Vahk paused in his musings to tuck his sodden cloak more tightly at the neck, shivering at the icy touch of the fabric on his bare throat. He shivered again, then, under his breath, promised a white buck-goat next moonbirth, if only Lady Moon would grant that the Woman-of-Powers rejoin them today ... or even tomorrow.

Sahrah Sahrohyuhn (otherwise known as Erica Arenstein, D. Sc.) stepped onto the back of the kneeling man, and from that human mountingblock bestrode her fine riding mule-every bit as surefooted as the stunted mountain ponies of the Ahrmehnee, yet as big and powerful as the Maidens' warhorses.

Once in the saddle, Sahrah/Erica was more than anxious to be upon her way back to the cold, primitive village of the nahkhahrah. For all that her mission had been crowned with greater success than expected, for all that the Maidens and their rulers had made her more than welcome, she had not been comfortable since she first entered this valley. She knew, could recognize, what its inhabitants could not

Though cruel winter clamped the surrounding mountains and valleys in its icy teeth, flowers bloomed and grain rippled on the valley floor. Snow or sleet turned liquid as soon as it touched the ground, so that the worst winter weather became only soft mists in the Valley of the Maidens. Only the Watchers, posted on the circuit of walls high above, ever tasted of the sufferings of those who dwelt in the surrounding lands, for Maidens never quitted their comfortable hold in winter. They accepted the bounties of their goddess, appeasing Her with bloody sacrifices on those frequent occasions when She vented Her anger in fire, choking smoke and shuddering, quaking earth.

But the training and experience of Dr. Erica Arenstein could identify this paradisical-seeming valley for what it truly was, though it would have been foolish-suicidal, even-to attempt to impart this knowledge to the Maidens. It gave Sahrah/Erica the willies to awaken in the morning and see a column of smoke spiraling up from the Sacred Crescent, and the ominous rumbling which often accompanied it made her want to scream and run as far and as fast as this body could. So she was overjoyed to be leaving.

However, her months of well-concealed terror had been worthwhile. Large as it was, the valley was already crowded, and for two generations the Maidens had been forced to buy grain and other foodstuffs in order to feed the burgeoning population. Not much persuasion had been necessary to convince the rulers that the Will of the Goddess lay behind this opportunity to fight in concert with the neighboring tribes and win more land-good land, rich nonmountainous land.

Then, too, there was the Maidens' treasure, which the Center could put to good use, once Erica and Greenberg and Dr. Diamond had perfected a scheme to get it to their advance base. But it was both bulky and heavy, and many, many pack ponies would be necessary to transport it through those hundreds of miles of mountains. And they'd need a strong force to seize and guard the tons of gold ingots and ancient coins; perhaps they could recruit from the Muhkohee tribes, once the Maidens, Ahrmehnee and Confederation forces were busily butchering each other.

At the head of the long column of mounted and armored warrior women, Sahrah/Erica rode knee to knee with the tall, handsome brahbehrnuh or warleader of the Maidens. And she thought it was too bad, in a way, that that splendid body would most likely be hacked into bloody gobbets before the spring came on the hills. It was a strong, healthy and attractive body, for which she would willingly have traded the one she now occupied.

Milo Morai had not, in something less than two centuries, built his Confederation by passively awaiting attacks. In this present world, pacifism was suicidal, if indeed, it had not always been. Which was why, immediately Vawnpolis was surrendered and regarrisoned, he set about preparing for an offensive thrust into the mountains.

They gathered within the largest chamber of the Vawnpolis Citadel-the major nobles of the archduchy, with surrogates taking the places of those thoheeksee dead or incapacitated; the strahteegoee of the Confederation units camped outside the walls, headed by Sir Ehdt, the siege-master, and High Lady Aldora; Vahroneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn and three of his officers, all veterans of his early-summer march through the mountains.

Working from such few maps as were available, Sir Ehdt had constructed a huge sand-table model of the western borders of Vawn, with southernmost Skaht to the north and northernmost Baikuh to the south. Now, he and a couple of Confederation officers were tracing Drehkos' route and altering the model to conform with the former rebels' memories of the terrain through which they had fought.

And, throughout it all, Thoheeks Bili of Morguhn had sat in his place, silently staring his hatred at the gray-haired, emaciated figure of his rebellious former vassal. Only some exceedingly firm language from Milo and Aldora had gotten the young noble into the same room with Drehkos, for Bili could not forget the siege of Morguhn Hall or that Drehkos had been one of the rebel commanders there. His pride might keep the fact from his clansmen, but his peers well knew that pardoning Drehkos and the mad Vahrohnos Myros had been a bitter pill for Bili to swallow.

Sir Ehdt's pointer paused over the serpentine line of light-blue sand which represented the principal non-seasonal waterway debouched by this section of mountains. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with the respect which the vahrohneeskos had earned from those who had fought him so long. "Lord baronet, this blue sand is the main stream of the Peekrohs River, which you must have crossed next. Please try to recall just where you crossed and the approximate depth." He then handed over the pointer.

Fingering his ear with his free hand, Drehkos briefly closed his eyes in concentration, then moved up to the table, scrutinizing the jagged chunks of rock and hummocks of sand. Beckoning his officers to him, he exchanged a few low-voiced words with them, then spoke aloud.

"As we remember, my lords, we entered Bitter River about here . . . but came out here." He indicated a spot some little distance downstream of the point of entry.

Before he could say more, Vahrohnos Rai Fraizehr, sitting as surrogate for the infant heir of dead Thoheeks Fraizehr, nodded. "Aye, those mountain streams be swift How many men and horses did you lose in that crossing?"

But Drehkos shook his close-cropped head. "It was only swift in the center channel, my lord, though fortunately not too deep. For the length of the distance, here, it is very wide, but generally shallow. That's why we stayed in it for so long-it's a pebble bed and easier going for tired horses and exhausted or wounded men than the trails which paralleled it."

He frowned. "Besides which something told me to employ that route and-"

"And, my lords," put in one of the former rebel officers with a grin, "Lord Drehkos' hunch was right, as they mostly are. A couple of days after, we took a wounded Ahrmehnee and, ere he died, squeezed out of him the information that an ambush was set and waiting for us just where we would have been about an hour after we forded the river had we gone straight across. Thanks to Lord Drehkos, we outfoxed those barbarian bastards, went near two whole days without having to fight, we did!" crowed Captain Toorkos, exultantly.

Milo, Aldora and Sir Ehdt had already questioned Drehkos and almost every other living survivor of that march at great length. This session was being staged for the benefit of the nobles and army officers. Now the High Lord rose from his place.

"As you are aware, gentlemen, it is my intent to invade the Ahrmehnee mountains in force. It will be a savage and brutal campaign, for they must be hit hard and hurt seriously, else we'll soon have them here in our laps."

Striding around the table, he took up the pointer and placed its tip at the Gap of Vawn-where the transmon-tane trade-road entered the mountains and near to which lay the tumbled ruins of Fort Buhkuh, in which the last of the Vawnee Kindred nobility had resisted to their deaths the Vawnee rebels.

"At this gap will strike the main body of our force, led by me. I will lead most of the Confederation infantry, with three squadrons of kahtahfraktoee, Thoheeks Hwahltuh of Vawn-Sanderz and his clansmen and half of Vahrohneeskos Drehkos* troops. We will strike directly for the heart-the seat of the Stahn Nahkhahrah, himself, the place called Zeese."

He moved the pointer northward, up into the duchy of Thoheeks Skaht. "The force which enters Raider Gap will be led by the High Lady. It will consist of eight squadrons of kahtahfraktoee, two of lancers, Vahrohneeskos Drehkos and all of his remaining cavalry and the Kindred nobility of Skaht, Duhnkin, Lahmahnt and Fraizehr."

Rapidly, he moved the pointer south, into the Duchy of Baikuh. "Through the Gap of Skulls will go the third prong of our attack. All the Freefighters presently with the army, all the Kindred nobility not otherwise assigned, all to be led by Thoheeks Dili of Morguhn."

Months agone, when Bili had been the youngest and newest duke of the archduchy and an unknown quantity to his peers, there would certainly have been loud and bitter outcry at the High Lord's choice of commanders for the southernmost column. But in the wake of several months of brutal combat, much of it commanded by Bili, he was no longer the newest thoheeks and his abilities as both astute captain and stark warrior were well known and unquestioned ... for all his not-quite-nineteen years.

The High Lord continued: "The prairiecats will be evenly divided amongst the three columns, as will the medical personnel. The engineers and selected Confederation Army units will take up garrison duties in Vawnpolis and the border forts. The trains will remain in Vawnpolis, as well, but in readiness, for there may be need of them. Overall command of the defenses of the three duchies will be in the capable hands of Sir Ehdt Gahthwahlt and, after due consideration, I have decided that Sub-strahteegos Vaskos Daiviz of Morguhn will command Vawnpolis, assisted by former keeleeoostos Vahrohneeskos Ahndros Theftehros of Morguhn."

Of all non-mutants present, only Bili understood the hidden meaning of the High Lord's choices-Aldora was a farspeaker, whose mind could range the Vawnpolis base or any of the other two columns at will; using the added power of another mind, preferably that of a prairiecat, Milo, Bili or Ahndros could do the same, and so the far-flung commands would be in frequent or constant contact, as the situations demanded.

One of the strahteegoee-a short, chunky, white-haired man, whose helm-creased brow and silver cat pendant served notice that he was a field officer, not an administrator-stood, cleared his throat and said, "My lord Milo ... ?"

Milo smiled. "Senior Strahteegos Paidros Kailehb has a question, as usual."

Everyone laughed or chuckled; it was a standing joke. Even Bili's scowl softened into a smile.

Unabashed, the officer went on. "My lord, if we are to leave the trains behind, how are our necessary supplies to be transported? Mules? If so, we had best commence gathering them."

The High Lord nodded. "A herd of five hundred mules and asses should, even now, be moving down through Skaht and will be here in a few days. Only my column will bear any quantity of supplies, however, The High Lady's cavalry and Thoheeks Bili's Freefighters will be expected to subsist on game-and the mountains are, we understand, swarming with wild beasts-and what foodstuffs they seize from the Ahrmehnee.

"But, back to the order of march and the responsibilities of the three columns, gentlemen. If the Witchmen are physically present among the Ahrmehnee the logical place for them to be is with the nahkhahrah. This is why my column will strike directly for his village. Only one tribe, aside from the nahkhahrah's own, lies athwart our route, the Tribe of Frainyuhn-or its southern fringes. I anticipate little danger from them, however, since I met their chief last year and found him a young hothead, such a one as tends to make a poor defensive warrior."

Under his shaven scalp, Bili's brow wrinkled. "But, my lord, if the Witchmen are with the nahkhahrah, will not most or all of the warriors of the Thirteen Tribes be there as well?"

"Just so," grinned the High Lord. "And this is where Aldora's work and yours begins. The plan of the Witch-men is to neutralize-by hook or by crook-the non-Ahrmehnee tribes to the north and west so that the Ahrmehnee fighters will not need to leave warriors to protect their valleys and mountain villages. For though they bear allegiance to the nahkhahrah, Ahrmehnee family ties are far stronger, and they will desert the nahkhahrah in an eyeblink if their homes are imperiled.

"Now, the lands of eight of the tribes are situated to the south of the nahkhahrah's seat. From one end of this coast to the other, Freefighters are justly renowned as reavers and rapers. And they are to have free rein, Bili. I want every village leveled, every flock butchered or dispersed. Kill the men and rape the women and run the survivors into the forests. But make certain that there are survivors and that they do get away-headed north, preferably on pony-back. When the lands of the first tribe are laid waste, move quickly on to the next.

"The High Lady's column will also be performing atrocities upon the three tribe lands which lie north of the nahkhahrah's holdings, and by the time my column arrives at its objective, I expect that most of the Ahrmehnee warriors will be widely scattered, battling back to their homes ... or what will then be left of them. We should then be able to coerce the Ahrmehnee into handing over the damned Witchmen, as well as hostages for their future good behavior. Then we can move the Regulars north and south to help in scotching the rest of the Witchmen's schemes."

Chapter IV

Halfway up the last, steep slope, Pehroosz Bahrohnyuhn first heard the terrified bleating of the goats and the snorting-stamping of horses or ponies. Hill-born and bred, for all that her father was village headman and full brother to Chief Moorahd, the proud-breasted, raven-haired girl was immediately suspicious. Dropping the bundle of fresh-baked bread she had been bringing to her younger brothers, she forsook the narrow track for the bordering thick growth of evergreens and gingerly crept upward seeking a point from which she might see the whole of the pasture slopes without being seen herself.

It was a scene of horror. Big men on big, lowland horses were cantering about the pasture slopes, sabering or axing the scuttling, bleating goats. The dry winter grass already was speckled with quivering, bloody carcasses. Of her two youngest brothers there was no sign, but Toorkohm-at a hundred and forty-three moons, thirty-seven moons her junior; big-boned, with their father's craggy face, wide shoulders and quick, sure movements- stood at bay, his back to the dry-stone chimney of the herdsmen's shelter, his wolfspear held menacingly ready, fresh blood glowing on its wide blade.

Pehroosz could not repress a smile of grim satisfaction, even under these conditions, for one scale-shirted raider lay stretched on the sward, his throat gaping like a huge second mouth, his chest and shoulders covered with frothy pink gore. Another sat swaying with agony, while a third labored to stop his life from leaking out the broad stab in his thigh. It was obvious that Toorkohm had fought skillfully and well.

But it could not last, this Pehroosz knew. No matter how reckless his courage, how strong his arm, how thirsty his spear, he was but a largish, unarmored boy, now ringed by cautiously advancing, fully armed, full-grown raiders. It ended quickly. A long-bladed saber licked out and Toorkohm sought to parry it with his spearshaft. With a practiced drawcut, the raider's upper edge sliced deeply into the seasoned walnut wood. In the moment the spear was immobilized, two more raiders stepped close to Pehroosz's brother and she quickly closed her eyes as the blades rose and fell, rose and fell with the meaty tchunnks reminiscent of autumn hog-butchering. Toorkohm's own, thin death wail rose above those of the goats he had fought so well to succor.

Her pretty olive face bathed with tears, Pehroosz slowly worked her broad-hipped but lissome body back from the crest, not turning until the bulk of the hill loomed above her. And what she saw then brought a piercing scream from her throat Then consciousness left her.

The chill awakened her, and she instinctively sought to flex her body against it, but neither arms nor legs would move. Only when she opened her eyes could she see that she was lying on the packed-earth floor of the herdsmen's hut, her clothing all stripped from her and wadded beneath her buttocks. One of the raiders knelt his weight on her palms, holding her arms extended above her head; two others crouched grinning, their big, dirty hands locked about her ankles, splaying her long legs. Standing between those legs was a fourth raider. His breeks were tumbled about his boot tops and he was tucking up the skirt of his scaleshirt. Pehroosz's first thought had been to show the bravery of her dead brother, but when she saw the thick, throbbing maleness standing up from the raider's loins, terror sent a shudder coursing through her body and a whimper bubbling from her lips.

She was deflowered savagely, brutally. And when the spent raider rose from her ravaged flesh, his place was taken by another. Then, another . . . and another . . . and yet another.

Pehroosz lost count of the number of attacks. But at some point she did rally, did do something other than scream her throat raw. She tried to clench her pain-racked body and, failing that, bit at her tormentors, drawing blood from at least one, possibly two. But their buffets dizzied her and they began to hold themselves up and away from those teeth while they used her.

Somewhere close by, Pehroosz could hear the ugly, guttural sounds of some animal's agony. The noises were harsh, sickening, and she wished that the raiders would saber the poor beast so that the noises would stop. Dimly, from far off, she heard, too, men speaking in one of the Mehruhkuhn dialects, but she had never had cause to master Mehrikan, since Ahnnehnee men did all the trading.

"I know just what Duke Bill ordered," snapped the plate-armored officer shortly, the knuckles of his bridle hand glowing white where he gripped the pommel of his fine broadsword. "But if, Sword forbid, her screams carried as far north as they did south the whole damned village could be alerted by now! You, Grohz, put up your damned dirk! Remember, we want the likes of this poor girl to escape north to the nahkhahrah. All you men get mounted now, put Patuhzuhn's body on his horse and form up. Komees Hari will soon be at the ford, and we're to meet him there. He wants to be in position to attack the village just at the nooning. Run off the smaller ponies, but leave the big one for her."

With a chuckle, the sergeant commented, "Sir Geros, that chit were a maid, ere my yard rendered her a woman. With the swiving we done give her, her crotch'll be sorer nor a boil for some little while. She'll not be forking no pony this day, I trow!"

His laughter was echoed by most of the others as they strode out to the horses.

Shortly, a jingling and creaking and measured hoofbeats receded into the distance as the patrol went back the way they had come. But it was more than an hour before Pehroosz, once more shivering in her nakedness, managed to drag her bruised, battered body to the hearth, on which a small fire still glowed.

She wished that the raiders had had the decency to slay that still-suffering goat, ere they left. Some time later, she realized that those hurt-animal sounds came not from a goat, but from her own throat. Her fierce. Bahrohnyuhn pride had refused to show the raiders her tears, but now they came. In a great racking rush they came, and her abused body doubled upon itself and shook to her sobs of rage and pain and shame.

In his youth, Komees Hari Daiviz of Morguhn had been a Freefighter, soldiering the length and breadth of the Middle Kingdoms, whose two-score-plus principalities had seen precious few years of peace in the four centuries
since the Great Earthquake had brought them into squabbling existence. The passage of more than a score of years had failed to dim his memories of those bloody days, nor had the pursuits of peace-marriage and the rearing of a family, succession to his patrimonial title and estate, the ordering of his lands and horses and people-softened him or expunged from his mind the hard lessons learned from the particularly savage and merciless brand of warfare peculiar to the kingdoms of the north.

Almost all of the Freefighters who had ridden into the mountains behind komees' suzerain, Thoheeks Bili Morguhn of Morguhn, were men born and bred and blooded in the Middle Kingdoms, and Hari had quickly reverted to the man he had been twenty-odd years before, finding that he once more was thinking like a professional soldier. He was again relishing the rough banter and lewd songs; the constant and often senseless profanities and blasphemies fell unnoticed on his ears and unconsciously from his lips. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to end a hard day's march with a bruising session of sword-fencing or staffplay, under the discriminating eye of a weaponsmaster-which breed of noncom tyrannically chivvied exhausted officers and men alike into nightly practice sessions in weapons skills.

In recognition of his experience, the thoheeks had given him command of a squadron of dragoons and had not demurred too vociferously when the old komees chose one of the suzerain's favorites, the valorous Sir Geros Lahvoheetos of Morguhn, to be his senior captain.

At their last meeting, the young thoheeks had stood before Hari and the other squadron commanders in his three-quarter armor, with a cold wind whipping his oiled cloak about his booted legs and the rays of new-risen Sacred Sun glinting on the brass point atop the shaft of the Red Eagle banner, ensign of the House of Morguhn.

The scarred, deeply tanned face which peered from the opened helm gave no indication of the tall, broad-shouldered nobleman's actual youth. The high forehead was furrowed and a web of tiny wrinkles crinkled the outer corners of the blue-gray eyes. His baritone voice flat and emotionless, he reiterated the High Lord's orders and instructions with regard to their mission and its implementation. Then he drew his broadsword and used it to point out features of the parchment map which a couple of men held unrolled behind him.

"Gentlemen, Sir Ehdt emphasizes that he cannot claim more than a bare minimum of accuracy for this map. Unlike the northern and central columns, ours will not be traversing lands scouted out by Drehkos-the-traitor last year. The only references Sir Ehdt had were campaign sketches and notes at least three generations old, plus the questionable information of some traveling merchants. Nonetheless, it is all we have, and so we must make do with it

"We are now here, at this crossroads. The column will march west today, dropping off squadrons as it goes. When your squadron leaves the column, you are on your own, gentlemen, on your own. There is little likelihood that you will encounter more than a bare sprinkling of Ahrmehnee warriors, since most of the bastards are up there in the north; but don't forget, these are their mountains. They know every nook, crag and cranny and they are past masters of irregular warfare, so even two or three will cost you heavily if you let them take you unaware.

"If the terrain will permit, do not allow your troopers to ride bunched up, where a volley or a boulder could do real damage, for well be covering a forty-mile front and we want at least a peek into every valley and vale. It would not only be disobedient to our orders to leave a single village untouched, but very dangerous, as well, since we need our enemy fleeing before us, not skulking behind.

"You are all seasoned campaigners, else I'd not have placed you in command positions, so I'll not insult your intelligence by lecturing you on dos and don'ts and the merits of basic preparedness. After all," he treated them to a fleeting grin, "you're commanding Freefighters who can forage for necessities, if need be, and don't require the careful spoonfeeding of Confederation Regulars."

Hari had joined in the brief chortling and chuckling. If the siege of Vawnpolis had taught them nothing else, they had all learned the essential superiority of the Freefighter and the Kindred nobility to the vaunted and highly trained Army of the Confederation.

At first, the strict discipline and unquestioning obedience to orders, the machinelike precision of movements and maneuvers, of the serried ranks of Regulars had impressed them. But that was before they had seen the other side of the coin. The discipline was exacted at the cost of the men's individuality; the obedience robbed them of any initiative, and the precision had conditioned them into virtually will-less robots. The spectacle of a regiment's even, ordered ranks trotting inexorably against an enemy position, emotionlessly dressing to fill the gaps left by killed or wounded comrades, halting as one man on order to hurl close-range volleys of darts, then raising a guttural cheer and pouring over their objective, was awe-inspiring. But the helplessness of the men of the same regiment in any case not covered by rules and regulations, when no officer or noncom was about to think for them, sickened and repelled the self-reliant condottieri and most of the freedom-worshiping noblemen, even as the habit of most Confederation officers of treating anyone not of equal or higher military rank as a bull-headed child irked and infuriated them.

"I'll dole out the flesh tailors as far as they'll go," the thoheeks went on. "But there're just not enough of them, and anyone wounded in a squadron lacking them will just have to take his chances with a good horseleech.

"Each squadron will be allowed twelve mules, no more. And any officer I catch wasting a muleback to pack a tent will get my boot up his arse; this be no pleasure jaunt and, if it's shelter you must have, take it from the Ahrmehnee."

His swordtip traced a course north from the trade road. "Mark you this route on your small maps, gentlemen. When the last of your squadrons is on the way, I'll set out on this path behind you with the five reserve squadrons and the remainder of the packtrain. When, eventually, you encounter sizable numbers of Ahrmehnee warriors, send gallopers back for me, then choose a tenable position and hold it until I arrive. On no account is any squadron to attempt either to push through or to retreat before the main Ahrmehnee host! Understood?"

Sheathing his broadsword and signing his men to roll up the map, he smiled wolfishly. "Dispose of loot as you see fit, catch-as-catch-can or equal division, it's all to be yours, since the High Lord will claim no share, nor will I. Reave and rape and ravage to your hearts' content, put the fear of Sword into these barbarians. And don't stick at slaying children, either; nits make lice, and we want to so depopulate these mountains that the bastards will be at least another generation recovering.

"I'll probably have a few words with each of you, ere your squadron separates from the column. But for now, let's to horse. Good hunting, gentlemen."

That had been three days ago. Now Hari's main body was trotting up a long, narrow, twisting vale, towering dark-green mountains on their right and a swift-flowing rivulet on their left. Between broad patches of snow and dark, weathered outcrops of rock, the ground was crunchy with the stubble of sere, yellowed grass. Only goats or sheep would have cropped it so close.

Up ahead, nestled in a larger, more sheltered valley, lay the village his scouts had found yesterday. They had reported the only adult males to be either old or crippled, so Hari had elected to proceed at a normal march rate, though as quietly as possible so that the quarry might not be spooked and go to ground, and attack whenever he arrived in position. But since the scouts had also reported a number of flocks of goats scattered about the routes to the village, he had sent several squads on ahead to make certain that the herdsmen carried no warning to the objective.

All had seemed well and they had been rapidly advancing when that damned screaming had echoed down the vale, bouncing off the steep slopes on either hand. The screams had gone on and on and on, and, cursing the carelessness of whoever was responsible, while hoping that the intervening hills would keep this alarm from reaching ears in the village, Hari had sent young Sir Oeros and a squad up to try to still the noise at its source.

As they came to where two smaller streams joined to form the larger, the knight rejoined Komees Hari, while the two squads trotted back to take places in the column.

"What in Sword was going on?" demanded the old nobleman immediately. "What occasioned those fornicating screams?"

"Just that, my lord, fornication . . . rather, a gang rape," Sir Geros replied grimly. "The squad had caught a girl on the trail leading from the village. She must have been a really beautiful girl, too, for she was still pretty even after all they'd done to her."

"Did they slay her?" inquired the komees idly.

"They would've, my lord, but I forbade such and, recalling what you said of the orders of the High Lord and Duke Bili, I had them leave a pony nearby for her. I should imagine that the tale of a raped wife or daughter would be most effective in persuading men to come back and defend their homes."

Hari chewed at his lower lip. 'True enough, man, true enough. But it might be better to send a man back up there to cut her throat What if she alerts the damned village?"

Geros shook his head to the extent his tight-laced helm would allow. "No need, my lord. She was taken by all twelve of the men, I think, and the sergeant as well. They used her badly, very badly. I doubt me she can even walk, much less mount a pony."

Hari shrugged. "Well, if you say so, lad. And besides, if we can keep up this pace, we'll probably be on the village ere she could get there, anyhow."

For long and long after no more tears would come, Pehroosz lay huddled near the fire, shuddering and sobbing dry sobs. But as the untended fire began to die, the shudders metamorphosed into shivers and the sobs into gasps between chattering teeth. Once, through the hard-packed dirt beneath her, she thought to feel the drumming of many hooves. Sure that the dread sounds heralded the return of her attackers, she huddled her aching body more tightly and whimperingly awaited the unendurable.

When a hairy something touched her and she felt hot, damp breath on her quivering flesh, she tried to scream, but her tight, strained throat emitted only a dull croaking sound. Gathering her courage, she opened her eyes to see what fresh horrors were to be her lot.

Above Pehroosz stood old Zahndrah, most venerable of the Bahrohnyuhn she-goats, her gentle, brown eyes pain-filled, mutely questioning the brutality which had been so unjustly dealt her. All along the nanny's right flank, the hair was crusty and brownish, marking the path of a shallow saber cut.

Raising a shaking hand, Pehroosz caressed the small, neat head between nose and cursive horns. Uttering soft sounds of pleasure, Zahndrah pressed closer, gently nuzzling the familiar-smelling human. Then she turned tail and knelt to display her milk-heavy udders.

Until then, Pehroosz had not realized just how thirsty she was. She looked about her, spotted a small, wooden bowl within easy reach. Reaching for the vessel, she sat up . . . then abruptly rolled back onto her hip, breathless with pain. After some experimenting, she found a relatively painless position and first filled, then drained off three bowls of hot, frothy milk. Relieved, Zahndrah arose and ambled back out of the shelter.

With the nanny's departure, Pehroosz began once more to suffer from the cold, so, careful not to let the most abused parts of her body come in contact with the hard, bumpy floor, she levered herself erect But she could not remain so. Groaning at the sharp agony of the cramps racking her belly, she fell to her knees and elbows and so remained until, after eternities, the spasms subsided.

On hands and knees, she retraced the few feet to the scene of her defilement and, fighting to hold down the goatmilk, set her bruised and clumsy hands to unfolding the damp, sticky bundle of her clothing. But, since they had apparently been ripped from her by main force, homespun gown and shift and woolen overshift were only so much shredded cloth now. Only her cloak was whole. Gratefully, Pehroosz wrapped herself in the stained garment. She at first thought the cursed raiders must have stolen her fine fur-lined felt boots, but she found them, finally, tossed into a dark corner.

Before the small fire died away, she fed it bits and pieces of the stools which had been the shelter's only furnishings. Then, as a cold wind had commenced to angle in, she crawled to the open side and painfully worked the oiled hides down into place, eventually forcing her stiff fingers to properly lace them together and secure their bottoms. By the time she had finished, she was exhausted, and, lulled by this exhaustion, as well as by the warm near-darkness and the physical and emotional stress of the last few hours, she lapsed into a deep sleep, a healing sleep, from which she wakened only enough to feed such fuel as she had to the fire from time to time as needed.

The High Lord and his host camped below the Gap of Vawn, amid the tumbled, ghost-haunted ruins of Fort Buhkuh, until Bill's and Aldora's farspeak told him that the keen steel and fiery torches of their far-ranging forces were hard at their bloody task. Then, of a bitter, snowy morn, drums rolled, trumpets brayed and disciplined ranks of Confederation infantry set bootsole to trade road in the wake of the mounted vanguards and scouts. Each of the four regiments had been brought to full strength by the addition of able-bodied former rebels from the Vawnpolis garrison, and those officer-grade types not riding with Vahrohneeskos Drehkos trotted their mounts along as supernumeraries with the High Lord's staff. Only the sick or disabled rebels had been left in Vawnpolis; plus, of course, the lunatic Vahrohnos Myros Deskati of Morguhn, and his "bodyguards" commanded by the faithful Captain Danos.

Two days' march into the mountains, the vanguard squadron of kahtahfrahktoee-heavy cavalry-under command of Keeleeohstos Oaib Lihnstahk fought an inconclusive action with an unknown, but certainly small, number of Ahrmehnee tribesmen. Had the ambush succeeded, vanguard casualties would surely have been heavy. But the concealed bushwackers had been spied out by the swift, fleering prairiecats, who had reported the location to Gaib, then lain in position to take the Ahrmehnee in flank and rear at a critical point in the engagement Certain articles found on the bodies of the slain marked them as men of the Ahrahkyuhn Tribe.

The following week saw four additional attempts of a similar nature, all foiled by the keen senses of the mind-speaking felines who ranged point and flanks and rear of the upward-toiling column. As the Ahrmehnee were crafty, brave and on well-known home ground, their losses were not truly heavy. Nonetheless, with the failure of the fifth ambush, they ceased their attacks and the cats could report no more than a handful, apparently pacing the column.

They had been on the march for a fortnight when they came to the charred ruins of the trade-road bridge jutting blackly over the rushing waters of a tributary of the Peekrohs River. Milo cursed himself for not foreseeing such a likelihood and bringing at least a company or two of the engineers. But cross the stream the army did, and safely. Then a few hours' ascent brought them onto the plateau which lay between the mountains of Tribe Ahrahkyuhn-which they had just traversed-and those inhabited by the tribe of the nahkhahrah, Tribe Taishyuhn.

Amid the ancient, partially buried relics of a godcity, the High Lord had a night camp erected. But on the morrow the march was not continued. Instead the men and pack mules were put to the tasks of dragging timbers from the slopes above and below, then raising a strong palisade atop the usual earth mound. Some were even put to digging stones from their ages-old resting places and manhandling them into such positions as would give added strength to the defenses. The ground, hard and flinty under the best of conditions, was frozen and the work strenuous, but by the morning of the fourth day, Senior Strahteegos Hahfos could report the task completed.

Hahfos was young for a corps commander, barely forty summers, but such had been the attrition of officers-both senior and junior, company, field and strahteegos grades-at the savage siege of Vawnpolis, that the Morguhn Expeditionary Force was become an army composed principally of the young, the nimble and the lucky. Third son of a thoheeks whose lands lay far to the south and west near the shores of the vast inland sea, Hahfos Djohnz's appearance always pleased the High Lord, personifying as he did the splendid melding of two fine races-Horsclans-man and Ehleen.

Two dozen years of campaigning had weathered his skin to the shade of old walnut and crosshatched all its visible surfaces with the seamed and puckered cicatrices which were the badge of his calling, but the High Lord accepted these scars and the permanent tan, unimpressed. Not yet bent by age, Hahfos stood one meter and three quarters; his close-cropped hair was almost the same shade as his face, with flashes of white at the temples, and though his blue-green eyes could chill an object of his displeasure to the innermost core, most occasions found them filled with merriment and joy of life.

A born leader of men, he had no need to rant and bellow, his orders were never pitched louder than the circumstances necessitated and he spoke either Mehrikan or Ehleeneekos tinged with the soft, slurring speech patterns of his faraway home. Astute as strategist and accomplished as tactician, he could be ferocious in personal combat, as was attested by the two Silver Cats he held; yet, withal, he was a kindly man and took no joy in needless suffering.

In the Fourteenth Regiment, which he had commanded for six years prior to his quite recent promotion, he had been affectionately known as "Old Pussyfoot." He had cared for his men and their response had been to give him not only an unflagging source of pride but their fierce love, as well. Not a few grizzled fighting men had openly wept when he left them for corps command.

When he had delivered his report to the High Lord, Milo nodded his thanks, then waved at the vacant chair across from his own. "If you've not something pressing, Hahfos, sit you down and have some of this abominable wine."

Hahfos' ready smile lit his face. "Thank you, mah lord." Milo waited until the officer was seated and had poured and tasted the wine, then asked, "How heavy is your new mantle, good Hahfos? Do you wish you still were simply sub-strahteegos of the Fourteenth?"

Hahfos absently rubbed a horny forefinger up and down his short, slightly canted nose. "Yes, mah lord, sometimes. But then, when ah had the Fourteenth, ah sometimes wished ah still was simply a keeleeohstos, too. Ah suppose that all men think back on the days when things were comparatively easy, whenevah we're faced with difficulties we didn't have then."

"How true, how true," Milo sighed. "I sometimes think back to the freedom I enjoyed as a Horseclans chief, centuries ago. But tell me, how are you getting along with the regimental commanders? My staff informs me there's been a bit of friction since this march commenced."

"Only one real bone of contention exists, mah lord Ah forbade certain gentlemen, whose ideas of discipline are somewhat at variance to mah own, from administering any moan than five lashes to any soldier within a given week. Ah pointed out that, since a man with twenty or thirty stripes can't march in ahmah and as we have no ambulances to carry them, they would weaken owah force were they to abide by their accustomed ways. Ah also pointed out that I had only two men flogged in six years, with no noticeable loss of discipline in the Fourteenth."

Milo grinned. "Good for you, Hahfos. Rubbed their noses in your successes, did you? I'd imagine that that galled them more than your order."

Hahfos shook his head. "Ah did not say what ah said to offend them, mah lord. But all ah said is true, mah lord! Ah know, ah proved mah views! The whip makes good men bad and bad men worse and it is, in any case, completely unnecessary. Advocates of the whip call it the 'Foundation of Discipline,' but it is no such thing, mah lord. If a commander be able and lets his men know that

he cares for their welfare, he can easily maintain all the discipline needed with only rare application of the whip. Ah consider the whip to be the final argument of lazy or incompetent officers!"

He had waxed very vehement, now his tone softened. "Ah am sorry if ah offended mah lord, but mah lord did ask... ."

"No, Hahfos," Milo reassured him. "I was not offended. I could not agree more with most of it. But the cult of the whipping frame is hard to root out It's a carryover custom from two centuries ago, from the pre-Horseclans Ehleen army, in which common spearmen were all peasants-to all intents and purpose, brutish and brutalized military slaves. I inherited that army intact and thought it best, at the time, to allow the Ehleenee officers to maintain most of their accustomed practices. When in later years I attempted to inaugurate new customs, I discovered the past ones to be so firmly entrenched from top to bottom that I would've chanced precipitating a virtual mutiny to force my will.

"But I was steeling myself to take that very chance, Hahfos. Then came the Second Kuhmbuhluhn War and, on its heels, the invasion by King Zenos VITI, and, since, we've seldom been at peace for any length of time."

"Ah understand, mah lord," said Hahfos sympathetically. "It is truly said that crowns and coronets can fast weigh down the spirit

"But mah lord, ah ... that is, would mah lord object if ah were to ..."

Milo smiled once more. "Hahfos, you have free rein, my earnest prayers and all my approval. If you can do what you did with the Fourteenth with this corps, you will succeed old Ehmeekos as lord strahteegos of the armies, you have my solemn word on it."

Chapter V

Glumly, the nahkhahrah watched the last of the Gahrbehdyuhn Tribe depart his village, the ponies at a stiff trot, headed due south. As his assembled host had melted away, even as the accursed Undying Devil and his army had pressed farther and farther into the mountains, the temper of this chief of chiefs had worsened to the point where few men were now reckless enough to stray within easy reach of his fist or his ready raider's knife, especially when delivering bad news-and there was little news, these days, which was not bad.

The nahkhahrah could cheerfully have strangled each and every man of the departing tribe, but he immediately ruffled when a voice from close behind him said mockingly, "Soon my Maidens will be the only warriors in this dungheap village of yours, my valiant ally. This is the third tribe which has lost its courage and turned tail since the Undying Devil entered the mountains, is it not? Two tribes fled north and this one goes south. Where is the over-vaunted valor if its fierce Ahrmehnee? Or is that valor as much myth as are the tales you use to keep your womenfolk in bondage? Eh?"

Bristling, the nahkhahrah spun about to face his tormentor, knobby hand gripping the hilt of his big, heavy knife, worn, yellow teeth bared in a snarl of rage.

The brahbehrnuh did not twitch a muscle at his obvious threat. Though the two Maidens behind her tensed and fingered their hilts, she stood with her trousered legs spread wide, her arms akimbo. One of her attendants carried the brahbehrnuh's gold-plated helm, and the tall woman's glossy, black hair fell untrammeled, framing a strikingly handsome face. The full lips showed the even, white teeth in a mocking sneer, while the woman's ebon eyes glittered forth contempt

There were no Ahrmehnee warriors anywhere close by, and the nahkhahrah, though unquestionably brave, was not reckless. Grudgingly, he released his knife, growling. "Now, by Our Lady's Cusps, woman, I would Her emissaries had left you and your arrogant, unnatural breed in your hold! Had I mine own way-"

"But you do not!" snapped the brahbehrnuh, coldly. "Her dread Curse lies upon her or him who first breaks our alliance. Were it not so, I and mine would long since be back where we belong. Aye, and those of your poor, downtrodden women we could free with us!"

Pale and speechless with rage, the nahkhahrah brusquely pushed past the brahbehrnuh and her guards, limped into the council house and loudly slammed the thick door behind him, shooting the bolt for good measure. Stumping to his place, he simply sat, cracking his big knuckles, his scarred face working. And seeing the bloodlust shining from his eyes, no one of the nine dehrehbehee remaining asked any questions of him.

From the moment of entry into the village of the brahbehrnuh and her hundreds of armed, armored and supercilious female warriors, there had been tension of one sort or another. Obviously, the People-of-Powers had expected the tension to lessen and so had all felt free to leave on their mission to the Muhkohee tribes, but it had worsened, if anything. For one thing, burgeoning familiarity with the Maidens had virtually dissolved the semi-superstitious awe of them which many Ahrmehnee had had; for another, the blatant attempts of many of the Maidens to foment trouble between the nahkhahrah's tribesmen and their womenfolk or to seduce nubile maids and matrons into perverted sexual practices-which practices seemed to be endemic amongst the strutting, man-despising Maidens-had set all the Ahrmehnee warriors' teeth on edge and had caused the nahkhahrah ceaseless difficulties in preventing outright massacre of the vastly outnumbered "allies."

Early on, he had attempted to reason with the brahbehrnuh, had tried to persuade her to draw rein on her crudely antagonistic following, pointing out that unless she did so the only certain result would be the spilling of blood and that, considering the fact that she and hers were hundreds amidst thousands, a serious session in arms between Ahrmehnee and Maidens could end in but one way. It had been wasted breath and effort. The sow had heard him out, then insulted him, all the dehrehbehee and their Sacred Ancestors, obscenely; further, she had offered disparaging comments on all Ahrmehnee warriors, then on men in general. Then she had stalked from the council house, a mocking laugh floating behind her.

And the foul situation had worsened and worsened to the point at which the Council had had to actually execute three tribesmen who had drawn steel, in order to show the host that they were serious about maintaining the now shaky alliance. The nahkhahrah had taken to praying earnestly each night at moonrise that the People-of-Powers would soon return so that the projected invasion could get under way while he still could exercise a measure of control over his men.

Then, piling one mountain atop another, had come word that a great army, led by the Undying Devil called Meelohsh, was marching up the trade road, through the lands of the Frainyuhns, and he had bidden Dehrehbeh Hyk Frainyuhn and his tribesmen goodspeed and even reinforced them . . . with the worst of the troublemakers camped about

But no plan or scheme of the unlucky young dehrehbeh had gone aright. Five times had he and his warriors set out to ambush the van of the invaders, five times had they been discovered, attacked and driven off with losses. The fifth failure had cost the life of Hyk himself, and the Frainyuhns had, predictably, withdrawn to their principal village to choose a new dehrehbeh, since the deceased had no living brothers old enough to lead.

So the nahkhahrah had sent out men to watch over the now unobstructed progress of the invading army, bidding them to keep much distance from the lowlanders, to flee if attacked and fight only if cornered. His orders had not been taken well by the Ahrmehnee, but out of respect for him they had voiced their disagreements out of his hearing.

Not so the Maidens, however. The insolent chits took to laughing at the old man whenever he rode at large, scornfully mocking his every word or gesture, frequently instigated and often led by the haughty brahbehrnuh.

But the nahkhahrah had suffered the criticism in silence, for he knew that his way was the right one. He was a very old man, far older than his appearance suggested. He had been chosen nahkhahrah when his aged father was slain fighting the lowlanders who had driven the Thirteen Tribes from the foothills and, a hundred and thirty moons later, he had led the Great Raid which had ended so disastrously at Bloody Ford.

He knew the fierce bravery of Ahrmehnee warriors and, much as he now hated the Maidens, he suspected that they might possibly be equally fine fighters. But his eyes had beheld thousands of valiant, stubborn Ahrmehnee cut down like ripe grain by the hosts of the Undying Devil. He knew that this present army slightly outnumbered his available forces. He knew that even in his own mountains victory over the invaders might well be a narrow, chancy business, and so he husbanded his fighters, seeing clearly that utter folly of frittering away irreplaceable strength in pointless harassment.

Next had come the refugees, trickling in first from the north, then from the south. At that point his control began to crumble away. Deep in his heart, he could not really blame the dehrehbehee and their tribesmen, for, had the situation been reversed, had he been a mere dehrehbeh with the sure knowledge that lowland raiders were ravaging Taishyuhn lands, he too would probably have led out his tribesmen to avenge former and prevent future inroads.

Nonetheless, with each departing tribe, his self-esteem eroded a bit more as he realized that his ability to stop the invading army became more questionable.

In sheer frustration, he beat his big fists against his muscular thighs. The cursed brahbehrnuh might well be right about her warriors and those of the Taishyuhns soon being the only fighters left here. But he vowed to himself, ere that happened, he would do something. If he could not stop the lowlanders here, he would at least dispose of the cursed Maidens. Maybe those tribes still with him could even fight or bluff their way into Maiden Valley and hold it against the Undying Devil.

None of the abashed dehrehbehee felt constrained to speak in the presence of the raging leader of their stahn, and in the silence of the familiar Council House, the nahkhahrah was able to muse on his problems undisturbed for some time. Then, as he had known it would, came an insistent pounding on the bolted door. From the sound, he imagined a sword pommel was being used on the polished hardwood.

Raising his chin from his chest, he calmly ordered, "Let the bitch in ere she splits the door. Or"-he smiled, the first smile any had seen light his seamed face in many a day-"has a tantrum and pisses her breeks."

In the blessed release from their long tension, the dehrehbehee all roared then1 laughter while one of their number pulled back the bolt and the brahbehrnuh swaggered into the dim, smoky room, trailed by her two guards, as ever.

Halting at the edge of their circle, she hissed at the council members, "You dare to laugh at the brahbehrnuh of Our Lady's Maidens?"

The smile instantly departed the nahkhahrah's countenance and his voice crackled coldly, like river ice. "We are the men who lead the Thirteen Tribes of the Ahrmehnee Stahn. We sit in council in our own council house and here we weep or shout or whisper or laugh whenever and as we please, asking leave of no man and, certainly, of no woman."

The brahbehrnuh stamped her foot petulantly. "I am your ally; it is the will of Her that I am your ally, and you have no right to deny me access to your councils. How do you expect me to hear what you dirty men are hatching when the door is barred against my entry?"

The nahkhahrah nodded slowly, the lamps making the shadows of his big-nosed, craggy face resemble the physiognomy of a bird of prey. "Yes, you are an ally, and only because it is Her will. But though it has been used as such in times past, this is not a true warhouse, it is the house of council for the business of the Thirteen Tribes of the Ahrmehnee. As you have obviously learned, its walls and door are thick and it has no windows for the very purpose of preventing spying and eavesdropping by curious busybodies and-"

But the armored woman burst out in interruption. "Busybody? Why you antique, tuskless boarhog, how dare you!"

His hours of meditation and other mental exercises had purged the nahkhahrah of anger, nor could her discourtesies and insults inflame him anew. "-and any others who would pry into matters which concern them not. I and my dehrehbehee and warriors are not of your valley or customs, so you have no right to know what is in our minds or of what matters we converse in privacy.

"Now, begone, child. Remain in your camp until I summon you, for I must journey with Our Lady this night." On his last words, he arose and pointed a long finger at the still open door.

A hot retort was on the brahbehrnuh's lips, but it never emerged. For all at once, the nahkhahrah's eyes locked with her own and the tall old man became even taller, larger, huger than any man had a right to be. It seemed this his white-haired head was truly brushing the sooty skull-bedecked rafters high above, that the width of his shoulders strained against the side walls of the council house. And the brahbehrnuh whirled and almost ran from the place now resounding with the contrabasso booming of the giant's voice.

With the rising of moon, the staccato voices of the doombehgs sounded from within the council house with, now and again, the lost-soul wailing of the reed-flutes rising above. Solid ranks of Ahrmehnee warriors-grim-faced and purposeful, firmly grasping their spears, darts and bared raider knives-barred any approach to the building. Those Maidens sent by the brahbehrnuh to inquire were told only that the nahkhahrah was in communion with the Holy Goddess and that, should their leader's presence be required, she would be summoned. No amount of insulting harassment or imperious demands could elicit the women any further information, and those few who sought to force a way through the ranks were either faced with a hedge of sharp and ready steel or hurled back to sprawl before the determined men.

All the brahbehrnuh's emissaries returned with bruised pride, some with bruised flesh as well, and at least one with a bloody nose. Hot words were 'screeched in the tent of the brahbehrnuh, the other Maiden leaders all being for arming and hacking a gory path through the insolent pigs who denied them their way. No one of them had ever before been denied anything by a mere man, nor had any man ever laid hand to them without being made to suffer for the outrage. But the brahbehrnuh, too, denied them.

Inside the council house, the noise was deafening. The air was thick and close with the heat of many braziers and with the pungent smoke of the herbs and gums regularly heaped upon the coals. Except for the braziers, all furniture had been removed, and the nahkhahrah and the dehrehbehee squatted in a circle in the center of the main room, while the drummers and other musicians crouched along the walls.

Though all had, of course, heard of it, only the older men had ever before been present when their chief of chiefs communed with the Lady. Despite their total nudity, those in the circle all were sweating heavily and quaffing deeply of the brimming bowls of barley beer. They had all fasted until an hour before moonrise, when each had consumed as much of the foul-tasting Holy Herb as he could force down.

None of them now were aware of the dozen warriors who silently glided to and fro, keeping the braziers fed and heaped, seeing that the beer bowls remained full and trimming the lampwicks.

As Moon rose higher and higher in the clear, cold sky, the drums roared on and on, the flutes keened and shrilled and the smoke roiled and billowed about the rapt circle.

At a signal from the nahkhahrah, someone outside placed before him a large silver bowl, its rim all chased with mystical and holy signs. Placing it beneath him, he urinated into it, then passed it to Dehrehbeh Neeshahn Soormehlyuhn on his left, who solemnly added the contents of his own bladder to the bowl, then handed the container to the dehrehbeh at his own left hand.

When all the circle had voided their water into the bowl, the nahkhahrah placed it before him on the floor, dipped out a half of a smaller bowlful and added an equal quantity of beer, then raised the smaller bowl to his lips and drained it off. Thrice more he did this, ere, a half-hour later, he slid from his place in the circle, and extended his body full-length upon the floor.

He closed his heavy lids.

"Once again, my faithful and ever-obedient son travels my way with me. Welcome and thrice welcome, Kohg Taishyuhn. What would you of Her who loves youT'

As he recalled from before, the unbearably sweet voice was all about the nahkhahrah, all about him and within him. And he opened his eyes to once more behold the unearthly beauty and splendor of the Lady. All of silver, She was. A soft and misty silver She glowed before and about him.

Then She no longer was all-encompassing, but-again, as before-a creature no taller than himself. A lissome, silver-haired, woman-shaped goddess, She was become.

She opened her slender arms to him and he entered into Her embrace and he found Her silver-hued flesh cool and pleasing to the touch and the scent of Her was redolent of Moon-washed hills thick-grown with wild thyme. Their lips met, locked, and Her kiss was cold fire, consuming all his being, leaving nought behind save the aroused and stiffening ardor of his loins.

And when he had worshiped in the manner She desired, when his loins had freely poured out a measure of their most precious offering, then did the two arise from the billowy, silver couch and stroll, hand in hand, across the springy, silver-bladed turf, to where a silver fountain plashed misty silver water. They sat down on the cool stone verge of the basin-all white marble, veined with the Holy Silver.

She spoke. "Dearest Kohg, the future of your people can be far brighter than you and other mortals now believe. Once more will I allow you to spy out those places and people and events which will shape the good and the ill.

"I need not instruct you, for you have done this before. Observe the past; see or be one with the present, as you desire; then descry the futures which lie ahead and choose the one you think best for your people ... our people.

"When, at last, you are done, return to me and 1 will again send you home.

"Go you, now, loved lover."

Beneath his hurtling body, the night-cloaked mountains rushed by. The nahkhahrah saw twinkling lights ahead, swooped lower and recognized his village and the jagged sprawl of camps surrounding it. He swept on, eastward, over the range which lay between the village and the wind-scoured, flinty waste of the Great Plateau. He blinked in amazement when he saw the huge stone-and-timber fort now rising above the icy plain. It had been reported to him, naturally, by his scouts, but they had failed to impress him with the awesome size and strength of the defenses. Even without wishing a glimpse of the possible outcome, he dismissed all thoughts of hurling his Ahrmehnee against those stout, well-manned walls.

Veering to his left, he plunged northward. Only a few days' ride from his village, thousands of lowland cavalry slumbered in and around a deserted village. A day behind them, wild creatures scuttled about a battlefield, crouching upon stiff Ahrmehnee corpses and gorging themselves on cold human flesh. And farther north lay horror upon horror of burned villages; the dead-or what the ravenous scavengers had left of £hem-lay thickly sown and living folk huddled, shivering, in the inhospitable mountains.

Turning about, the nahkhahrah bore to the south. Here, the camped lowlanders were not in one place, but in many, widely scattered. Behind them, forty miles wide, lay a swath of death amid ashes and ruin. The carnage had been fearsome here, and the destruction far more total than that to the north.

"He who wrought this," the nahkhahrah thought, "must be truly a monster of the Ancient Evil."

"Monsters of the Ancient Evil are assuredly abroad in these mountains." Her voice once more enveloped him. "But he who despoiled these, your folk, is not one of them, dear Kohg."

Recalling his plan to seize the Valley of the Maidens, the nahkhahrah bore about to the northwestward and, presently, he was gliding above the battlemented hills and ridges into a bank of noisome mist. From under the mist shone an eerie, roseate glow. The glow was strongest near the center of the largest vale, and he swept toward it. The air in the valley was warm, almost hot, and as he approached the source of that rosy radiance, the heat increased manyfold.

Something warned him to not come any closer to his objective, so he dove through the mist just shy of a huge fissure in the rocks. It belched forth a steady column of smoke and stench which brought tears to the eyes and acute discomfort to the skin. Waves of unbearable heat bartered at him, and he blinked himself away. The clear menace of that fissure sent a shudder coursing through him.

Rising swiftly, he blinked the future, six moons ahead, and saw a scene of utter desolation. Tumbled rocks surrounded a wide bowl of bubbling, smoking almost-liquid. Nowhere was there any sign of a living creature.

"But... but, Lady? How? Why?" he begged silently.

And he felt himself whisked back to the present. Out of the yawning mouth of the entry cavern filed a long line of pack animals. Some bore strange devices strapped upon their backs, others, panniers which he could sense contained gold and silver, tons of the precious metals. The train was guided by strange-looking men and women in stranger garments. At its head rode three he recognized: the People-of-Powers. And though they spoke in a language he knew he had never heard, he could understand them.

"You're dead certain the charges will do what we planned?" queried Dr. Erica Arenstein anxiously. "Those that the gas didnt kill, those who only got a whiff of it, are going to be rather angry when they waken and find they've been robbed."

The Ahrmehnee-looking man who rode on her left snorted derisively. "Scant need of fear from that quarter, my dear Erica. Every last horse in their herd is presently roaming about these mountains, if not still running."

"Don't be suicidally cocksure, Dr. Corbett," the woman admonished him. "They are a stubborn race. If need be, they'll track us on foot, and unless we can get better speed out of these damned mules than we got in bringing them north, we'll be run down within a day's ride of here."

"Not to worry, honey," assured the other Ahrmehnee, him to whom she had first spoken, now riding a bit behind as the trail had become too narrow for three abreast. He glanced at an odd bracelet on his left wrist, then stated, "The tunnel will be sealed in thirty-two minutes, and before any of them-or many of them, at least-can climb up through those caverns and go down the walls, the main charges will blow. But by that time, well have that mountain yonder between us and the volcano. I calculate that the charges I planted will be just enough to trigger a full-scale eruption."

The woman, whom the nahkhahrah had known as Sahrah Sahrohyuhn, threw back her head and laughed merrily . . . and the nahkhahrah thought that never had he heard a more chilling sound.

"There, Kohg Taishyuhn, ride those you would term 'monsters.'"

"But . . . but, Lady, they are of You. They possess Powers."

"Poor mortal Kohg, you have been deceived. Those are not of Me. They are of a cankering sore upon the face of the troubled land. They and their kind honor not Gods but, rather, an abstraction they call 'Science.' Long, long ago, when untold millions of the races of man had forsaken the Gods to grovel at the altars of Science, the monstrous creations of that false god almost swept the lands clean of human life. Your people know of this through the tales of 'The War of the Earth-Gods' and 'The Great Catastrophe,' Kohg.

"Few men survived the holocaust. Even today, the lands are peopled by but a bare shadow of the numbers on whom I once shed My rays. These Ancient Monsters move and breathe only through an unspeakable perversion of the Laws of Nature. And- their future objective is nothing less than the enslavement of all other living creatures. Not many recognize the menace they present, Kohg, and one who does is him they would have had you make war upon, him you call 'Undying Devil,' him who calls himself, 'Milo Morai, High Lord of the Confederation.' "

"But, the Devil is my enemy," protested the nahkhahrah. "He drove my people from our rich lands, drove us into these mountains, and now have his folk soaked the earth with Ahrmehnee blood yet again. He is Your enemy, as well, Lady. He worships Your enemy, Sun."

The Voice remained cool and soothing in and about him. "He is not My enemy. Dear Kohg, I am all true Gods. I but appear to men in the guise they venerate and expect. To you, I am Moon Goddess, to Milo, am I God of Sun and Wind; some call That which is Me Steel or Rain; in the north I am worshiped as Blue Lady; even farther north, in the Black lands, men call upon Me as Ahlah.

"Nor is Milo your enemy, Kohg. For even as all Gods are but Me, the encompassing One, so too are all men of all races brothers, could you poor mortals but see Truth. Milo attacked your people and seized their lands principally to shorten his border and so protect his people from your raiders. It is his aim to once more unite the lands and races upon this continent-not as slaves beneath his heel, such as would those whom you overheard, but as free, happy and prosperous folk.

"Does this man-for, man he is; mortal man born of woman, for all that some name him 'god"-succeed, does he choose the proper combination of alternatives, as little as seven thousand moons may see this land once again as great and mighty as it was twelve thousand moons agone.

"This Milo is only your enemy because first your forefathers, then you, have made him such. If you and your folk choose to freely join with his Confederation, you will be welcomed and heaped with honors. If you choose to fight on I can see no future for the Ahrmehnee, save as scattered, homeless, wandering remnants of a race. But it is you who must now choose, Kohg."

The nahkhahrah blinked the future and found it just as the Lady had stated; small family groups of Ahrmehnee, thin and ragged, barely existing in caves and makeshift tents, while being hunted like beasts by the Muhkohee, who had taken over Ahrmehnee valleys and rebuilt the war-shattered villages. He did not stay, for this possible future was too terrible to long contemplate.

And again he went soaring over the moon-bathed mountains, north and east this time. Just beyond his own village, he came to ground. Unseen, he passed between the guards and entered the tent of the brahbehrnuh, finding the young woman alone. Slowly, before her frightened and wondering eyes, he blinked his form visible.

"Listen to me, child." The brahbehrnuh could see his lips move, shape the words. Nonetheless, they seemed more within her head than upon her ears. "Your home is no more, nor your folk. Those whom we knew as People-of-Powers and of Our Lady were not; rather were they Monsters of the Great and Ancient Evil. They it was who slew your folk and despoiled your treasure, then destroyed your hold by means of the smoking fissure.

"Now, they bear their ill-gotten booty south and west upon the backs of many mules. There be but few of them, child, less than a hundred. Avenging the murders of one's own folk is a Sacred Duty. At dawn you must arm your Maidens and ride. You will ride with Her blessing."

The brahbehrnuh was not without real courage even in so eerie a situation as this, and she resolutely gathered that courage. "How . . . how came you here, without my guards? And how know you, who are only a man, of the Hoofprint of the Goddess's Steed, that which you called 'smoking fissure'?"

"Child, child, how can I make you understand? This night I am as one with Her, I ride with Her across the skies and can see all that She sees. It is only through Her powers that you look now upon my likeness, for my body actually lies yonder, within the council house."

The brahbehrnuh shivered, despite herself. Then, "If you ... if you are a ... a part of Our Lady, I ... will believe, will do all that you can say if ... if ... if you will tell me my name. Tell me my secret name, the name I chose when first I became bahbehrnuh, the name which not even my lover knows, the name I have silently whispered only to the Goddess at Her shrine."

The nahkhahrah smiled gently. "It is a beautiful name, child. It was the name of my dear mother. It is Rahk-sahnah."

All the blood drained from the brahbehrnuh's face, her strong legs wobbled, and only her grasp upon the table kept her from falling. She tried to speak, but could only gasp and stutter. Then, finally, she found her voice, though it was as weak as her body.

"I believe. It shall be as you, as She commands. The Maidens will ride at dawn."

The nahkhahrah briefly flickered out, then reappeared to add, "Pass wide of what was your home, Rahksahnah. The entrance now is sealed. To scale the heights and climb the walls would only be to die. And you must not die, for, ere you see my village again, you will find him who will make of you a true woman, give you a future of happiness and ease and children.

"I sense rebellion in your heart, child. Expel ft. Yon must realize that the old ways of the Maidens are dead this night, dead and buried as the land which spawned you all will soon be. You must forget the past and accept the newness of the future, if you are to survive.

"Now I must leave you, for there is still much I must do ere the Lady complete Her journey."

Again the nahkhahrah swooped east. Over the range to the Great Plateau, then high over the expanse of sere grasses and frozen, rocky soil to the newly raised ramparts-raw earth and green logs and ancient blocks of stone. Unseen, he stood upon the wallwalk while an officer made his rounds. The block of granite beside the nahkhahrah once had been polished and engraved and it still bore ancient letters: NAL BANK OF.

He blinked. He saw the whole of the building of which the stone had once been a part, saw the other buildings about it, saw the odd folk who walked and talked and laughed and ate and loved, saw their black roads striped with yellow and white. He saw the folk conveyed upon their roads in large and small magical wagons, which made fearsome noises and trailed smoke behind. He saw thousands of bright lights, of every conceivable color, shining boldly or flickering in and out of fantastical designs.

He blinked. He saw the buildings and the roads again, but gone were the folk, gone too were the lights., Few were the wagons and they obviously had lost then* magic, for they sat smashed and torn and rusting upon the cracked, weed-springing roads. The buildings, also, were dirt-streaked, many were sagging, and their windows gaped like the eyesockets of the skulls in the council-house rafters.

He blinked. He saw the broken block, now forming a merlon atop the battlement of the lowlanders' fort. He and his folk had pastured goats and cattle on this plateau time out of mind without ever suspecting that a city of the Earth-Gods lay beneath their feet.

"You have not much longer, My love. Hurry, Kohg, for soon I must send you back."

Milo awakened all in a breath, his hand immediately seeking the familiar hilt of his pillow-sword. At the foot of his couch stood a tall old man, devoid of any clothing. The face, though seamed and wind-darkened, still was handsome and the unbowed, muscular body bore the scars of a warrior. A single glance at the set of the intelligent eyes and the big nose, hooked like a hawk's beak, told the High Lord the man's race.

"Ahrmehnee!" he breathed. "How the devil did you get in here, old man? What do you want? If you've come to slay me ..."

The visitor shook his snowy mane. "I am aware that steel cannot harm you, Milo of Moral I am Kohg Taishyuhn, the nahkhahrah of the Thirteen Tribes of the Ahrmehnee. I am come to seek peace with you and a place for my people in your Confederation."

Chapter VI

Thoheeks Bili of Morguhn felt the first tingling and relaxed his mind to allow for easier farspeak.

"Bili," beamed the High Lord, "our war with the Ahrmehnee is ended. Send word to all your columns to retire back to the trade road and return to Vawn through Baikuh. Take your own force and ride northwest. You are seeking a muletrain which is led by three of the Witchmen . . . well, one is a woman. If you meet a force of armored, mounted Ahnnehnee women, do not be surprised; they're after the same quarry.

"I'd like to have at least one of the Witchfolk alive, but remember, what I've told you of them and their wiles and take no chances. The treasure they carry belongs rightfully to the Ahrmehnee warrior women of whom I just spoke. They are all virgins but, forgiving them that, the man who's seeking a rich wife could scarcely do better to my way of thinking. By the by, Bili, the brahbehrnuh, their leader, is reputed to be a proud, long-legged, handsome creature named Rahksahnah. She is of a long-lived, gifted race and should throw good colts, many of them.

"As for the machines they carry, I would prefer that they be smashed or, better yet, dumped in some deep, swift river.

"You'll be far west, Bili, so it's possible you'll chance across Mehrikan-speaking barbarians called Muhkohee. They are sly, savage and treacherous, lad. Even the wild Ahnnehnee fear them, so beware.

"Sun and Wind keep you all, Bili. Come to the nahkhahrah's village when you are done."

Vaskos Daiviz of Morguhn, commander of the city of Vawnpolis, looked briefly at the stiffening corpse and repressed a shudder with difficulty. A veteran of the almost constant border wars of the Confederation, he was no stranger to terrible sights. Nor did a man make the ascent from common spearman to sub-strahteegos without being an exceedingly tough and thick-skinned soldier. And Vaskos was both. Nonetheless, this body and the two found last week had chilled him to the very marrow.

All three had been women, young women. But had neighbors or friends not reported them missing, there would have been no chance of ascertaining the identities of the cadavers. Whoever had butchered them had, in all three cases, used a knife to mutilate their faces so that not even their mothers would have known them. Nor were these horrors the worst, for, after all, wounds wrought by steel were an old and familiar story to the commander.

No, what sent the cold prickling to Vaskos' nape while nausea churned in his belly were the other enormities perpetrated by the killer or killers. From the knees to the necks, the poor women had been savagely flogged, front and back. And atop the welts and cuts of the whip were the crowning horrors-the tears and gouges of teeth, human teeth, which kad gnawed at the victim like an animal, ripping away chunks of flesh.

After the discovery of the first grisly remains by an early-morning patrol, Vaskos had concluded that none save a maniac could have done such a thing. Therefore he had sought out the keepers of Myros the Mad. But Captain Danos and all six of his men had attested that the former vahrohnos of Deskati had remained locked in his windowless chamber throughout the entire night And since members of Vaskos' own staff had heard the madman's howls from time to time during the questioned time period, he had no choice but to scratch the suspect from his mental list.

After the second murder, he had doubled the night patrols, even though that meant putting a sizable number of former rebels back under arms. But this morning's find had proved even those measures ineffective. So he called his officers into council, inviting as well the few remaining former rebel officers: Captain Kahrlos, Captain Danos and Vahrohneeskos Kahzos Boorsohthehpsees of Vawn, once deputy commander of the rebel city.

It was the half-blinded and hideously disfigured young Ehleen nobleman to whom Vaskos addressed himself after he had succinctly reported the particulars of this most recent killing.

"Lord Kahzos, we must find a way to put a stop to these deaths, and since the victims are invariably from , among those who were your people, I felt that you and these other two officers might be able and willing to aid."

Kahzos nodded gravely. He had given up his once-ready smile since he now smiled perpetually. A catapult stone had struck a merlon during the siege and the resultant hail of stoneshards had taken his left eye and grated all the flesh from the left side of his face.

"I don't think that it's a new problem, Lord Vaskos. Similar cases were noted by Lord Drehkos and me during the siege, as well as just preceding it. Always the victims were young women and girls, always were their bodies monstrously mutilated and showing marks of teeth. But after the first few weeks of the siege, the murders sort of . . . well, tapered off. These are the first sign that the murderer or murderers were not, as we had surmised and hoped, dead in the siege."

Vaskos sighed gustily. "My sincere thanks, Lord Kahzos. That takes quite a load off my mind. I was fearful that one or more of my Confederation garrison might have been culpable.

"Well, gentlemen, this narrows the field a bit for us. To narrow it further, we can eliminate those men who were on patrol last night as well as those who were known to be here in the citadel.

"I am posting a reward of one hundred silver thrdhkmehee for any information leading to the apprehension of this animal. Eepohlohkahgos Lain, you and your detachment will have the task of running down any leads and tips that that reward offer brings in. It might also be a good idea to incorporate some of our late enemies into your operation. I'm certain that Lord Kahzos would be happy to give you the names of some reliable men, and the Vawnee may find it easier to really open up to a fellow rebuhhh, Ehleen."

The vahrohneeskos agreed with alacrity. "I certainly would. Eepohlohkahgos, I can have a number of men report to your offices and you then can pick and choose those with whom you feel you can best work. In fact, I myself am at your disposal. I want to see this criminal on a sharp stake as much as any here."

"My Lord Vaskos," put in Captain Kahrlos, leader of those former rebels now back under arms, "I'd 'predate a part in this here, too. Y'see, it was a young widder, back las' fall, an' me an' her we was kinda close. She was a real fine woman an* . . . then one mornin* they foun' her poor body, what was left of it, leastways, in a alley oft High Street. I wouln" of knowed it was her, hadna been she had six toes on her feet We ... we was so happy, 'spite of the siege an' all. It'd do my soul good to hear the bastard what done all them things to my Aida scream fer a few days!"

Vaskos gave a brusque nod. "Of course, captain, you may take as much part in these proceedings as your duty allows. Speaking of which, I'm going to want a fifty-percent increase in the size of your force. See to it. As before, I cannot allow you to commission any officers, but you may appoint as many sergeants as you have need for."

Captain Danos, warder of the mad vahrohnos, Myros, listened intently to all that was said but offered neither aid nor advice. Since his responsibility and that of his small detachment was his charge, day and night every day, and since all knew him to be thoroughly dedicated to that responsibility, which had been his even before the siege had commenced, no one really expected him to tender the services of his six men in any other capacity.

For himself, Vaskos Daiviz was vastly relieved that the captain-formerly a hunter on the estate of the commander's father, Komees Hari Daiviz of Morguhn-was keeping his mouth shut, for it would be almost the final straw were he to find himself in any way beholden to the rebel officer. The stocky, powerful heir of Daiviz had but to finger the bumpy scar tissue just over his left ear, under the iron-gray hair, to recall that this same Danos had been a leader of the pack of rebels who had earnestly attempted to murder him last spring. They had slain Vaskos' orderly, brave Frahnkos, and had, like the houndpack they were, driven him and his three half-sisters from their home.

When, last summer, he and his father, with a mixed force of Freefighters and Confederation kahtahfrahktoee, had ridden back into Horse County and retaken their hall, this Danos had escaped the retributive bloodbath. Until the fall of Vawnpolis, none in the loyal forces had known the former hunter's fate or whereabouts.

Vaskos, then a supernumerary on the staff of the High Lord, had found the remembered name among the list of rebel officers turned in by Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn, his hated uncle. He and his father had then demanded an audience with the High Lord, recited the long list of Danes' crimes in Morguhn, and claimed the miscreant's blood ... all of it. The High Lord had only promised to investigate the matter, pointing out, however, that the amnesty extended to all the former rebels and covered almost every crime they might have committed while in rebellion.

When he had given Vaskos command of the city and the attached base of operations for the mountain campaign, the High Lord had covered the case of Danos in his verbal orders.

"Vaskos, you're now a sub-strahteegos, but a responsibility such as I am placing in your hands is-or, rightfully, should be-that of a full strahteegos. Therefore, I am breveting you to that rank. Do a good job in Vawnpolis, and the end of this campaign will see the brevet rank a permanent rank."

Then, while the officer glowed with the promise of unexpected promotion, the High Lord had elucidated, where necessary, the written orders and added certain others. Lastly, he had added, "And, regarding this business which you and Lord Hari spoke with me about, this Captain Danos may well be everything of which you two accused him, and more. But he also was a brave and resourceful soldier, and his former commander, Lord Drehkos, has only the highest praise for him. Too, he is presently fulfilling a most valuable function in the city. I feel that he should continue in that function and in his current rank, at least until we've scotched these Ahnneh-nee and Witchmen.

"As commander of Vawnpolis, you will find yourself working with and for the former rebels, and I expect you to get along well with them, all of them, including Captain Danos. Do I make myself clear, Strahteegos Daiviz?"

There had been no option and Vaskos had given the expected answer. Nonetheless, he had found it most difficult to be barely civil to this hated subordinate. He still did.

Not that he was too stiff-necked to give the devil his due. No man in the garrison or the city envied the captain his job. Vahrohnos Myros" madness was unpredictable and he could be extremely dangerous. Indeed, in one of his ragings, the lunatic had virtually torn limb from limb the sergeant who had originally been assigned to assist Danos.

At one moment, Myros would be the very epitome of the old-fashioned Ehleen gentleman-cool, poised, a bit arrogant, conversing in cultured accents-then, in a twinkling, he could become a ravening, blood-hungry beast with the strength of a wild bull and the murderous cunning of a treecat Or, just as quickly, he could lapse into a coma from which he might not awaken for days or even a week. In his day, the madman had been justly renowned as a master swordsman, and his keepers had early learned the folly of allowing their charge access to steel, no matter how pacific his mood might seem. No less than two men ever attended him, and they always carried long, leather, sausage-shaped cudgels rather than swords or dirks. Nor were they reticent in the use of their weapons when it became necessary to subdue the unfortunate nobleman. And Myros' battered physiognomy bore mute witness to his warders' self-protective impulses.

Soon after the close of Vaskos' meeting, Captain Danos sauntered down a hallway of the Citadel toward a thick, ironbound door, before which squatted a brace of armored men. Their helms laid aside, both were peering intently at the dice one had just cast.

The officer began to speak before he was well up to the pair. "Still at it, eh? Tell me, Sawl, how much does Geedos owe you by now?"

Fingering the place where his right ear-bitten off by Myros-had once sprouted, the brawny, thick-bodied man squinted his eyes and answered, "Well, cap'n, near as I can figure, "bout twenty-three million thrahkmehee, give *r take a couple of million." He added a gaptoothed grin.

Halting before the still-squatting men, Danos removed the sword from his baldric and the dirk from his belt and stooped to lay them by the two helms. Casually, he helped himself to one of the heavy, loaded cudgels, tightening its thong on his right wrist. Leaning over the gamesters, he slid back a brass panel and gazed through a grilled aperture into the chamber beyond, then slid the panel shut and stepped back.

"Open the door, Sawl. Geedos, make sure his lordship is on short chain. I wish to talk privately with him for a while."

When the officer entered his cell, Myros laid aside the book he had been reading by light of the two wall lamps which were kept constantly burning, well out of his reach.

A sneer twisted his lips as he suffered the guard to lift his feet onto the bed and shorten the chain which secured his left ankle to a finger-thick iron eyebolt let into the granite-block wall.

Few of the noble rebels now rotting in the prison at Morguhnpolis would have recognized the prisoner as the carefully groomed, satanically handsome man who had masterminded and led the rebellion in Morguhn. Black-nailed, filthy, clawlike hands poked from the sleeves of his stained and tattered shirt. The trimmed and oiled black mustachios and chinbeard of old now were merged and lost forever within the matted, gray tangle of whiskers which hung almost to his waist. His hair was almost totally white, as full and filth-matted as the beard. Even his fine, patrician nose had been knocked askew in one of the murderous set-tos with his "guards."

Only his glittering black eyes were unchanged, and from them his madness shone clearly. And something else peeked out as well, now and again; something which smacked to Danos, each time he chanced to see it, of dark, sinister, eldritch evil, which could see to the very core of his soul.

When the guard had adjusted the chain and left, closing the door behind him, Danos waited unspeaking until the muted clatter of the dice came from the hallway. Only then did he draw nearer and speak in hushed tones.

"My lord, I'll not be bringing you any more 'delicacies' for a while . . . possibly, a great while. The streets are going to be swarming with men every night for some time to come and it'll be just too risky to chance."

The vahrohnos showed his stained and broken teeth in a lazy smile. "You are lying, you whoreson. Vaskos-the-bastard hasnt enough of a garrison to mount a really effective guard, and I doubt me, with the sweet smell of strahteegos in his swinish nose, that hell appeal for more men. So don't attempt to hoodwink me, you lowborn lout.

"How would you like me to start screaming for you, you personally, one night when you're out about your rather peculiar diversions, eh? How would you like for me to tell them exactly where to find you, under those ruins at the northeast corner of ... I That shook you, didn't it, captain?"

Pale and trembling, his quaking legs scarcely able to support him, Danos had backed as far from his demonic charge as he could. He leaned weakly against the wall, his nape prickling, while drops of cold fear oozed from his every pore.

The madman went on. "Oh, no, Danos, you'll continue to supply me my wants, for you are my prisoner as surely as I am yours. You'll bring me a quart of fresh blood at least twice each week, and I care not where or how you get it. Woman's blood or man's blood, it matters not. But you will bring me blood!"

Using the mind of Whitetip, his prairiecat, to boost his farspeak range, Bili bespoke those few minds with which he was familiar to alert four of his farflung squadrons to the High Lord's new orders. For the others, he sent out dispatch riders at dawn. Also at dawn, he divided his personal command, sending the four reserve squadrons back to the trade road in company with the mule-and-pony train of booty, the dozen or so wounded Freefighters and most of the supply train. When he spurred westward, it was at the head of a full squadron, made up of the best of five.

Noble and Freefighter, officer and man, they were, in appearance, a rather unprepossessing lot that chill morning. Nearly a month of unrelieved campaigning up through the inhospitable mountains had given them the look of ruffians-mostly unwashed, untrimmed and unshaven, showy with gaudy bits of looted Ahrmehnee finery, acrawl with vermin. Albeit, there were few glum faces among them, and for two principal reasons: first, they had encountered few warriors and had consequently suffered few casualties; second, the pickings of the villages had been good, better than most had expected of mountain barbarians, and every rider who arrived back below the walls of Vawnpolis was assured of a jingling share of the loot now being packed south on the long trains of mules and asses and "liberated" mountain ponies.

But, for all their appalling personal hygiene, or lack of same, all their weapons were honed and bright, their armor rust-free and well oiled. Saddles and other leather gear were supple and shining, and every horse was in the best possible condition.

Pleased as the mercenaries were with the ease and profits of this campaign, they were even better pleased with their young commander, Duke Bili. Too often, within the borders of the Confederation, they had been forced to sell their swords to southern nobles who basically disliked, if not openly despised, Freefighters. But this tall, stark warrior whose Red Eagle banner they now followed not only liked and respected them, he understood them and their customs, shared their grim religion and spoke their language.