." And turned back again so as not to have to meet the eyes of the man he had ordered to butcher soldiers indiscriminately.


    "As you will."


    Nothing happened. "What are you waiting for?"


    "Which, sir?"


    Trindai sighed and stared at the madness ahead of him. "All of them. All," he whispered.


    "I didn''t..."


    "All of them!"


    The sound threw the horses into a panic. One moment the narrow field between Trindai''s reserves and the forest was a moving mass of fighting bodies. The next there was only dust and earth and a whiteness rolling over them like a hammer. Then silence, and from that silence the sound of moaning emerged.


    The outworlder-made fog slowly dissipated and he saw shadows of men staggering around, most of them trying to come to their feet but far, far to many only shaking or rolling on the ground. Whatever had shielded the enemy didn''t protect their horses, and Trindai watched as a few of them fled the field. Several of the beasts rolled impotently on the field just like the fallen men they crushed as they flailed about.


    "Dagd regiment. On foot, daggers and sabres. Finish this!" He turned away from the slaughter. Dagd fielded as professional a regiment as any from Verd. They would make certain the men they murdered were clad in leathers only. The De Vhatic soldiers would be carried to the waiting medics. More would survive than he deserved.


    A few hovercraft carried outworlder medics with outworlder equipment, and he needed as many of the enemy dead as possible before he allowed their sky kingdom allies onto the field. They had been adamant on treating all wounded on equal terms, but there were simply not enough of the miracle doctors even for Keen''s wounded.


    Trindai shook his head. This was why he commanded the army. He knew that, but it didn''t make him less disgusted.


    "I want Roadbreak and Hasselden through that forest now! De Markand needs us." He waved his staff to his side. "De Tenerius, you''re in command here. I''ll lead the reinforcements. Rephrase!"


    "I handle the mopping up here. You can be found due east of the forest with Roadbreak and Hasselden regiments in case we need to get your sorry ass out of there."


    Trindai grinned. General de Tenerius sometimes took the rephrasing too far, but he never misjudged a command. If there were more of the shining cavalry on the other side the enemy could still win the day. At least their horses weren''t invincible, and if they stopped singing they went down like normal men.


    They marched through the narrow forest. There was no reason riding trough it. Between the trees men and weapons lay littering the ground. Daggers, broken spears or dropped quarrels worked just as well as caltrops, and they had to tread carefully.


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    Trindai could see where the retreat had turned into a rout. Then they were through the trees and he ordered his men mounted again.


    To his north he saw the enemy staff, and he ordered his few surviving staff masters to screen their approach. The high ranking enemy officers wasn''t his problem. Walking Talking had promised a last surprise. Trindai concentrated on his part of the dirty work.


    "De Markand is still holding out. We bring the anvil to the hammer. Line up and report when you''re ready to charge!"


    ***


    "You knew!"


    "I did," Ken answered instead.


    Arthur wheeled. "You?"


    "Yes, but Panopilis knew about the military part. I believe it''s been orchestrated from Verd since we met de Markand and his men."


    That part Arthur understood, had in fact suspected, but for some reason he''d assumed Ken didn''t know. Something nagged at his mind. "The military part?"


    "Yes. There was one thing I had to take care of. They really don''t belong here."


    Arthur glared back. "That stinks of involvement," he said. He stared at the newly arrived forces slamming into the broken enemy. He wasn''t an expert, but even he could see that this battle was over. Still, the enemy command was intact, and almost all of their battlemages still stood in orderly groups.


    "Soon," Ken said.


    "What are you talking about?"


    "Soon. I think, yes here they come. I thought the detonations would show them the way."


    Now Arthur could hear it as well. The wailing of hovercraft arriving from the east. A few moments later they arrived and he recognized them.


    "Are you insane?" He fumbled for his handgun. "I''ll kill you myself! You led the bastards here?"


    "Shut up and learn!"


    Arthur watched the Federation flag growing larger and larger as it carried his death closer. Even from a distance he recognized Brigadier Goodard''s banners. There was something strange. He ripped the field glasses from Ken''s hands and put them to his eyes.


    "Bloody hell! Ulfsdotir!"


    "Who?"


    "She had my family killed."


    "I''m sorry. I didn''t know."


    Death came closer, and Arthur laughed. He had wanted revenge, but now he knew he no longer cared.


    Then the hovercraft veered north, and Arthur swore he could hear a woman''s wailing. "No! Wallman. I want Wallman!"


    The Federation vehicles passed so close he could see the hatred in her eyes, but the soldiers were blind to him. He could as well never have existed at all. They stared north, and they sang hymns.


    "What have you done?" he gasped at Ken.


    "Nothing. They are of one kind. It had to happen."


    Arthur stared at the hovercraft manned by Federation soldiers surrounded by an inhuman halo, and far to the north he saw the same whiteness surrounding the enemy commanders. Alone Christina Ulfsdotir stared back as she frantically tried to get the attention of the soldiers on her hovercraft.


    Arthur looked at her. She had personified fear for him, and he had hated her for so long he almost forgot what it had been not to hate, but now he could only feel sadness. He had, he admitted, taken from her first. One year here had taught him about honour, and now he finally understood how stolen honour could result in a deadly reply. He would never agree, but at least he understood, and as the hovercraft headed for battle he realized he''d once again stolen something from her.


    Around them silence fell over the battlefield. Moans and screams of pain cut through it, but the sound of war was gone. Those unharmed, or at least only lightly wounded, were too fatigued to be enemies any longer. The Midlands'' soldiers still on the field just stood, a few still holding their weapons as support to lean on. The De Vhatic troops didn''t care. They were soldiers no longer, only spectators.


    Arthur gasped when long strands of fiery death flew from the battlemages, coiled around the charging hovercraft and dissipated without inflicting any harm.


    Federation guns hammered in the other direction with little more success. Whatever that glaring light surrounding the combatants was it protected those covered from magic as well as modern weaponry.


    Then, as the opposing sides closed, the battle split into personal duels, and Arthur stared aghast at the swirling lights of madness. What he saw was less a battle than mutual destruction. No quarter was given, none asked for, and slowly the frenzied attacks wore down the shining protections of both sides.


    When the death toll rose most of the battlemages decided they had had enough, and they deserted their commanders in the middle of battle. One by one, or in small groups, they either ran for the forest or just vanished. Arthur thought those around jump mages to be the luckier ones, because squadrons of the surviving inquisition soldiers were already galloping for the trees in pursuit of the fleeing mages.


    There would be another fight to the end, but that one, Arthur guessed, would be a lot more one sided. Mages feared the inquisition as much as they hated them, and for good reason. A handful of staff masters had successfully shielded the De Vhatic soldiers from most of the war magic thrown at them.


    His attention was abruptly caught. Several loud detonations rolled over the field. From the northern end a huge ball of flames grew into the air, and then another one, and another.


    How anyone had been able to survive that was beyond him, but when the smoke cleared he could see a few figures still standing. To his astonishment they didn''t seem to notice the destruction but fell at each others throats with a ferocity that spoke of pure rage and fanaticism.


    "I think we can leave now," Ken suddenly said. "It''s over and I don''t want to be part of the mopping up."


    Arthur glared back. "You have a lot to explain," he said.


    He received a nod.


    "But not now, I guess?"


    Another nod.

 Intermezzo

    Pope Innocentius received his visitor by night this time. It was, he agreed, the better arrangement.


    Cardinal Garnhalt had overstretched badly, but he at least had had the grace to die with his command. There would be no need to punish anyone. Not this time, and the visitor, well, to punish that kind Innocentius left to his god.


    "We started too early. I can see that now," he acceded to the man in the couch. Dragon more correctly, but Innocentius had yet to see one in that form.


    "You did, and you suffered badly for it. It pains me greatly to hear of your losses."


    Polite as he was Innocentius greatly doubted the stranger really cared. Stranger, because that was also something he was. Visits to the papal seat, and to his bishopric before that, had never really yielded anything about the person who was also a dragon.


    He was a person. That much was clear. Not a soulless demon. That admission pained Innocentius. Somehow making a deal with the devil had seemed more appropriate. At least he could find a perverse safety in the knowledge his eternal soul was forfeited, but now he didn''t know any longer. That uncertainty was worse in many ways than certain damnation. Because that uncertainty carried overtones Innocentius didn''t want to hear. It nagged at his belief, and even if he had been guilty of many an evil deed he''d always been safe in the solid knowledge he acted for the best of God. If not always in His grace.


    "We did gain a foothold in Mintosa though."


    "So you did. It will hamper De Vhatic shipping indefinitely. I believe they will attempt to retake the port."


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    Innocentius nodded. It wasn''t a matter of belief. Keen needed that port. Or they needed it to be in friendly hands, and Chach had never been a friend of Keen''s.


    "I could still help you with analyses, and my insight in how events unfold," the dragon offered.


    Not for the first time Innocentius regretted he''d never asked what the stranger expected to gain from the arrangement, and now it was far, far to late. Too late to start asking for names as well.


    "Yes, yes I think I would like that," he said instead.


    "Are we agreed then?"


    "Yes, we are," Innocentius said. It wasn''t as if he could stop the stranger from coming and going as he chose anyway. This time he planned to listen more carefully to the advice he received. Venturing out on a military adventure without asking the stranger first had turned out costly.


    He met the dragon''s eyes. Cold, and with that glint of metal that gave away what he really was. Once they might have been golden but no longer.


    He watched the stranger take his leave. It was time for another meeting. One he feared more than the one he had just finished. And yet Cardinal Zaarbach was but another human. But he was more outspoken than the stranger ever was, and those questions would give birth to others. Not even a pope was powerful enough to prevent that, unless he started to kill off all noisy cardinals, and Innocentius wasn''t prepared to take that path¡ªyet.

 Chapter nineteen, Aftermath, part one

    "Are you trying to tell me that anyone with a Christian belief will be affected by the newborn god?"


    Ken nodded. "I don''t dare to limit it to Christianity though. Any expansionist belief could suffice for all I know."


    Heinrich shivered despite the heat. "That''s a lot of people."


    Ken stared back and offered him a quizzical glance. "I think I was unclear," he said. "Only those with a belief in their right to force their religion onto others are affected. Seems they all become holy warriors of one kind or another."


    "No, you were clear enough. Wallman''s a newscaster. Or was. He made a living from casting news, not debates."


    "Now it''s I who don''t understand."


    Heinrich leaned back. "What I''m trying to say is that there''s very little money in reminding people of just how many religious lunatics there are out there."


    Ken grinned. "Bigots," he said. "It''s called bigots. Lunatic is a bit strong, won''t you say?"


    Heinrich didn''t answer. He just pointed south toward where they had fought a battle less than a week earlier. If the taleweaver didn''t get the idea then he was an ass.


    ***


    Ken found to his own surprise that he didn''t feel any regret over his involvement. It had been necessary, but he had still expected to feel ashamed afterwards.


    Now he only revelled in the satisfaction of a job well done. The outworlder maniacs had died to a man, taking with them the equally fanatical officers from Chach. Nominally from Chach. It had been orchestrated by the papacy, of that Ken was certain.


    The Holy Inquisition slaughtering every battlemage they could lay their hands on sickened him a little, but this was the northern empire. It was supposed to be a sanctuary. Besides the mages had fought back. Not everyone in the red and black was a staff master, and the witch hunter soldiers died just like any other. Red and Black linen and leather might drive holy fear into someone''s mind, but it offered no protection against a fire lance or ice bolt.


    The problems with holy warriors of a missionary religion wasn''t over, far from it, but for the moment things would quiet down. Maybe in the future there would be a conflict between the church and Kordar. Cor had his own group of champions, and even though theirs was an exclusive belief those warriors were just as fanatical in their devotion to their god as any he''d seen during the last campaign.


    That was another day, if it ever came. He firmly shoved a problem that might never arise into the confines of his mind and concentrated on happier things at hand. In that case, at least, Arthur was right.


    ***


    And still it didn''t work as expected. He''d tried rhythm, rhymes and imagined filters, but nothing worked. He found it impossible to seamlessly glide in and out the Weave without losing either his or his audience''s concentration.


    Six times now he''d gathered soldiers from Keen around him with the promise of a Weave. Six times they''d arrived with eyes shining with awe and gleeful eagerness, and six times he''d bid farewell to men carefully hiding their disappointment.


    It was simply maddening, but he was determined to continue until he got it right. For the challenge if not for any other reason. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be bested at conveying a message to an audience, and he loved the feeling of fighting to catch up, to become better, and ultimately to become the master himself.


    He stifled a yawn and left the tent. Outside, he knew, Granita waited with the surviving members of her team. They followed him doggedly. No personal tragedy kept them from their fly cams, and he had promised them an interview. After that they''d hound down General de Laiden and leave him alone for a day or two.


    ***


    Men still died from their wounds two full eightdays after the battle. Outworlder medics worked wonders, and still it wasn''t enough.


    Trindai couldn''t have hoped for a braver team of men and women following him into battle with only surgeon''s equipment, and now they looked more like a ragtag band of beggars than the skilled professionals they were. And a few were unconscious from fatigue.


    So he had to order the deaths of even more of his men. A few had to die now so that most of them would live to see Verd again, and to that end he had to order the medics to rest.


    How had he become an executioner? When did he cross the line between hardened soldier and cold-blooded murderer? Had he? As unthinkable as the idea was he needed to pick it up, examine it, turn it over to see it in a different light and learn. Because if he didn''t he wasn''t certain he would want to live with himself. This wasn''t the kind of suspicion someone left unattended, at least not anyone who intended to get old and look back at his life with satisfaction.


    So he rode on, eyes half closed, and he wondered how many of the men he passed thought him asleep. They would want him to. In their eyes he was close to a god, but they didn''t have to carry his doubts, and he wouldn''t load them with that burden. For their way back home he would be their hero.


    For all they cared they had massacred the enemy in one decisive battle. Later some of them were bound to understand just how bad their own losses had been. He would be criticized then and questioned, but he didn''t care. No one would question him the way he did himself.


    He grinned despite the dark thoughts he nurtured. One might. Walking Talking was perpetually moody. From what de Markand had said he''d held on to a nightmare for over a greatyear.


    ***


    Ken whistled as he rode past a tent. Less than an eightday ago he''d convinced General de Markand to give up on the idiocy of moving badly wounded soldiers north. To stay behind with the outworlder medics, a company''s worth of the Imperial Guard and Juanita from the news team was not even a decision that required a thought.


    This was something he''d done countless times before. Stay behind and help care for the wounded.


    He wasn''t a magehealer by any account, but he''d learned that Weaving helped the body to heal itself, and what was more important, he could give those helping a night of deep sleep. No nightmares stalked those he covered in the Weave.


    The difference this time was the presence of modern medical equipment, or futuristic as far as he was concerned. And the mental mindset of those using it. More crafter than artisan, and that set them apart from magehealers. They weren''t gifted. Hard work and solid knowledge should be enough to handle a body no longer working properly, at least with the right equipment handy. It was a way of thinking much closer to his own than the one he''d grown accustomed to here since that day an eternity ago when his life changed and he no longer walked the daily life of a normal human.


    Magehealers were mages, with the mind of mages, the gift of mages and the limitations of mages. The only reason for them to stop and rest would be if one of their own was disabled as a result of transferring whatever their patient suffered from. The idea of proper training, proper methods and proper environment was simply not central to them.


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    He shrugged the thought away and continued in his pursuit of Juanita. One of the ugliest women he''d ever had the honour to know, but by all gods unholy, there wasn''t a vehicle she didn''t master.


    He was learning a new skill. When she deemed him fit enough to drive a hovercraft on his own he intended to help with the transports between the field hospital and Verd. Someone in that council of theirs had agreed to help sustain the hospital, but there were simply not enough drivers to keep the supplies coming.


    ***


    When the first hovercraft, and the news with it, arrived a few eightdays earlier Mairild almost collapsed from the relief.


    It was one thing to see the outworlder moving pictures and a totally different thing to be able to speak with a real person who had been there and seen what happened.


    When one''s job was to gather, spread and withhold information then something tangible was sometimes a must, and she''d had little enough to show for the reports about their steady progress far, far south of the capital.


    Then one hovercraft arrived with a few medics so tired they had to be carried to their waiting beds and one member from that outworlder group of tale tellers. He''d barely taken the time for a proper greeting before he vanished to the rooms they''d rented before the madness began for real.


    Asked about the reason for the hurry he only answered with a cryptic string of words even the interpreter found hard to understand and even harder to convey. From what Mairild could discern he planned to enhance an eye''s reception to put the audience in awe. She knew it had something to do with those flying cams of theirs, and the moving pictures they captured, but she didn''t understand exactly, and as a trader of news that grated on her.


    By now it was clear they had taken a severe beating, but it was a victory nonetheless. A costly one.


    Sects of devoted sprung up all across Keen and her client states. It would take years to put them down, but that was a minor concern of hers. Hepaten fumed and planned. As soon as he deemed his forces strong enough he''d send them out on their ugly work. Mairild didn''t agree, but that was a thought she kept close to herself.


    Far worse was the loss of Mintosa. The Termus gorge was one of the few ways down from the plains to the Narrow Sea, and from what Olvar said Count Friedhafen could defend Mintosa with a minimum of men from any attack Keen could launch. With the port firmly in his hands Mintosa was all but impenetrable.


    If they were to retake her Keen needed to send her forces almost to Erkateren and fortify small fishing villages in order to build a fleet with which to attack Mintosa from the sea. It would be a bloodbath, but one they had to accept.


    First Erkateren needed to be bribed though. The punitive expedition Keen sent east hadn''t won her any favours there. At least that expedition had reached the Sea of Grass and its commander was no longer in any position to make an ass of himself on this side of the mountains. What he did closer to Gaz Mairild didn''t care. Gaz lay at the end of the world.


    There were good news as well. The plague was in control. Outworlder medics and magehealers from Ri Khi had put a stop to it unknown to each other. Mairild planned to keep them in the dark indefinitely. Anything else was a threat to her own health, but she suspected she''d let slip too far this time. When things calmed down some of her mistakes would come back to haunt her, and in their wake Magehunting with the Inquisition squadrons.


    Her life was forfeit. It was only a matter of time. It was, strangely enough, something she didn''t worry overly much about. She had served Keen to the utmost of her ability, and that was what counted.


    The sky port prospered once more. Outworlder sky ships came and went. That the people in control called themselves New Sweden instead of the Terran Federation didn''t bother her at all. Outworlders were outworlders. As long as the metal and mechanical wonders arrived in a timely fashion to be traded for clothes, art and other seemingly worthless objects she was happy.


    Which reminded her that she had a meeting with Anita Kirchenstein-Yui. The sky kingdom wanted to erect houses close to the sky port, and even though Mairild planned to drive as hard a bargain as possible she saw an increased presence of armed outworlders as a benefit. Soldiers thought of the world in one way, but traders, artists and craftsmen wanted little more than to live a pleasant life, and that made them share her own personal view of what mattered.


    An eightday or two would see Trindai back with the bulk of the army. One regiment stayed behind. They guarded the northern end of the Termus gorge. If Keen couldn''t retake Mintosa because of it at least neither was Count Friedhafen able to push north for the very same reason. Keeping that regiment fed and happy would be expensive, but most of those problems belonged with Tenanrild.


    ***


    Trindai smiled and waved. The last day he''d seen anticipation rise among his men. They were coming back home and while disciplined enough to march on in good order most of them grinned like children before a festival. When he finally gave them free reins to celebrate a successful campaign things would get, well, festive.


    He expected to handle an endless string of tavern owners demanding restitution for broken furniture come tomorrow. With a bit of luck he would be among the guilty¡ªif the evening''s reports allowed him any time to carouse around the city.


    He turned in his saddle and waved again. Then he had to bend sideways to accept a few flowers from a girl. Her mother stood a bit away blushing furiously and around her the rest of her family laughed at her temporary discomfort.


    Right now it was a good time to be a general, and Trindai knew de Markand enjoyed a similar attention elsewhere along the column of returning soldiers.


    Flowers in hand he picked up speed raising his fragrant sword to the sky and listening to the cheers of uniformed men and expectant audience alike. They''d come back. Now it was time to give the people, and themselves, a good show.


    At the head of the column he rode past the Krante gates and entered the boulevard. Due west he saw the great stables and the surrounding barracks. He''d return there later, but first they''d march through the streets where people stood waiting to cheer on their heroes.


    To the north west he noticed the ruins of several blocks of buildings, but the sight didn''t fill him with dread as he had expected. Scaffolding climbed the surviving walls, and even though he didn''t see anyone working on them it was clear the citizens of Verd had already started to rebuild their homes, and that thought itself was enough to gift him with a feeling of gratitude.


    That feeling was soon accompanied by one of warmth as roars of appreciation rolled over him from the cheering people. He wished the outworlder soldiers had joined them for the celebration. They had deserved every bit of it.

 Chapter nineteen, Aftermath, part two

    Heinrich grinned as they climbed the ridge separating the planted fields from the launch port. Not long now. Cresting it he''d be able to see the closest thing to home he''d known for a year. One year this time. Last time it had been home for three of them.


    He reached the ridge and paused. Body walkers were no more tiring to use uphill than on flat ground. He merely wanted to rest his mind before he descended the other side and crossed the fields.


    Almost home. New Sweden resided here now after Goodard put a permanent blemish on Federation reputation. Well, it couldn''t be helped. TADAT were more of an international force than just another arm of the Terran Federation anyway.


    He stretched in his walker, shut it down, climbed out of it and stretched once more. Behind him he heard another walking making ready for shut-down. Liz or Abreas he didn''t know. Heinrich mentally changed Abreas to Panopilis. That first name was a touchy matter and had always been.


    "Just taking a rest," he said without turning.


    Footsteps came closer. "Good idea," Panopilis replied. "This is a place as good as any other."


    Heinrich sighed. "We''ve deserved it," he muttered.


    "Sure as hell have not!" That voice came from down the slope somewhere.


    That''s Tayserajd, but that''s impossible. He''s...


    "I''m not quite dead yet if that was what you thought," came the cheerful voice.


    "How the hell? I saw you go down!"


    It was Tay climbing up the slope from the launch port side. "No, you saw Tanaka and Syuie. They didn''t make it. I did, and so did Philippa, even though she''s convalescent still."


    "How?" Heinrich knew shouts of joy or at least a proper greeting would have been more in order, but he was just too stunned.


    Tay reached the crest and exchanged hugs with Liz and Panopilis before sitting down beside Heinrich.


    They stared at each other in silence for a while.


    "It wasn''t easy, you know," Tay began.


    "Don''t you even dare," Heinrich growled.


    "Even for one with my godlike resourcefulness," Tay continued unperturbed.


    "go there."


    "divine intervention requires me to stretch my imagination beyond mere human limits."


    "Come on!" Liz and Panopilis shouted in chorus.


    Tay just grinned back. "You want to hear the story or not?" he pretended to sulk.


    "Yes! So get on with it!" all three of them demanded in almost perfect unison.


    Another twisted smile spread over his face, but then he apparently decided enough was enough. "Camouflage," he offered.


    "Camouflage?"


    "Yes, I switched on the camouflage, full force when we dropped to the ground. So did Philippa."


    Heinrich stared in incomprehension. "But that film gobbles energy like mad? Even sensors on Orbit One would have picked it up. It''s useless outside heavy industry."


    Tay looked back but said nothing.


    "Oh hell!"


    "What is it?" Panopilis asked.


    "Sensors, that''s what it is," Heinrich answered.


    "I don''t... oh hell!"


    "Yes," Heinrich threw Elisabeth a glance. She hadn''t reached the conclusion yet. "We''ve been too smart," he said. "Those riders didn''t have sensors. We could have marched south in functional invisibility. As long as we kept the distance to Goodard''s goons no one would have been any wiser."


    "But..."


    "Yes, I know, but we could have switched them on before those horsemen charged us." Elisabeth sighed, but Heinrich cut her off before she could begin any recriminations.


    "We don''t know for certain. Those battlemages could probably find us if they tried. Remember Gring?"


    Elisabeth sighed again, and this time he joined her. During the long days spent on the eastern fields he had grown to like the giant mindwalker very much.


    "You could have joined us," he said.


    Tay shook his head. "They searched for us. As soon as darkness fell we ditched the walkers and started trekking north."


    Heinrich cringed.


    "I made sure both walkers were fused shut. Takes a plasma cutter to open them without destroying them totally. Goodard won''t find them in this state."


    "Good work. Don''t worry about Goodard. He''s dead."


    Tay smiled. "Good work," he acceded.


    They sat in silence for some time, and the late afternoon had turned to dusk when Tay suddenly spoke.


    "Sorry, I almost forgot. There''s a Mrs Kirksten or something waiting for you at the port."


    Heinrich scratched his head and frowned. He didn''t know anyone by that name. Unless...


    "Kirchenstein! You''re an ass!"


    "Yes, yes, one of the new desk riders anyway."


    Heinrich groaned and rose. "Time to move." Then he turned to Tay. "Anita Kirchenstein-Yui is New Sweden here. She''s their damn Admiral Radovic." He started down the slope. "And you kept her waiting for hours."


    Tay shrugged and fell in line.


    The sun had set by the time they reached the small town that had grown up outside the terminal. Summer''s warmth still clung to the evening though.


    They were just about to turn around a corner and head for the concrete sheds that functioned as the administrative centre when something caught Heinrich''s attention. A sign.


    "V?lkommen till Stj?rnhamn," it said.


    He parsed it through his computer. "Welcome to Starport," he read aloud.


    "Welcome indeed! You have to be Major Goldberger.!"


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    The voice came from a door opening, but Heinrich wasn''t very surprised when an ethnic Chinese walked down the stairs to meet them. Body walkers weren''t exactly inconspicuous.


    "You are Mrs Kirchenstein-Yui?"


    "I am, and you are indeed welcome to Starport."


    Heinrich looked around him. "I never thought of it as a place," he said.


    "You Federation people are funny that way. So utilitarian. Orbit one. Launch port. Where''s the soul in that?"


    That outburst finally brought laughter to him.


    "What''s so funny? Makes sense it got a proper name."


    Heinrich returned her look. "She," he said. "The locals would call her a she, not an it. You want to give her a proper name you''d better use her proper gender."


    Anita stared back.


    "Arthur Wallman can explain better," he said and laughed again.


    ***


    "I can''t explain. It just works," Arthur said. He really couldn''t. The patients in the hospital healed faster if he Wove for them. He had absolutely no idea why, and so he truly couldn''t explain it to the delegation from New Sweden. What was far worse, he couldn''t explain it to Hepaten ar el de Levius, Minister of Magehunting. That was bad. If the idiot didn''t stop threatening him soon, he''d empty his handgun in the arrogant bastards lower abdomen. And Weave the memories of Harbend stabbing him at the same time.


    He felt his fingers twitching with need to make true of that promise when Mairild finally entered the room with Erwin in tow.


    Arthur turned to them and interrupted Hepaten''s tirade. "The brain dead asshole you call minister just don''t know when to stop."


    Erwin flinched but Mairild only grinned.


    "If my spraying his lack of brains over the walls here is too embarrassing I''ll ask Admiral Radovic here to sign whatever document you need to allow me to do it on the square outside."


    "You are serious about this?" Erwin asked.


    "I demand to be made knowledgeable of your conversation," Hepaten''s voice cut through the room in De Vhatic.


    Arthur obliged and translated. The obvious reaction followed, and when Hepaten started to bellow a repetition of the threats he had earlier delivered in an almost civil tone Arthur had had enough.


    He drew his gun and put the muzzle to the ministerial face. "This is an outworlder weapon. Do you understand?"


    Behind him Erwin gasped, but Arthur also sensed Mairild holding the admiral back.


    Hepaten stood absolutely still. He did raise one hand in acknowledgement Very slowly.


    "It fires something we call needle grenades. One shot will take off your head and most of your upper abdomen. Am I clear?"


    The hand came up again.


    "I''m a taleweaver. I can do this and if anyone tries to kill me for it this city will be reduced to ashes. Is that correct?"


    It took a little longer for the hand to rise, but it did.


    "Then get your gherin spawned dick out of here and plug it into one of your thugs! Dismissed!"


    Hepaten vanished almost fast enough for Arthur to miss his fuming rage. It was an impotent rage though. Arthur knew that.


    "Now when we''ve dispensed with the diplomacy, could we sort out the last idiocy?"


    "Certainly," Mairild answered.


    "Admiral, you witnessed the Terran Federation surrender unconditionally to all signatories of the Perth treaty. As such we''re not even supposed to maintain a military presence here."


    "Are you saying..."


    "That we give the lady everything she demands. Nobunaga, all her hardware and all remaining shuttles are turned over to Keen."


    "Why on Earth should we hand a carrier class space ship over to a nation that doesn''t even know how to run a hovercraft?"


    Arthur smiled. For once he had thought things over before he acted. It might even turn into a bad habit if he was successful. "Orbit one needs to be neutral territory."


    Erwin nodded agreement.


    "New Sweden would sure like to add a carrier class ship to their fleet though. The moment they do Orbit one becomes a colony of theirs. Now, good Federation citizen that I am, I''d hate to see that."


    That made Erwin laugh. "You don''t care about our glorious Federation any more than Minister de Felder does, so why?"


    "Because if Keen doesn''t get what she needs then you can be damned certain Otherworld Disclosed will have its original newscaster back. As you so correctly pointed out. I don''t care. The Federation ate my family. I''ll bite back."


    Arthur had to admit that Erwin took it gracefully. He surprised himself by actually liking the man, and he suspected it was mutual. The fencing was mostly for Mairild''s benefit.


    The admiral nodded curtly. "I''ll sign. Workers will work under a contract though. I won''t have any forced migrants."


    "I wouldn''t want you to," Arthur answered before Mairild had a chance to protest. Keen might be his chosen home, but he wouldn''t force citizenship on anyone stranded in Otherworld space.


    "And you stay the hell out off holo casting."


    Arthur bowed.


    Erwin returned a flamboyant bow of his own and departed.


    "Wonderfully done," Mairild laughed. "I could almost believe you once worked the stage."


    Arthur turned.


    "Almost," she continued. "You''re a naughty boy, but you have a lot to learn."


    Arthur blushed.


    "I won''t say anything to the other eleven. We got enough from this surrender of yours. Just, what did he say, stay the hell off the stage!"


    The minister of culture was easily ten years his senior, but he only saw the woman who had started her career as an actress.


    She was stunningly beautiful.

 Postlude

    Autumn came early this year.


    Gring sent her thanks to whatever gods chose to listen. Barely a season and she could already feel the new life growing inside her.


    A strong life. Rahak was a strong father. And a good one if how he held himself among the halfmen in Erkateren was anything to go by.


    She didn''t want to bring him bad news, but she had one last debt to settle.


    Arthur had grown very close to Harbend during the time they shared with the caravan. She had seen that friendship while she used her gift to enable Arthur to speak with people around him. She had seen it grow, and she had seen first-hand how much Harbend was prepared to risk to save his friend.


    Her debt was to both of them. The man who had lost himself as well as the man who didn''t know.


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    But Arthur was somewhere in Keen. Most probably in Verd, and her kind wasn''t welcome there. Inquisition warriors would descend on her like scavengers if she went there.


    Rahak, though, had told her that it might be possible to travel to one of the halfmen subservient towns. Client states as they preferred to call them. From there she could send Karia as a messenger, and Arthur could come to her.


    Sending a message in itself wouldn''t suffice. She needed to walk his mind for him to truly understand what had happened.


    It was time to leave.


    She rose and went to tell Rahak. Karia followed her. He already knew.

 Epilogue

    Hepaten guessed this meeting was as official as any Mairild had called.


    Olvar was there as was Glarien.


    And the dragon.


    Why he wanted a meeting was beyond Hepaten. It didn''t matter. When dragons called you came. And it really didn''t matter this time. The stranger needn''t have been a dragon for him to set up this meeting.


    For eightdays the outworlder taleweaver had made a public fool of him, and by now theatres were setting up plays based on the slanderous tales he spread.


    He had decided to respect the request for anonymity. It wouldn''t hurt if Olvar and Glarien were kept in the dark. He wasn''t.


    Dragons were rumoured to be infallible as well as invincible. He knew better. This wasn''t some farming village pretending to be a city. This was Verd.


    World War had taken its toll on the dragons as well, and it had been depicted. Hepaten recognized the scar running down the stranger''s face.


    Kakad ad Rhigrat. A demon of this world. An enemy. An asset.


    The resource spoke. "Gentlemen, we have a war to fight. Two wars really. The northern empire is a sanctuary. Chach still gathers her strength for a renewed attack. She will not rest until mages are firmly in power of this very centre of that sanctuary."


    He paused to give them time to agree. Hepaten nodded. Not in agreement to the bombastic drivel, but in acknowledgement of his skill, erroneous as it was. Olvar was indeed infuriated enough and afraid enough to listen to any powerful stranger who preached war against the Midlands.


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    "They threaten your lifeline as well. I know for a certain that they paid the western raiders to concentrate their strength along your coast."


    That was news. Hepaten didn''t know that, but Kakad had no reason to lie. If he said so it was probably true. True and good news. Glarien nodded and leaned forward. Threats to trade were threats to his coffers. He would follow as well.


    "The only way to stop that is to take this war to them. I won''t lie to you. It may end in disaster. I can''t promise you victory, but I can promise you utter defeat if you don''t try."


    That rang true enough to enable Olvar to convince a majority of the council to sanction another war. Hepaten guessed Kakad would provide information rather than weapons, but information was a weapon when used correctly.


    "Then there is another war. One among you. A renegade taleweaver Weaves what should not be Woven. He endangers the very world we share. That is a threat we cannot accept. He is no longer under our protection."


    Hepaten jerked back.


    And smiled.


    The End


    <hr />


    And that concludes Frays in the Weave.


    Now, as I wrote at the very start of The Taleweaver, I never wrote the third book in the series. This is a work of mine over ten years old, and thus it''s very unlikely I''ll ever write that last book.


    I guess I''ve grown apart from this story. It happens.