CHAPTER XI


THE FURY OF THE RAINS




Trajan sprawled amongst the wreckage, his vision a blur, his
ears ringing, the Soul he had acquired nestled within, as
limp. ?Starglory, don't you give up on me? The fury of the
rain beat on him mercilessly as he struggled to free himself
from the weight of the rubble. Stabs of pain shot through
his ankle with each pull but finally he was able to stand
up, swaying in the blasts of the wind like the decapitated
house before him, ready to fall down again. He was
completely alone. He gingerly took a step forward but the
pain in his ankle nearly felled him. "What is the damned
hurry," he muttered, "I might as well wait until they find
me."

Such thinking would lead to his final collapse very soon.
The fever was dulling his senses and unless something
happened fast, he would not last long enough to see another
HeliĆ day. He detected a faint motion in the corner of his
eye and cursing loudly he turned. A hard, spiky body fell on
top of him, and then another, and once more he was brought
down into the mire.

The pair of Mutations rolled and grappled with their victim
in the mud. Trajan fought savagely with all that was left of
his weakening strength. He was no longer able to think
clearly and only instinct was directing his movements. The
pungent hides of the Mutations were steadily suffocating
him. At length they were doing nothing more than just
thrusting him down with their bodies; it would not be long
before their victim stopped thrashing about.

Trajan gritted his teeth; Julyan's pistol was still clasped
in his hand. He bent his arm in one last desperate attempt,
thumbed the blade button, slashed and fired, slashed and
fired until the silver pistol-blade was empty. He could hear
the exploding pellets tearing through flesh, sinew and
organs. The bodies on him jolted, jerked again with a last
angry spasm and then lay still.

For long moments Trajan remained lying under their weight
with the rain splashing on his face. More ominous
silhouettes shimmered through the curtain of water but his
strength was completely spent. From afar he heard his name
being called. Phantom shades moved above him, fluttering to
and fro, and suddenly he could breathe freely again. The
voices called to him again fearfully, anxiously, but he was
too weak to speak, even to feel anything.

"Scruts!" someone uttered in revulsion, "what are those
monsters!" A pair of strong arms heaved him from the mud;
his head drooped on a stalwart shoulder; the relentless
deluge still pelted his face. A voice that he seemed to know
and trust spoke near his ear: "Never mind them, Jarimond,
they are dead. He is in a terrible state. We must take him
to Marshall Lauren immediately."

'Let's do just that,' Trajan thought and he let himself
drift away into the welcoming folds of unconsciousness.

* * *

For Jarimond and Terglyn it was a tortuous trip back to the
havens of warmth and hospitality, bending double under the
onslaught of the remorseless rain, skirting slews of mud
tumbling from the hills and dodging broken tree branches
sailing through the wind like jagged mastheads. More and
more their Captain bore them down like deadweight as they
dragged him between them and as a last measure of despair
they carried him on their backs by turns. He was barely
breathing and there was great fear they would not make it in
time.

Finally the outlines of Ricar Myar's house loomed ahead
amidst gusts and streaming rainfog. Shades of people hovered
at the foot of the hill and Terglyn gave them a shout.
Fredric Lamidor in a dripping Rainsweep rushed to meet them,
closely followed by Leoynar.

"You have found him!" Fredric exclaimed with joy. "By the
Lars," he breathed the next moment, "he looks ghastly!"

Leoynar shoved him aside. "Come, Fredric, we take him. Let
us carry him, commanders, you two look badly in need of
rest."

"I'll go and tell the others to stop looking," Terglyn said
panting heavily.

"I'll go and warn the Marshall," Jarimond said and tramped
ahead up the slope, while Leoynar and Fredric took Trajan's
limp form in their arms and between them, they half dragged,
half carried him to the front of the house. The doors were
wide open and from the front hall several rescuers dashed
forward to help with a stretcher. Jefroy Lauren came up
behind them.

"Put him in the study, everything is ready there." In the
hallway their rush into the study was halted by Anjelie
Trevarthen, who had pushed her way through the crowd and
gazed at Leoynar with glowering eyes.

"So," she spoke, "you have finally found him. Does he still
have the Hexstone? My son needs it desperately."

Leoynar stared at her with popping eyes. "In the name of the
HeliĆ!" he burst out, "this is not the time, Anjelie! Trajan
is barely breathing!"

"In the study, quick," Jefroy said without twitching a
muscle in his face and Leoynar steamed indignantly with his
burden through the door.

"Out, every one of you, out," the Marshall ordered. "Leave
it to the experts. This is not going to be a pretty sight."

He shut the door of the study. "Right," he nodded grimly to
his team of field surgeons, "we have to strip off all that
muck. Let's hope the gore he has on him is not all his own."

The rescuers removed the jacket and boots, and cut and tore
away the rest of the muddied and bloodied clothing. As they
started peeling away the soiled skinpatch, Trajan came to
and cursed. He was groaning aloud when the inflamed wound
was finally exposed.

Jefroy bent over. "Hush now, my hero, lie still. I'll
de-claw that barbaric devilry and get it out and patch your
shoulder up nice and tidy. You not only have that crater
there, but a plague of lacerations and bruises all over you,
not to mention your twisted ankle. WHAT have you been
battling with under the ground!"

"Stop procrastinating, Marshall and get on with the job."

"So," Jefroy chuckled, "still fit to give orders, Captain?
Typical, so typical. All right, mates, shall we knock out
this cranky one?"

It was in the small hours when Jefroy and his team were
finally finished. They had put Trajan on a couch before a
Simu-Fire and he appeared to have fallen into a restful
sleep. Outside, the rain continued to drum but, somehow, to
Jefroy's trained ears, as he sat listening beside the couch,
the storm sounded like it was lessening.

Royan barged into the study, staggering with fatigue and
dripping with slush and mud.

"Must you do that," Jefroy berated, "soiling the floor of
this house with your big, dirty feet!"

"Don't I have the right to know if my Captain is all right?"
Royan enquired in a friendly-like voice.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Jefroy said, wiping his hands
thoughtfully on a towel, "he is now but it was touch and go
at the beginning. A few hours more out there and he would
have lost too much blood."

"Jefroy, I cannot describe the horrors and abominations we
had to confront! Be glad you weren't there for you may never
be able to sleep again at night. We came out alive but there
are scores and scores of them who did not make it. The
carnage, the bloodletting, why did it have to happen? WHY?
Lar! It will always haunt me in my nightmares!"

Jefroy patted him on the back. "It will pass, Eskar, you'll
see. Iucari-Tres is still here, we are still here and that
is the most important thing. As for Captain Schurell, he is
doing fine. He will be up and about in no time bullying you
around, but for the time being at least he will give you no
trouble. And here comes his worthy brother!"

Jefroy introduced with a teasing bow and a flourish of his
hand. "Adilar, have you had the honour of meeting the
phenomenal Lieutenant Eskar Royan of the Spacio Command?"

Adilar smilingly steepened fingers with Royan.
"Unfortunately not, but I have heard a lot of tall tales
about you."

"I hope they do me credit," Royan said, grinning from ear to
ear.

"They do indeed. How is Trajan?"

"Sleeping his beauty sleep, let him be. How does the
situation of the storm stand?"

"It is definitely abating. And about time too, the whole of
Myaron will be under water otherwise. We haven't seen the
HeliĆ and it was like night for two straight days!"

"Say," Jefroy suggested, "now that things have settled down
a bit, how about some food? I have heard that the main
centre of activity is now in Lar Myar's dining room."

"I heard too," Adilar said laughing, "that they are boiling
a big pot of soup, with lots of vegetables and big chunks of
meat and roasting fish as big as your arms, Lieutenant!"
"Heyho," Royan rubbed his hands, "that's more to my taste.
This adventuring has carved a big hole in my stomach. Come
on, mates, let's go and launch an assault on the dining
room!"

"Go along," Adilar said softly, "I'll stay and sit with
Trajan for a while."

"Of course, Adilar" Jefroy said, "I was thinking of moving
him upstairs where there isn't so much traffic around, but
there is a warm fire here. When he wakes up, you might give
him some of the soup you've mentioned."

The two of them made their way to the door of the study,
then Jefroy slapped the Lieutenant on his broad back. "Word
has come to me that you had the audacity of adopting some
outworlders recently. I wouldn't have thought a brute like
you would be capable of tender feelings, Eskar. Tell me,
what are they like?"

"You wouldn't believe it," Royan's resonant voice resounded
through the corridor and trailing off into distant parts of
the house, "but they are a lot like us. And I also think,
they eat like us. Come, I will take them to the dining room,
so you can make their acquaintance."

Adilar smilingly shook his head and drew up a chair beside
the couch. Outside the hurricane was still sweeping over the
territory but inside, the study was a sanctuary of peace.
The Simu-Fire was glowing with the warmth of crackling
rosebushes and the room sank into an atmosphere of deep
calm. The fatigue of two days of backbreaking rescue work in
the midst of a howling tempest lulled his brain and his eyes
were slowly closing.

With a start Adilar found himself back into the waking
world. Everything was still shrouded in darkness except for
the lingering Simu-Fire. The profound stillness tightened
around the room like a glove and he thought that someone had
somehow dastardly crammed his ears with cotton wool, or that
he had lost the sense of his hearing. Then he knew, the
storm had stopped, finally stopped after drenching the area
far and wide with raging waters.

There was only peace and the hush of the night--or was it
morning? He yawned and stretched his arms and legs. He stood
up and leant over the couch where his brother was lying.
Trajan had turned over to his side and lay sleeping with his
unbandaged arm folded under the pillow supporting his cheek,
in his favourite posture, which implied his deepest state of
slumber. His colour had returned and his forehead felt cool;
the fever was gone. All the time, when he and his rescuers
were battling the fury of the tempest with desperate bravery
and perseverance, Adilar had felt that somehow Trajan's Will
was guiding him, knowing fully well how fragile that Will
had at times flickered upon the verge of extinction. Now
with that Will at rest, the battle had finally been won. A
feeling of satisfaction elevated his spirits, and also of
hunger rumbling in the depths of his stomach.

He tucked in the layers of blankets and left the hushed
study on tiptoe. His need for nourishment unwaveringly
directed him towards the dining room, where his amazed eyes
set upon a spectacle of wild songs, food spoils, liquor
spills and royal flush.

* * *

When his eyes fluttered open, Trajan gazed upon the dim
corners of a room with a low fire. He asked himself what he
was doing here and how long he had been lying, hours, days,
cycles? He felt so weak that even thinking made him weary. A
mist blanketed his mind and he kept drifting in and out
dream-clouds of semi-consciousness.

Reality was thrust upon him by a sudden sense of a presence,
a sense of danger that prodded his sluggish spirits with a
warning that someone had entered the room with none too
friendly intentions and was rummaging through the shreds of
bloodstained clothing. The intruder had approached his
couch, poking around the contents on the floor. Through his
partly opened eyelids Trajan perceived Anjelie Trevarthen
standing darkly framed against the rosy glow of the
Simu-Fire, an intense glint in her eyes that foretold a new
confrontation was brewing.

"What you seek is neither here nor there." Trajan raised
himself on an elbow and she stared at him first with
bewilderment then with wrath.

"You don't realize the despair in my heart," she said
accusingly. "I can't believe that a person like you would be
so selfish as to keep the Hexstone for himself."

"What do you want with it?"

She demandingly extended out her hands to him. "Give me the
Hexstone! I need it to save Eugene. He is in delirium for
two days and he will die without it."

"Don't you realize that Starglory is the cause of his
suffering? It will not save him, it will kill."

"That is not true!" She bore down on him with such ferocity
that Trajan drew back against the pillows. She stopped
herself just in front of the couch.

"It will and it must. Eugene was its safekeeper even before
you appeared on the scene. His father gave it to him, not to
you! You don't want him to get well, he stands in your way
to the Inheritance."

"The Inheritance," Trajan mused in a dull voice, "the cause
of so much conflict, for which so many people have died. I
am telling myself that you are acting out of maternal
instinct, that you have blinded yourself to dangers out of
despair for your son, sentiments I can sympathize with. And
I would like to leave it at that, I will see what I can do."

Since he had nothing on under the blanket, he added sourly:
"And find me some suitable garments, and a crutch. I can
barely walk."

Anjelie did what was asked of her, returning with a woollen
shirt, a pair of trousers and a walking stick. Trajan
dressed as ably as he could in his handicapped condition
while she waited in the shadows, and when he was ready she
went out before him into the chilly corridor leading to the
guestrooms of the villa which were now serving as wards for
those injured in the battle and the storm.

Eugene Trevarthen, as one of the more critical cases, had a
room of his own and here under the dull light of a table
lamp, Trajan came once more face to face with the former
safekeeper of Starglory. Stooping closely over his sick
kinsman, he observed the hideous splotches of burns covering
Eugene's body, and such great suffering wrung his heart.
Eugene's grip on life seemed still strong but the fever was
draining his vitality.

Anjelie whispered harshly, "Where is the Hexstone? Do you
still refuse to use it?"

"It is with me, Dama Trevarthen, although you do not see it.
I would not try to remedy your son's injuries with its power
because I fear it has turned against him. I am warning you
again, it might kill him if you force me to use Starglory on
your son."

"Haven't you promised that you will try?" Anjelie said, her
eyes a play of suppressed emotions.

"I have indeed, but for Eugene's sake I will try it another
way."

"How do you propose to do it?" she sounded a little
hesitant.

Abruptly another voice, filled with indignation, chimed
through the room: "Trajan, what are you doing here! Leaving
the study without telling anyone! We are all worried sick.
You are not in a state to wander around, let alone trying to
cure someone."

Adilar stood in the doorway; there was shock and anger on
his usually pleasant face. "You need care yourself! Stop
this crazy bravura or else, I will stop you myself."

Trajan slanted a quick look at Anjelie. "My life for your
son's. Isn't that the way to do, Dama Trevarthen?"

Adilar drew threateningly closer. "I meant every word I
said, Trajan. I am stronger than you and I am your older
brother."

Trajan curtly instructed Anjelie: "Leave the room, please my
Dama. You need not worry, I have given you my word but it
has now become a matter between my brother and me."

Hastily Anjelie withdrew and left the commander and the
rescuer facing each other grimly.

"I am glad you have come, Adilar," Trajan said, "for I am
not so sure whether I can accomplish what I intend to do on
my own."

"What do you mean?" Adilar asked stupefied. "What are you
planning to do?"

Trajan placed his hand on Adilar's shoulder and looked him
in the eyes: "Adilar, we are both sons of our father. I have
no doubt that what Starglory has elevated from within me and
consequently overwhelmed me with such painful awareness of
what I am, who I am going to become, lies dormant within you
too."

A wisp of blue sparkled into existence in Trajan's palm,
touching Adilar with the caress of Starbreath. Adilar dashed
a step backwards, his eyes wide in awe. "No, Trajan, it is
yours, yours alone. It wants nobody else but you, and I feel
so touched that it has reached out to me with love and
friendship rather than otherwise. You have so much more to
give than me."

"But it will make us both stronger for the task I am about
to do. Come Adilar, we'll stand on both sides of the bed and
hold Eugene's hands. I do not dare to use the force of
Starglory on him directly but it will strengthen our
energies within us and we will bestow upon him a part of our
Lifeblood. Of course, I am also aware that if I give him
more than half of my own, I won't be able to stand on my own
two feet and you have to drag me back to my bed like a sack,
a prospect not exactly tickling my fancy."

"Will four factors of my potency be to your satisfaction,
Commander?"

"Oh come on, a rescuer is capable of more than that. You are
the one better versed in our bodily frailty."

"You are driving a hard bargain there. A final offer, six
factors."

"Six and a fraction."

"It is a deal."

Whispering above the unmoving form of Eugene Trevarthen,
they held his hands and the feeble illumination of the
shaded lamp was submersed by ripples of a brighter shine.
For prolonged moments the sheen flowed gently around the
brothers and the patient on the bed like starry gossamers of
many hues. Then the room grew dim again.

The two of them leaned over the bed, studying the sick
Praecel intensely and observed how his laborious breathing
had smoothed out and his tormented face had settled into
restfulness. "Incredible," Adilar whispered, "We have done
it. We have pulled it through!"

He raised his eyes to look across at Trajan. He was himself
feeling as if he had climbed up the steep frosted slopes of
Mount Argento without a snow jet but the greyness on
Trajan's face was showing a fatigue far worse. He quickly
walked to his brother's side and circled a supporting arm
around his waist.

"Come," Adilar spoke quietly, "let us leave now. I will take
you to a room upstairs and I swear, even if I have to throw
away the key, that no one will disturb you again."

Outside the door they stood up to Anjelie Trevarthen's grim
face in a short, speechless confrontation and Trajan nudged
with his chin. "Go in and see your son. He is all right."

Without speaking further Adilar supported him through the
hall and to the foot of a staircase where they found, pacing
around fretfully, Jefroy, Royan and Fredric Lamidor.

"Well, well," Jefroy burst out, "here we have at last our
AWOL! What do you think you are trying to achieve, running
around in your situation. More adventuring? Look at you, a
small push with a little finger is enough to leave you flat
on the floor."

"Oh be quiet."

"You are better!" Fredric said with a wide grin. "When you
were brought in you looked as if you'd taken a bath in gore
and mud."

"I have a great idea," Royan snapped his fingers, "A large
bowl of broth with lots of juicy meat will do you wonders.
I'll get some for you."

Trajan grinned away his bleakness: "That's my faithful
Lieutenant. Knows exactly how to make your dearest wish come
true."

"I want you in bed," Jefroy urged gravely, "and no more
fooling around. Give me your other elbow. It is a miracle
that you are still walking."

They assisted Trajan up the stairs, pausing numerous times
to allow their irascible patient rest his injured ankle for
he would not permit them to carry him. At length they
reached a small carpeted room furnished with a capacious,
satin-sheeted bed, an armchair and two large, fluffy seat-in
cushions before the tender warmth of a Simu-Fire swarm of
red-golden butterflies. Fredric readily flipped over the
downy blankets, and Adilar and Jefroy put their patient in
bed. At the same time, Royan arrived from the dining room,
bringing with him the aroma of rich food, and he deposited a
full tray on Trajan's lap.

"What is this?" Trajan exclaimed with wide eyes, "Am I
supposed to eat all this? Were you having a party?"

Royan scratched his chin. "We became a bit carried away down
there in the dining room. Many of us have hardly eaten
properly. I haven't had a decent meal for two days, and
neither have you, Captain! But anyway, the warmth, the wine
and the amount of food made us a little crazy in the head.
Then the storm finally stopped and we had to have another
celebration."

Adilar said, scowling: "Your merrymaking detained me longer
than necessary. It is unbelievable how responsible
commanders and rescuers, you included Air Marshall Lauren,
could be behaving like that! You practically annihilated the
provisions of your host! I dread what will be coming over
your heads tomorrow. Anyway, I was away longer than I wanted
to. If I had come back sooner I would have been able to
prevent Dama Trevarthen from hauling our patient away."

"No," Trajan said quietly, "you wouldn't have been able to
prevent it. She would not have let you, but you are an
experience richer, Adilar. It is something you won't easily
forget, but let us talk no more about it." And he pricked
away with his fork with relish.

Royan cleared his throat. "There is another thing, Captain.
The Supreme have gotten through at last and they have
suggested, only suggested, mind you, that while you are
temporarily incapacitated that I take over control of our
unit in Myaron. There is the mopping-up operation to think
of when the weather clears."

"Is that why you were celebrating, Lieutenant?"

"Not at all, Captain! We were drinking to your health, all
of us, isn't that true, Air Marshall, Science Steward, until
your brother here with his morose face put a stop to it all.
The grievous injustice! But you must be feeling better, look
at you scraping your plate clean!"

"All right, enough banter!" Adilar said laughing. "He needs
his rest now that he has eaten his bellyful. I have said
that I will lock the door of this room and throw away the
key and I will do just that."

He cajoled and threatened the party out of the seat-in
cushions where they were lazily reclining with that glazed
trance-like look of the happily satiated.

"Eskar," Trajan said before Royan was bundled out of the
door, "they could not have chosen a better leader. The best
of luck with the clean-up operation tomorrow.

"Yes," he murmured when he was left alone in the room,
sinking away deeper under the soft blankets, "you need all
the luck for the mopping-up. I wouldn't want to change
places with you, not for all the glory of the HeliĆ."

He sighed contentedly, rolled over to his side and
immediately fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

A new day rose with a gaunt HeliĆ Equation peering through
the grey tiers of hanging clouds as if to see whether anyone
was stirring and alive in the Principality of Myaron. The
occupants of Myar Hall had awakened to the sight of a
desolate morning foreboding an uncertain future, and the
whole household, residents and guests, were assembled in the
dining room.

Royan appearing smart and vigorous in a clean uniform
wielded his first day of authority. He made it understood
that now with the weather clearing the order was for his
unit of commanders to stay and put the area under the
temporary mandate of the Tres-Tiorem. The First Division of
the Air Rescue Force under Air Marshall Jefroy Lauren was to
remain permanently and to be reinforced by a further
detachment of rescuers later today or tomorrow, depending on
the condition of the trajectories.

"I also want to state that the Command can't do it alone. We
all need each other at this time and in particular, we will
need the support of the citizens of Myaron."

Ricar Myar stood up at the head of the table, cleared his
throat and said, "My friends, we have been through a most
horrendous time. We have lost many of our close friends, but
many more have we managed to save and preserve. We have
fought with admirable courage against catastrophe and, in
that battle we have rediscovered our strength and have found
new values. It has been a harrowing and cruel experience but
it has laid a new foundation upon which we can start afresh.
More hard days are lying ahead but let us not despair, let
us begin rebuilding with hope."

The assembly spontaneously applauded his speech and the
Dowager of Ayrie, who was seated beside him, took her turn.
"Well spoken, Ricar, you have summed it all up very well. I
do not doubt for a second that under the direction of the
Command and the Rescue Force we will put matters right
again. But if I may make a suggestion, I think that at least
an administrative body, a council or perhaps a committee be
called together from members of the community of Myaron. A
group of people actively involved in making decisions for
their community. You have said yourself, Lieutenant, that
this mandate is only a temporary measure by the Tres-Tiorem
and I myself will certainly remind our esteem leaders of
this in due time. But, meanwhile, there is no harm in
letting the people of Myaron pick up the shards and start
their lives afresh on their own terms. Would such a
governing body serve your purposes? Lieutenant? Marshall?"

Royan looked steadily at Jefroy. "In my opinion it is a good
suggestion. We need all the assistance and guidance that you
can give us. I will consult the Command but I don't think
they will object to the active participation of the
residents of Myaron in the reconstruction of their
community."

"I don't see anything wrong with that," Jefroy stated.

Royan, eager to carry on with the tasks that lay ahead, then
offered Ricar his condolences for the loss of friends, but
above all for the demise of the Myar stock of supplies.

"But rest assured, Lar Myar," he said vibrantly, "it will
never happen again. Upon my word as commander of the Spacio
Command, and even as we speak, shuttle loads of nourishment
are being shipped from Calitre and other parts of
Phylee-Patre, and probably already crossing space on the way
here. Not to mention cases and cases of the best brew and
wine of sunny Estelmar. A huge, fat share is being reserved
to replenish your admirable kitchen and before long, it will
be capable of churning out admirable food as it has done
yesterday. Don't be too harsh on my commanders though, would
you expect anything better from ruffians like them? Look at
them, like naughty children, eyes fixed on the floor,
shuffling their feet. You would think they had nothing to do
with that shameless pillage."

"But Lieutenant!" bellowed an aggrieved chorus, but before
they could say: 'It was you who started it all!' Royan
shooed them out of the dining room and Jefroy followed them,
shaking with laughter.

Adilar started towards the door to follow the Marshall but
Dama Clarya held him back.

"Listen, Adilar, and you also, Ricar. I have been thinking
these last few days. I have not cast my vote at the last
meeting of the Treasury Council and I have therefore decided
to propose to the remaining members that we declare, in face
of recent developments, the previous resolution void. And
when we are to vote again, to vote for one who should have
had the Council's approval a long time ago, and to appoint
him as the ultimate authority to take charge, and to sit as
well on the future administration committee of Myaron. You
Adilar."

Adilar was nonplussed. "Why me, there is still Trajan."

"No, dear boy," the Dowager said gently, "very early before
dawn when the rain has stopped, Rylan Wryn has sent his
chamberlain over with a letter, personally addressed to me,
saying that his mother, and a certain Doctor Reball, have
arrived safely at Wryn Manor and are now staying with him.
The letter also enclosed a piece of paper."

She produced and spread out on the tabletop a sheet of
crumpled paper with a message scrawled on by a hand that was
both erratic and resolute, and very sad.

"This is the Last Will and Testament of Julyan Ermiz, made
up in the presence of and witnessed by Ecelyn Byrull and
Doctor Reball, moments before he killed himself, leaving
everything, possessions, title and name, to his cousin,
Trajan Schurell. Trajan is Lar Ermiz."

"This is the best news I've had in days!" Ricar called out
and jumped up in elation.

A film of tears glazed the Dowager's eyes as she smoothed
out tenderly the sheet of paper, folded it again carefully
and put it away deep in her pocket. "Poor Lar, poor
misguided fool. Envy and distrust of his cousins led to his
downfall. He could otherwise have lived to a ripe, old age
amidst friendship and abundance."

"I must say," Ricar remarked, "that considering what they
did to us, this was the most decent act he had ever done."

"From dreams of glory," the Dowager said pensively, "to
horrible nightmares. I believe, Adilar that the time has
come for you to stand up and take your rightful place of
governing and administering. And isn't Myaron, flattened by
a cataclysm, the right place to start?"

"We will render you all the support there is, Adilar," Ricar
offered enthusiastically.

Adilar reached out and pressed their hands. "Thank you both
for your kindness and your support, but Myaron is still the
protectorate of Lar Wryn. He is fighting for his life this
very moment, but there is still his grandson. I will discuss
things with Rylan before I give you my decision."

He added thoughtfully: "Since at least the question of the
Ermiz inheritance has been settled, I think it is important
that Advocate Grahn be notified as soon as possible to make
it legal and binding."

"As soon as public communication channels have been
restored," Dama Clarya said, "I will personally undertake
the assignment of contacting our loyal Grahn, who must be
now tearing at his mop of hair, and decimating it in the
process, not knowing whether we are alive and kicking in
Myaron. He will be in for a great surprise. I will be
looking forward to it."

Adilar left them, eager to be among his rescuers again. The
day was short and there was so much yet to do. Ricar and the
Dowager settled again at the table, taking whatever scanty
culinary concoctions the depleted sources of the kitchen
could produce, but they weren't very hungry, just glad to be
able to sit there and talk in peace.

Lukus appeared in the doorway, with Norielle at his side,
and seeing them Dama Clarya and Ricar stood up and greeted
the newcomers with gladness and tears. When the storm was
raging at its peak, Lukus had staunchly remained at the
Sanatorium, even when violent floodwaters were surging
within yards of its walls, supervising and maintaining care
of the critically sick and injured who had been brought
inside. At a time when lines of communication were broken,
it was Lukus who, without regard to his own safety,
couriered between the three centres of activity, the
brasserie in Myarvil, the Sanatorium and the Myar abode and
coordinated the flow of casualties and medical supplies into
these havens. He had rested little, not even when the rains
finally stopped and only when the clearing weather promised
a calm day, did he allow himself the luxury of a few hours'
sleep.

His coming to the house was to bring them the sad tiding of
Lar Wryn who had sunk into a coma late in the night and
passed away with the rising of dawn. The news immediately
made them sombre and despondent.

"He was not expected to live long," Ricar said mournfully,
"but still his loss is a heavy blow."

"And Rylan Wryn is at last Lar Protector of Myaron,"
Norielle said, "He has deserved it, dear boy, striving so
hard for acceptance by his grandfather and at last achieving
what was due to him all the time."

When the order of the Command came through at Verimur for
Adilar and Jefroy to report to Myaron, Norielle had insisted
upon joining them, and she arrived in the principality when
the storm had reached a critical stage. She was accompanied
by Lar Alden who had refused to be left behind at
Ferngarthen and they had lodged at the brasserie, lending
assistance wherever and whenever it was needed during days
and nights of utter darkness and tormenting rain. She
witnessed the new bond that was forged during those dark
days between her father and his foster brother, Lukus,
without any more referring to the past but only thinking of
the present, bound together in their anguish and fear for
the ones close to their heart, lost in an enemy fortress
under the suffering lands of Myaron.

Leoynar's deliverance did little to ease their anxiety;
there were two of them left behind and all the while they
knew that the Command was watching two life pulses on their
monitor screen, ready to strike with ultimate destruction
once those dots had disappeared. It was Leoynar again who
brought them the glad news of the final rescue but at that
time it was already far into the night and they promised
themselves to head for Ricar Myar's villa in the morning,
when the roads had hopefully become passable again.

Presently Leoynar joined them in the dining room and said
that Lar Alden had gone ahead up the stairs to see Trajan in
his room.

"Have you seen Trajan?" Norielle asked, "Is he doing all
right?" And she started for the door to see for herself.

"A moment please," the Dowager called, "I am coming with
you. I haven't been able yet to see him myself."

"Is our young warrior well enough to receive visitors?"
Lukus asked eagerly. "I would like to see him too, very
much."

"Come along then!" the Dowager said.

Ricar and Leoynar were left behind and Ricar pointed with
embarrassment to the frugal dishes on the table.

"Just take what there is, Leoynar. I am afraid it will also
be our dinner for tonight, unless I can think of something
better. The stock of nutrition that I still seem to have
will be reserved for our patients. The healthy will have to
do away with less until tomorrow."

"Don't worry, Ricar. I have heard that shuttles with
provisions are on their way. If the weather holds, and I
think it will, all the water reservoirs up there in the sky
having been emptied down here, they will arrive before the
evening. And I have already taken my meal at the brasserie.
I'll just have a herb tea."

Ricar could without difficulty comply with Leoynar's modest
request with a steaming kettle and a container of dried
herbs. He poured in two cups, one for himself and the other
one for his guest and as he had not taken one step beyond
his front doors since he came home from his ordeal, he
enquired of Leoynar what the situation was outside.

Leoynar shook his head sombrely. "It is bad, very bad.
Myarvil itself has, to say the least, stayed together but
beyond the fields, there is not one villa or mansion that is
whole. Word has also gotten to me that the mansion of
Councillor Leutra has taken an appalling beating by the
flood and the damage is extensive. Rylan has temporarily
accommodated the Councillor's family in his manor.
Surrounded by hills, Wryn Manor has miraculously escaped the
wrath of the storm with only maybe some shattered windows.
You have been lucky too, Ricar."

"I have a lot to be thankful for, and I would have taken in
more people if I had more space."

"You have done what you could. You are practically splitting
at the seams. Nearly all of the more critically injured have
been transferred to your place, especially when it seemed
that the Sanatorium would be swept away by the oncoming
flood. Of course," Leoynar continued, lowering his voice
ominously, "news is sketchy at this moment. I don't know,
for instance, what it is like on the airstrip or around the
Byrull mansion. The whole area has been cordoned off by the
Command and I sincerely hope that they will finish their
mopping-up operation soon and seal up the whole area,
because you know as well as I, Ricar, what terrible things
are lurking under the ground!"

They stopped their conversation with a start as Adilar
suddenly came rushing into the room and they straightened up
in alarm. Never, not even when the tempest threatened to
wipe out every building and creature off the face of Myaron,
had they seen him looking so appalled, so greensick with
revulsion.

"Adilar, what has happened?" they asked, almost together, in
consternation

"Nothing has happened," Adilar answered in a stifled voice.
"Nothing that you do not already know but I have been out
there and it is worse than a battlefield.

"Myaron is wholly and utterly devastated! There are horrible
dead bodies everywhere, several of them looking like demons,
strewn over a wide area and most of them came from the
Byrull mansion. Those are the most loathsome carcasses I
have ever seen, mutilated, their limbs ripped apart, partly
eaten!"

The further he recounted his horror the more agitated Adilar
became, and as his audience listened on in terrified
silence, he continued, bitterness and anger shaking his
voice: "So much ruin, death and torture, to what end? Can
anyone of you tell me what this killing is worth for? They
built a whole complex under your feet, without even you
knowing about it, with guards, technicians and labourers,
and every one of them is dead!"

Adilar now understood, understood with such poignancy why in
the early hours of the morning a frenzy bordering on
hysteria had gripped the commanders and had turned into an
orgy what was initially meant to be a get-together amongst
friends. They, who had stood eye to eye to the hideous
by-products of an ambition gone wrong wanted to forget for
precious moments the scenes of death they had witnessed, and
Adilar wanted to forget too, to stretch his hand out to a
bottle of intoxicating liquor and forget.

A hand touched his shoulder and Norielle said, "Go, and
speak with Trajan, Adilar. He is awake and he wants to talk
to you."

Adilar closed his eyes for an instant and nodded. "Yes, I'd
better." And he stamped away.

Softly Norielle turned to Ricar. "I have come down to look
for Trajan's jacket. It was probably taken from him before
surgery. There is something in its inside pocket that he
wants back."

"I have put it aside to be washed," Ricar replied with a
drawn face, still reeling from the horrendous report he had
just heard. "When we cleaned up the study, there was not
much left of his other clothing but the jacket looked it
could be cleaned and patched up."

"Give it to me," said Norielle, "I will get it washed
later."

Shortly afterwards Norielle went up the stairs with the
jacket hanging gingerly over her arm. Rings of caked mud had
stiffened the cloth stiff as a board but there were darker
splodges spattering the front like spilt paint, which she
could not bring herself to dwell upon. There was also a
small ragged hole near the left clavicle, through which a
child could stick its little finger in without problem.

She found Adilar sitting at the foot of Trajan's bed,
talking quietly; his mental turbulence had quietened to a
state of grave calmness. Dama Clarya had gone away to
prepare some broth that she said she alone knew the skills
of mixing it with the right pinch of spice which would
inject new blood and energy into the sick, and she had
excitedly taken in tow both Alden and Lukus.

Trajan took out the roll of scrolls from the inside pocket
of his jacket, and an object wrapped in a rag, and tucked
them under his pillow. He could not bear the sight of his
ruined garment with its gruesome memories for another second
and tossed it on the floor with a disgusted twist of the
hand.

Adilar stood and picked up the jacket between thumb and
forefinger. "Don't waste things," he said quasi-severe.
"You'll see, after a good spin in the washer, it will be
spiffing new again. If you don't want it, I'll take it as a
memento of a nearly fallen hero."

"You are being sentimental, aren't you," Trajan chided.
"Don't you have anything else better to do at this time of
day?"

"Plenty," Adilar said and with a bleak smile he trundled to
the door, jacket draped lovingly over his arm like a
newfound treasure. A vision flashed through Norielle's mind:
Adilar would indeed wash the jacket clean from dirt and the
hideous remnants of gore, would keep it and hang it up in
his closet and would, in times of melancholy, take it in his
hands, his finger trying to pass through that ragged hole,
as if to feel the warm blood that had once spilt through it.

Norielle turned her head and gazed fondly at her other son.
The son who had nearly perished amidst enemies, for whom she
had feared most. With regret she noticed that the sparkle of
youthful mischievousness had faded from his eyes. His eyes
were now filled with brooding thoughts.

"Who was Father, Mothy?"

"Why do you ask, Trajan?"

"Someone, when I was down there, implied to me, and I have a
suspicion that it might be true, that he was some kind
of--Lord Laris. Is it true?"

Norielle stared at the floor without speaking, then she
lifted her head and looked her son straight in the eye.

"It is true."

Trajan returned her gaze with intense eyes. "What was he
doing in Iucari-Tres?"

"He came here on a mission to retrieve a lost object. It was
a mission he thought had been pre-empted and this was why he
decided to settle down in Phylee-Patre. He could not return
without the object."

"Was the object Starglory?" Trajan asked. As answer,
Norielle stroked gently through his hair and Trajan grasped
her hand. "Here, Mothy, feel it. Feel what is now inside
me."

"Yes, Trajan, I can feel it. Your father had one too, but
not as strong."

They regarded each other in silence. Norielle took a deep
breath as if she was preparing for a plunge in the deep
although her face betrayed nothing of her feelings. It was
the quiet face of strength she had always presented to the
world in times of crisis, upon which they had all so
depended. Now he was to share her burden. "Trajan, it is
time. It is time to tell you the truth. Krystan was a
Traveller. What that means, from where he came, what his
people truly were, how he came, he thought it best that we
didn't know too much, for our sake, and I respected his
reticence. I don't know if the object he was to find was
Starglory; the purpose of his quest was shrouded in secrecy.
He was afraid that there might be others who would be
searching for the object, but also hunting for him. That is
why he wanted to keep you and Adilar secluded from all
prying eyes, friendly or not, and made us promise, both me
and your grandfather, that we would continue to do so until
you were mature and capable of taking care of yourselves."

"Mothy, when did you know that Father was not from our
world?"

"From the very beginning, from the first magical moment.
Standing there on the shores of Red Lake, he touched and
sweetened my soul and rescued me from falling deeper into
bitter self-pity. I had a feeling then that he had been
following me, that he wasn't there by chance. He knew me
before I knew him, and he so sweetly asked for my name. It
didn't matter then, it doesn't matter now. Something
wonderful happened between us and I still have that
something even though he is gone. He knew that at some point
in the future you would be asking this question and there is
one other who can give you answers better than I:
Commander-in-Chief Berin Guillen."

Trajan sat up straight in surprise. "Chief Guillen?"

Norielle smiled. "He and your father were the closest of
friends. They warmed up to each other from the very first
time they met. And this is also my promise to Krystan that
if something should happen to him and you would finally come
to the moment to ask questions about him, to direct you to
Berin Guillen who will give you further instructions."

There were still tokens of grief in his mother's eyes, and
foretokens of more anguished times to come. "Krystan was not
destined to instruct you personally. He was looking forward
to it but it was not to be. He would have taught you all his
skills and his knowledge."

"Me, and not Adilar?"

"Only you, Trajan." Norielle looked at him with painful
resignation, "Only you. There are other things I have to
tell you, but not yet. For now, get your strength back and
when you are strong again, go to Chief Guillen. Berin will
tell you what Krystan wanted you to do, because you have to
continue his mission and bring it to a close."