CHAPTER VI


THE WILES OF WARFARE




	While most of his people lay down to sleep, Jeremy and a few of the more vigorous and 
healthy, assisted their Iucarian companions to build more floaters and venture into the tangles of 
the forest to gather more edible berries and hunt for food.  No further delay was tolerated when 
the first gory pink of dawn leached through the clouds.  The slumbering were prodded to their 
feet and the campsite was hastily broken up. 

	A cup of thick broth was distributed around the group, the only luxury they could afford 
for breakfast and all possessions of the travellers, poor, shabby, state-of-the art and gleaming, 
were boarded on the rafts, and the party cast off from the shore, abandoning the white beach 
once more to its tranquility.  

	Shortly before their departure Jeremy had impressed upon his new friends the necessity 
of wearing the ugly hireling masks.  "You are too conspicuous," he told them plainly.  "Now that 
we are leaving the mountains and going down to the open plains, you'll need a kind of disguise, 
to avoid being picked out from a crowd, and most likely a hostile crowd."

	"And what do you suggest, my great young warrior?" Deyron asked.

	"Listen to him and don't scoff," Trajan interrupted. "You can learn a thing or two from 
these people.  Go on, Jeremy, don't let his lip-hair frighten you."

	Jeremy cleared his throat, as usually none too sure whether this bickering was done in 
earnest but as he got used to it, he found their way of jesting quite extraordinary.  Where had 
these graceful people come from, speaking his tongue with the lilt and melody of the despised 
accent of migrants?  Out of Legend, the elderly in his Clan whispered to each other, out of long 
forgotten places.  

	He continued to speak with certain diffidence: "There exists a clique of specialized men 
who habitually infests the lands, mercenaries or renegade hirelings bowing no one as their master 
except the one with a bloated purse.  And since their trade compels them to switch masters all the 
time, they mask their faces in public as our Cougars often do to escape capture."

	"My people have taken enough headgear and tackle from hirelings killed in battles, for 
the four of you, for me and for two of the younger men.  Please wear them when we sail down 
the river because it's generally watched by spies."

	"I think a mask will do you justice, Deyron," Leoynar bantered. "All of us will change 
our profession and become faceless renegades, but look here, Jeremy, are renegades supposed to 
have a bunch of hungry women and children in tow?"

	"They," Jeremy announced, "are our slaves and prisoners.  The more so the better."

	They had a good start with a moderate wind carrying them smoothly on the still calm 
waters of the river.  The scent of dew hung in the air, of grass and bushes refreshened by rain 
during the night.  Three rafts in all floated down the waters.  Three grotesquely helmeted men 
commandeered the first, two the second and another two the last.  The leading raft was guided by 
those who could operate instruments of observation.  Space on the remaining two was equally 
divided between their baggage and their undernourished band of so-called captives.  

	Throughout the day they navigated further downstream skirting the ragged cants of the 
forest where brush and tree roots grew in spiky clusters trailing over the water.  The sky 
darkened with thickening clouds and in the afternoon a cold wind and steady drizzle beset the 
party.  Thinking of the sick and young children coming behind him, Trajan ordered a brief halt to 
hastily improvise a roof of leaves and branches over the rafts.  In the worsening weather he and 
his companions had given some of their warmer clothing to the Clan people..  The cold bothered 
them little; moreover, they were heavily perspiring under the stuffiness of their headgear.  The 
seals of the gear also seemed to tamper with the effectiveness of their optic strips, compelling 
Trajan to make further fine-tuning.  

	The problem of finding food nagged at them constantly as they sailed deeper into 
southern regions by night and by day.  During the day they would allow themselves to make 
brief stops, scouring the vegetation for edibles, hunt small animals and catch fish.  At one time 
Deyron was surprised by three timber wolves leaping out from the bushes and he stupefied the 
accompanying young clansmen--and the wolves--by dropping on one knee and spreading out 
his hands.  

	Roughly Leoynar pulled him to his feet. "Those are not kingwolvers, tolobo you!  Look 
how skinny and starved they are!  There are no lordly wolvers here, absolutely none.  And even 
if there were, they would hardly honour you with that ugly gear on your head!"

	Deyron turned back to his raft, grumbling with disappointment but since that day his 
spontaneous reaction was spread far and wide as legend by those who had witnessed it: the 
traveller who paid homage to a pack of starving wild animals and so saved them all from being 
wolfed down. 

	After five days' sailing and passing two tributaries the river's course widened and a 
stronger current pushed the rafts more rapidly along the shores.  The cliffs of the Great Divide 
had lumbered down into foothills and hummocks and the verdant cedar forest slowly shrank into 
a rugged brownish sweep of bush land.  One morning the thundering rage of cascading water 
reached them from the distance and a cloud of steam whirled at the outer edge where the river 
seemed to foam up into the sky. 

	Jeremy warned that a cataract was looming ahead.  They would have to disembark, 
unload the rafts and carry them, all traps and tackle overland to the foot of the falls.  He also 
cautioned them that they were coming out of the wilds and approaching habited lands.  

	The laborious task of transporting the rafts and transferring every piece of baggage over 
the ground took the whole party two days.  Trees no longer weaved on the banks of the river but 
clumps of nettleweed and bramble bushes clawing for a foothold on barren rock.  The exposed 
surroundings prompted Trajan to double the watch, even recruiting the more able-bodied of the 
women and elderly in their party to stand as guards.  

	Sitting before a campfire after a hard day of carrying material across to the foot of the 
waterfall he observed Jeremy with a brooding gaze. "I admire the courage and tenacity of your 
people, Jeremy.  Half starving, beset by inclement weather and disease, they still follow you.  
I've never experienced people suffering such hardships without complaining, without buckling 
under.  What is holding them together, telling them to go on?"

	Jeremy remained lost in thoughts for long moments before he replied: "Hope, I think, 
Captain.  Hope and faith have kept us alive.  We fought on even when we were driven up the 
desolate slopes of the Great Divide and had to carve a meagre living out of rock and stone.  The 
hard life has taught us to be savage but also to remain free.  In those days when there is so much 
betrayal around us we have to remain true to our traditions to survive as a people.  A member of 
my clan will never betray their own to the enemy."

	The jumping flames reflected in his eyes in tiny flickers when he looked at Trajan, 
flickers of hope and of expectation. "You stood by them in their hour of greatest need.  Believe 
me when I tell you that they would rather die than see you harmed."

	"I believe you." Trajan quietly contemplated the Cougar boy Jeremy, speaking in a 
speech more cultured than the members of his tribe, able to read and write.  He was obviously 
being nurtured and schooled by his elders for something special; a secret destiny.  

	"And not only you," he mused afterwards, "Ralph too has admirable fortitude.  What is a 
handicapped boy like him doing here, amongst the rough and rugged of your kind?"

	An underlying anger trembled in Jeremy's voice.  "He and his father are victims of 
persecution like we are.  Ralph would have met a more terrible fate if he had not sought the 
protection and sanctuary of the Great Divide." 

	"Persecuted for what?"

	"His father chose to continue his work as a scientist when the study of all sciences is 
forbidden.  He is one of the very few who believes in what he is doing, and he may be dead by 
now, murdered like so many others because they believed in themselves."

	"And why were your people persecuted?" Trajan enquired cautiously. 

	Staring into the leaping fire, Jeremy said slowly:  "Once our forebears were Adherents of 
some old, forgotten faith, and we have never learnt how to bow our heads and bend our knees to 
the self-opinionated Paramounts.  There was a time that people could walk with their heads held 
high, moving, thinking and speaking freely, in whatever tongue, in their chosen culture and 
belief, without fear of malice.  That time is no longer here but my people cherish its memories 
and will die keeping those memories alive.  It has not been easy, it is hard enough keeping 
ourselves alive.  I myself once felt the elders are wasting time in trying to uphold traditions long 
since gone.  Survival at all costs is my motto, moralities don't matter much.  Am I wrong?"

	"I don't know.  I am still learning of your world, and trying to survive myself."

	As they fell into silence they could hear the distant roar of the waterfall droning through 
the stillness of the night.  It reminded them of the hazards that awaited them in the far beyond 
when they had crossed this landmark and entered the southern arm of the Hungry Plains.  

* * *

	The early hours of the following morning was devoted to the burial of an old man who 
had died at dawn.  A stone and a heap of freshly dug earth only marked the spot, a token of 
passing that would over time be consumed by the wild. 

	Reloading the rafts occupied the remainder of the morning but shortly after noontime 
they were once sailing along a swifter current further downstream.  The landscape along the 
banks of the river grew more arid as they continued coasting to the southeast.  Shrubberies began 
to dwindle, the wind brought the sting of a warmer and dryer climate and the hummocks 
flattened out into hazy sweeps of lurid weedlands.  The flow of the river weakened to a crawl 
and sand and mudbanks became regular obstacles.. 

	Two days after leaving the waterfalls a wide sandbank obstructed their course leaving 
only a very narrow margin to negotiate.  The morning had started with a bleak sun and the 
humidity turned their clothes and blankets into clumps of unbearable stickiness.  Both Leoynar 
and Deyron complained of muscle sourness.  Nagus reported the appalling state of their food 
supply and reluctantly introduced more rationing at the breakfast table.  Jeremy's people, the old 
and the children, accepted the mounting problems with silent stoicism but Trajan had caught 
Jeremy's vexed expression and felt they needed to come at a solution very soon.  

	Confronted by the dilemma of the sandbank Trajan contemplated the wisdom of once 
again unloading the rafts and manhandling them across.  "Will there be any more obstructions 
like this further down the stream?" he asked of Jeremy.  

	Jeremy shrugged his shoulders hesitantly:  "I really cannot say for sure.  I've never before 
travelled down the river because of the risk of being spotted from the sky but I daresay that as 
the river is approaching shallower and dryer grounds, we will fall upon more and more 
sandbanks like this."

	"We leave the river behind and continue on land," Trajan decided. 

	He consulted his other companions and they agreed.  The rafts were beached and all 
belongings and equipment transported to a clearing a few yards away from the eastern bank of 
the river.  Here they would pitch their camp and rest until the following day.  

	Once more Jeremy was consulted to provide bearings of this new environment, where 
turning one's back to the muddy arm of the much diminished river one would set one's eyes 
upon a vista of endless stretches of desolate empty plains shrouded under a veil of fine yellow 
mist.  "Not far from here," Jeremy said jabbing his finger to a point on the map that Trajan had 
drawn, "there is an old freeway leading south.  A little to the west of it lies a shanty border town.  
We may be able to acquire some provisions there."

	"How long will it take to get us there?"

	"On foot, two, three days at the most."

	"We need provisions now," Nagus reminded the assembly. "Tomorrow we will all be 
starving."

	Trajan gazed at Jeremy uncertainly: "I think we can send out some of your young 
warriors to hunt for food in the vicinity.  We are camping here for the rest of the day anyway." 

	"We will all go," Leoynar resolved, "not much good sitting around while your belly 
crunches."

	Trajan rose to his feet, strapping on his rephar and multilyzer.  "So said, so agreed," he 
said with a wave of his hand, "come along."  

	Nagus, never an admirer of long hikes, chose to remain on the campsite.  Accompanied 
by his faithful companion, Ralph, and the more healthy of the clan he was soon busy organizing, 
setting up watches and collecting wood for the night while the others went on their hunt.  

	The march into fangweed lands bore no fruit during the first half hour.  The yellow mist 
twisted around them, stuck to their garments, and even penetrated into their headgear making 
breathing more difficult as the time passed by.  The Cougar scouts usually hunted small rodents 
on the Hungry Plains when going on long reconnaissance but it seemed now that even the rats 
and rabbits had left the area to seek safety elsewhere.  They walked for another long hour and 
failing to find a shrub or a tree, or at least an edible mouse, they halted and looked at each other 
with gloomy faces. 

	Trajan suddenly fingered his rephar.  "On your guard.  Company is approaching."

	At his cue they spread out, ducking into a sandy hollow behind a wall of fangweed.  A 
dust cloud, denser than the thin ribbons of mist, spread and thickened on the northern horizon 
and the sharp crackling of shots sounded in the distance.  Jeremy slightly raised himself on his 
elbow and pointed. 

	"There is another company pursuing the first one."

	Two horse-drawn carts thundered into view bearing eleven men whose faces were closely 
masked by headgear.  As they flogged their animals furiously, they fired their weapons with the 
same rage and frenzy at a larger company of horsemen coming closely behind them in pursuit.  

	Observing the first party Trajan concluded:  "Those are hirelings no doubt."

	"Yes," Jeremy said, "but hirelings with no standard, who have broken allegiance."

	He continued in a tense voice: "The greater danger comes from the troops pursuing them, 
Captain.  Those are Magni-Xandian cavaliers.  Twenty strong, armed with automatic rifles.  The 
hirelings have no chance!"

	Even as Jeremy was speaking, several of the mounted troopers caught up with one of the 
carts.  Screams, explosions and the crackling of fire arms filled the sullen air of the Plains as 
bodies were hurled to the ground and trampled under the hooves.  The other cart halted and 
turned round.  Framed against the yellowish sky as a symbol of defiance a tall broad-shouldered 
hireling manoeuvered his heavy gun as a toy and eliminated several of the troopers who tumbled 
from their saddles into the fangweed.  The parched soil and the yellow bladeleaves sucked up 
their blood like much craved for rain.  

	Trajan turned his head and looked at Deyron and Leoynar:  "The guns that Jeremy and 
his two Cougars have with them are too slow.  We have to use and synchronize our rephars at the 
precise moment.  Here is what we will do: we approach the Magni-Xandians from the back and 
fan out in a semi circle, like this.  Wait for my signal and then strike, you Deyron take the head, 
Leoynar the tail, I'll take the body."

	Deyron asked: "What setting?  Restraint or eliminate?"

	Trajan answered after a short pause:  "Maximum Restraint."  

	The six of them crept out from their hollow and bending low in the cover of the waving 
weed-tops manoeuvered nearer to the centre of the battle.  Trajan signalled to the Cougars to 
stand back as he and the two others established their formation of attack at the horsemen's 
exposed rear.  

	On his command orange flashes seared through the misty air, slashing the ranks of the 
cavalry as soundlessly and effortlessly as autumn wind stripping a tree.  The bodies rested where 
they fell as if overcome by fatigue, bleeding not, only steaming with russet twirls of rephar heat.  
The clamour of battle was followed by a deadly hush.  Jeremy quietly took his position at 
Trajan's side as the hireling with the muscular arms jumped off the cart.  With his huge 
automatic rifle hanging playfully in the crook of his arm, he spoke with a voice sounding harshly 
metallic through the mouthpiece of his headgear:  "To whom do I owe this favour, and no small 
favour too, even though I am inclined to think that if you had managed to strike only minutes 
earlier I might be able to preserve more of my men."

	Jeremy responded quickly:  "We are nameless renegades like yourselves, roaming the 
open fields under no flag and no master, going where the winds of fate are blowing us.  We have 
no quarrel with you."  

	The hireling grumbled: "And nor I with you.  I am the Overman of this small band, 
daring to go wherever we please as free men with no purpose, but a favour begs to be returned.  
Being indebted is not one of my strong points.  You can call me Jackal, Jackal the Cleaver."  His 
voice rasped with grim humour.  "Name your price, but no Nukes and no women!" 

	"You carry supplies in your carts," Jeremy said.  "Our people need food.  Give us a share, 
enough to complete our journey to the next town and your debt is paid off."

	The big leader tugged at the metal chin of his gear. "Food, eh?"

	One of his men broke in, agitatedly pointing with his weapon:  "Those troopers are not 
dead!  They are only unconscious."

	"Kill them," the Jackal said.

	Trajan raised his hand.  "Hold!"

	Jackal advanced, his massive weapon no longer a toy.  "You have a voice after all, you 
who hold such a tiny, yet formidable tool of destruction in your possession.  What is your 
name?"

	"Captain!" Deyron interjected, rushing to him and grabbing his arm.  "They are 
slaughtering those defenceless soldiers.  Stop them!"

	The brawny hireling cocked his gun.  "If you want to stop my men you have to deal with 
me first.  In fact this way I am returning you a favour.  Sparing those cavalry men was a bad 
mistake or your weapons are not powerful enough to kill.  They are regulars and no quarter is 
given to regulars.  And look, look at your own underlings, they don't seem to share your foolish 
sentiments!"  

	Leoynar drew nearer and pleaded, his voice piercing the din of crackling firearms with 
revulsion and near hysteria: "Trajan, do something, DO SOMETHING!  It is horrible.  Put a stop 
to this massacre, this mindless murder!"  

	Trajan seized their arms and dragged Leoynar and Deyron with him deeper into the sea of 
fangweed.  Encompassed by vast yellowness where everywhere they looked they could only see 
skies meeting horizons in hazy emptiness, where the weed swayed and rippled like waves of 
sulphur, far, far away from that spot of manic violence, from the reek of spilt blood mingling 
with the soil, Trajan took off his headgear.  The others followed his example, sampling for the 
first time with open nostrils the bitter air of the Plains.

	He gripped their shoulders, looking into their eyes long and sorrowfully.  "We cannot 
interfere," he said quietly, "We are but explorers in a savage region.  If the laws of this land 
dictate to kill is to survive, we can only let the indigenes abide by this law.  We can only listen 
and learn how they live by their codes, maybe learn to be more ruthless to save ourselves."

	Deyron stared at the musty earth, asking in a low voice:  "Have you killed before when 
you were in Iucari-Tres?"

	"Yes," Trajan replied absent-mindedly, "countless times, in Myaron."  

	"When you faced an invading army in battle," Leoynar protested vehemently, "not like 
this, not wilful slaughter.  When young boys lie there helplessly on the ground, ready to be 
killed.  I can see no ground of tolerating unjustified butchery, of abandoning our own codes of 
morality.  How can you permit this, you a commander of Iucari-Tres!  Oh, by our glorious 
HeliĆ, I am going to be sick."

	"We are in the midst of a war," Trajan reproached him in a weary voice, "in a world of 
turmoil where everyone is a foe, mercy is a weakness and honesty leads to betrayal.  Instead of 
trying to turn the tide we have to try swimming with the current and remember our mission.  
Here is the origin of the enemy who invaded Myaron.  Now that we have intruded upon their 
territory, WE are the enemy, never forget it.  In order to achieve the success of our mission, we 
have to remain faceless renegades, and act as such."

	Toying the headgear round and round in his fingers with nervous abandon, Deyron 
muttered:  "Now I understand the stringent selection of recruits into the Command.  You have to 
have nerves and guts of steel to be able to stomach something like this.  The sight of blood 
makes me faint, always will, that's why I am not cut out to be a rescuer either, but my dear father 
wanted me so desperately to join at least one of the time-honoured Iucarian professions, and so I 
became a Superpre of Security.  If I don't have the talents to inflict or treat injuries, maybe I can 
try to prevent them.  But by the Lars, what can I do against a whole horde that has gone berserk!"  

	"Forgive my harsh words, Trajan," Leoynar said softly.  "This is no time for debating 
what should be done, only for remaining true to our own kind."  He steepened his fingers and 
touched theirs in the pledge of faith.  "True and faithful."

	They lapsed into silence, re-establishing bonds and consolidating their own principles of 
ethics in momentary peace and quietness.  The noise of shots in the distance had also died down.

	"Put on your headgear," Trajan said.  "Someone is approaching."  

	They came out from amongst the fangweed fully helmeted to meet Jeremy who told them 
that what needed to be done was done and finished; they had collected all weaponry, rounded up 
several horses and the whole party was ready to return to the camp on the riverbank.  Trajan did 
not ask him whether he had taken part in the executions, nor wished to know, he only wanted to 
know what the intentions were of the renegade leader who called himself Jackal the Cleaver.  

	"The Overman has agreed to give us some of his supplies on the condition that we share 
with him the safety and protection of our campsite.  He has lost almost half of his men and three 
of them are severely wounded."

	"Will he betray us?"

	"He is on the run from the Magni-Xandians armies just as we are.  For the time being we 
share a common foe, and as long as he remains on the Hungry Plains he needs us as we need his 
supplies."  

	Leoynar agreed.  "I don't suppose that with three of his hirelings out of action, he and the 
two remaining others are posing much of a threat.  I am thinking of the children who are close to 
starvation in our camp."  

	"Those bodies," Deyron hesitated, "it is proper to bury them.  It is a sacrilege to let the 
departed see the rising of a new day, but I don't think that I--."

	Trajan squeezed his shoulder.  "I understand.  I'll go and parley with this big hireling 
Jackal." 

	He walked across with Jeremy closely at his heels to where Jackal stood with his broad 
back eclipsing the declining sun and his gun slung across his shoulder in a posture of contempt.  
He listened to what Trajan had to say without comment.  His voice sounded easygoing and 
almost bantering as he replied:  "The man without a voice and who they call Captain at last 
makes his wishes known.  I have three wounded men and an abundance of provisions. You have 
a camp, you say, where my men can be treated but no food.  I can give you food tonight for your 
assistance in disposing of the cavalry so expeditiously, but I have to see your camp first before I 
can give you more.  You want cooperation, you say?  It is yes for tonight.  For tomorrow?  I'll 
tell you then."

	"A truce for the night sounds fine with me," Trajan said, "Jeremy will take you to our 
camp while I remain here with his young Cougars to do what is necessary." 

	Jackal guffawed.  "A burial for the troopers.  First you failed to kill them off, leaving us 
to finish the job.  Now you want to consign them to the sacred soil of the earth like a good-for-
nothing missioner.  A missioner of a hireling!"

	"For a hireling you don't appear to have enough brains," Trajan stated calmly.  "How 
many corpses do you have there, ten, twenty?  Corpses, as living men, attract attention.  Soon 
enough they will be detected and a search ordered for that awesome band of renegades who has 
put a whole cavalry out of their misery.  Putting them under the ground is my strategy to 
postpone another cavalry discovering what has happened and coming after us sooner than we 
like."

	Sounds of gurgling spilled from Jackal's mouthpiece as if he was struggling with mirth.  
"Very persuasive reasoning, Captain," he observed.  "I am not able to refute you.  I am not good 
at speeches.  Very well.  Reno!  Give our friends here enough spades to make sure they'll do 
their work.  As for me, I am going to inspect your camp, Captain."

	"Jeremy," Trajan ordered, "stay close to Overman Jackal.  Don't let him get out of your 
sight!"

	Jeremy signalled to his Cougars to lead forward the best of the chargers they had 
captured and Jackal barked directions to his men to reharness fresh road horses and draw up the 
wagons.  

	"These mounts are a godsend," Jeremy confided to Trajan with excitement. "They will 
make the journey across the Plains so much easier and we can barter them for supplies in the 
next town.  I am leaving three for you to return to camp when you have finished.  Take the black 
stallion with the white blaze, Captain.  He is the most beautiful and very strong.  I have 
instructed Rohmi and Vael to stay with you whatever happens."  

	The prospect of riding on the back of one of these strange creatures with their flowing 
manes, whipping tails and cruel looking hooves inspired Deyron with little enthusiasm as he 
viewed their muscular bodies with revulsion.  Leoynar, on the other hand, likened their physique 
with the somewhat statelier hornsteeds of the Calidan Steppes and was keen to savour once again 
the thrill of body-pairing with another creature, riding it with the surge of the wind, fleeing back 
to Yonder where two suns would bathe you in their glory and burn out that smell of death in your 
nostrils.  He had already mounted a sturdy bay as Deyron strode off, growling, "A thousand 
gratefulness for the invitation, but I'd rather hitch a ride on one of the wagons, if I may.  I am a 
city dweller not a steppetrekker."  

	Jackal's men would not allow him a seat on the rear of their wagon without the 
accompaniment of their raucous jibes; a momentary embarrassment Deyron was resigned to 
endure rather than experience the roll of strange muscle and flesh between his legs.  As soon as 
men, horses and carts started to drift into the falling dusk, Trajan and the young tribesmen, Vael 
and Rohmi immediately set out digging into the soil with their spades, working all the more 
faster as the hours of evening lengthened.  

	The half-ragged face of the moon emerged through streaming tatters of clouds as they 
were finally finished with tidying up traces of the carnage and hiding them away under layers of 
earth.  A southern breeze blew through the Plains which temporarily dispersed the fog to the 
northern rim.  No disturbance had interrupted them and in the darkness none seemed to be 
forthcoming either from the air or over land.  Their task done, Rohmi brought the horses and 
Trajan took the black stallion who nudged its head with the white blaze at him with questioning 
eyes.  They jumped onto the saddles and crossed the expanse of the Hungry Plains with great 
speed.  Soon the fires of their camp flickered into sight.  

	Deyron came forward to meet them still wearing his headgear and reported everything 
went as agreed.  Jackal had stood by his word, distributed food but only enough for tonight's 
dinner.  With some rationing perhaps they could save a few morsels for tomorrow's breakfast as 
well, but no more.  Tomorrow they need to come up with something more cunning than returning 
favours to persuade the renegade to give up his abundant stock of nourishments with more 
generosity.  

	"I can see no other solution than simply giving him a dose of his own cure, killing him 
off and just taking his supplies," Deyron suggested grimly.  

	Groups of people huddled together in the centre of the site with apparent calm and 
restfulness but Deyron avoided the camp, taking Trajan instead further away to a tent isolated 
from the rest in a far corner of the clearing.  He continued speaking bitterly, "You take that 
pompous regalia off your head. To think that even in our camp we cannot walk around with bare 
faces because of the presence of hirelings.  Jeremy has posted guards around this area who will 
warn us if one of them is approaching but in the meantime you can uncover yourself.  Anyway, 
wearing that thing while you eat will spoil your appetite and you have to eat your fill tonight, for 
tomorrow is another lean day." 

	Trajan flung his helmet to the ground and kicked it aside with his boot. "With the steeds 
we'll be able to reach the town that Jeremy mentioned maybe faster than we thought, and 
hopefully manage to replenish our resources there.  I want to start early in the morning.  More 
Magni-Xandian forces may be coming our way and we are not in a position to meet them 
headlong in battle."

	He sat down with a heavy sigh and Nagus, who had been busily stirring in a pot on the 
fire, filled a plate with steaming stew and thrust it into his hands..  

	"Rest now and take your dinner.  You look exhausted.  Here are some slices of bread.  I 
cannot give you more as I am saving some for tomorrow."

	Trajan nodded, tasting a spoonful of the hot stew.  "You are doing remarkably well, 
Nagus, learning how to cook too.  This is simply marvellous!"

	"Well," Nagus shrugged his shoulders, "the boy Ralph has been a great help, teaching me 
a lot of new things.  We have become close friends."

	And that, Trajan thought, was remarkable as well.  He looked around plaintively:  "Is 
Leoynar all right?"

	"He appeared worn-out and a bit distraught, so after dinner I told him to go to bed and 
sleep off the appalling events of the day.  I am glad I didn't come with you to bear witness to 
such horridness."

	"What do you mean?" Deyron rasped.  "Haven't you seen a killing before?"

	"Deyron!" 

	"Forgive me, Captain," Deyron stood up, "forgive my abominable behaviour, but sooner 
or later we have to come into the open, sooner or later I have to exercise my authority, to justify 
to myself for being dragged into this vile and rotten world.  You have changed, My Lar Nagus, 
yes, you have changed to such astonishing proportions that you no longer appear what you were 
once before but I cannot forget my commission.  I am here to bring a perpetrator to justice.  You 
took a life before, Nagus, maybe not as wilfully as those marauding renegades, but still a 
youngslady died at your hands.  It made you a killer just like them."

	"I have killed no one," Nagus said.

	"You deny it then, you deny that you left a certain youngslady by the name of Cidora 
Amee hanging by her neck in the woods of Casteltheyne!"  

	"I have killed no one," Nagus repeated, gazing at Deyron with tranquil eyes. "I admit, at 
Casteltheyne," he paused uncomfortably, rubbing his forehead, "I have manipulated people, 
because I wanted to know how to be like them, how to become as one of them.  I don't feel that 
need any more, besides I know who I am."

	"Who are you?" Deyron insisted, "Nagus or Eugene Trevarthen?"

	A wistful smile played on Nagus' lips as he reinvigorated the fire with more wood and 
left them to go into the tent without speaking further.  Deyron shot at Trajan a puzzled look.

	"Leave it be, Superpre.  Strange events have brought us here and there are no easy 
answers.  He is one of us, treat him so, we need each other more than ever.  Go to bed, sleep it 
off, just as Nagus advised."

	Deyron bent over and his dark eyes glowering above the top of the flames mirrored the 
battle that he was waging with himself, with the futility of his profession in a hostile sphere.  "Do 
you believe him?  Who is he?"

	"I believe him, but I am not sure who he really is."

	Deyron crouched down, grabbed a stick of wood and poked into the fire with short, fierce 
jabs.  "What--what do you, commanders, do with the bodies of your teammates who die in 
action far away from home?"

	Trajan put aside his empty plate.  "In space within our star system, we freeze their bodies 
and bring them back.  If we go far beyond our system, which we have never done, the protocol is 
bring their remains back by first cremating them."

	"Would you do the same for us, for some of us who might die here?"  

	"Yes," said Trajan after a long silence, "of course."

	"Of course," Deyron repeated glumly, "if we are not wiped out together."

	"But one of us must survive." Trajan lifted his eyes, staring at the empyrean of stars 
winking through the strands of floating clouds as though with messages of loved ones far away.  
"One of us must live to return and warn Iucari-Tres to prepare for the worst."