 
### HEALF

### HORSPAW

### Will Decker

### Book 5 in the HEALF SCI-FI Series

Copyright 2007 by WILL DECKER

Smashwords Edition

WILL DECKER has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased, or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

HORSPAW is a work of fiction. The resemblance of any characters to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, media, situations, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

This eBook may not be re-sold or given away except with written permission from the author or as otherwise permitted through special promotions and programs.

A special thank you to everyone that has made this story possible. My beta reader, my proof reader, and to you the readers. I sincerely hope you enjoy this work of fiction.

Will

More by Will Decker:

DRIVEN

UNREQUITED LOVE

FIRE BABY

HYBRID KILLERS

The 'HEÄLF' Collection:

MORTALITY REVISITED

CLONE WARS

DAY OF NIGHT

REGENERATIONS

HORSPAW

The 'Mac" Collection:

THE WITNESS

TOXIC RAIN

BETRAYAL

RECORD KEEPER

DEATH IN THE DUNES

WIT-SEC FAIL

SIMPLY PERFECT BINDING 2ND Ed.

If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to leave a review.

Authors starve or eat based on reviews. Thanking you from the pit of my stomach, Will

Table of Contents:

A Note from the Author

Discover More Exciting Stories by Will Decker

### Just when Rod and Loté think they are safe, a new threat appears on the horizon: HORSPAW. Not a man by any normal definition, and not a clone by any man's definition. He is HORSPAW, Lord Balzar's secret prodigy. Although genetically altered to be physically superior to any normal man, he lacks a soul, a moral compass. His evil knows no bounds!

### **1**

He stands perched at the lip of the gateway, apprehensively studying the surrounding vegetation. It is warm and humid, large, glassy beads of sweat dripping unheeded from bright green leaves. Although the light reflecting from the two equidistant moons is subdued, he squints his sharp eyes against it. Never before in his relatively short life of just twenty-four years has he witnessed anything brighter than the dull fluorescence of the subsurface hallways or the flickering of torchlight.

He has been kept well hidden from the main hallways and the thriving hustle and bustle of activity beneath the planet's surface. His trainers and personal protectors were diligent in keeping his life a secret from the remainder of the planet's population, both above and below the surface. The orders to do so date back to before his inception; to before he was anything more than just a few genetically altered molecules of DNA in a recycling chamber. And although the orders are old, made by a man that is no longer among the living, they will never be questioned or disobeyed. There is always the chance that some of the old man's flesh has survived somewhere and that someone might eventually stumble upon it. And whether intentional or accidental, it might end up in a recycling chamber where it will be recycled; there is always a chance, no matter how slim, that he might return. Unlike other planets inhabited by man, on Heälf, no one can ever be considered gone for good. Nor is Lord Balzar's portent for evil ever far from their minds. It will take many years of his absence, probably centuries, before all will agree that he is not going to return. And even then, doubt will linger.

Unfortunately for Horspaw, his host and demented creator the sadistic Lord Balzar, who is wholly responsible for engineering his own genetically altered DNA into Horspaw's living flesh and bone, died shortly after Horspaw's inception into this world and not a moment before, thus rendering Horspaw incapable of receiving or accepting the soul that was set free by Lord Balzar's demise.

Of course, it could long be debated whether the reception of his host's soul would have been for the better or not. The evil that resides within the powerfully built young man gazing out on the planet's surface is incarnate with the flesh and fibers that grow from his demented, horribly polished, and highly developed DNA; Horspaw doesn't have any more control over his natural tendency toward sadistic evil than he does over the planet's orbit. And like the planet's relentless revolutions around a sun that is much too near to render the entire planet's surface habitable, creating a living Hell on more than half of Heälf's surface area, so are Horspaw's' unrelenting desires to maim and kill. Just like the sun, he too will make the planet a living Hell if left to his own devices.

The genetically altered cells created a man of exceptionally broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a strong jaw-line with ruggedly handsome features. With his striking good looks and muscular physique, women are bound to be drawn to him, eager to do his bidding, to please him in every way possible.

And yet, there is something amiss, something difficult to detect until you look deeper into his clear blue eyes, or feel the wincing grip of his powerfully tendoned hands. Behind the straight white teeth and winning smile lies a ravenous thirst. It is nothing so simple that the dew from the vegetation can ever quench. But a thirst that emanates from deep within his soul-less being. Unlike any normal man, Horspaw possesses a thirst that can only be satisfied with blood. But not just any blood will do, of course. It needs to be warm, human blood!

With growing anticipation, he studies his new surroundings. This is the day for which he was created. If he possessed any feelings, any sentiment at all, he would be feeling a biting regret that his host and almighty creator Lord Balzar wasn't present for this epochal moment.

Instead, he is experiencing only one sensation. He is being driven by just one force, welling up from deep within his bosom and pressuring him to finally move forward, to leave the subterranean tunnels and catacombs behind. It is a hunger not unlike his thirst for human blood and devastating destruction. Different from anything that could have been conditioned into his mind over the millennia, this hunger thrives deep within his bones, beyond his perfectly smooth yet tainted flesh, all the way to his core. It is the hunger for a woman; for the warm, tender flesh of a very special woman.

She is not just any woman!

Horspaw's hunger has been Balzar's hunger and can only be sated with the conquest of one woman, a very special and unique woman; Rod's woman. Loté!

Looking into the grey light, Horspaw doesn't see the beauty of the lush vegetation spread out before him. Nor does he smell the damp odor of decaying matter, the renewal of life upon the surface that permeates the fresh air, so unlike the dry and dusty medium that sifts through the subsurface tunnels and catacombs that have been his only home till now. He sees instead the vision of Loté's lovely features, her lithe body and dark, creamily complexioned skin. He is looking beyond his immediate surroundings and deep into her dark brown pools that could capture any normal man's soul with their tranquility and visible longing. The scent of her body wafts casually through his nostrils, though she is hundreds of miles away, maybe even thousands. It tickles his being, wetting his appetite. His body grows hard, an immense erection giving way to his heavily fore-skinned manhood. He will have this woman that he knows so intimately, although he has never met her, nor even so much as seen her before in his life. For reasons that he can't know or understand, he is determined that he will have her like no man or being ever has before him. And by doing so, he will fulfill his master's prophecy, the sick and demented legacy that he was specifically created to realize. With every fiber of his sadistic being, he is certain that when he finishes with her, she will never take another man to her bosom, or that she will ever know the feel and comfort of her soul-mate, Rod, again.

Horspaw is well aware of the fact that his cell-host, Lord Balzar, met his final demise shortly after he'd matured into a developing embryo. As was commonly believed among the inhabitants of Heälf, Lord Balzar's death had come to pass by the hands of Captain Rodick, or Rod as his friends knew him. But Horspaw was also aware, though he wasn't ready to share this with his teachers and protectors, of the little known fact that he carried enough of Balzar's genetic makeup to initiate the recreation of Lord Balzar's physical being. It would be as simple as offering a small sample of his flesh to one of Keazar's unsuspecting labs for recycling. Despite the proclamations and decrees outlawing the recycling of unknown human tissue and cells for this very reason, Horspaw's mentors and handlers had the contacts to make it happen. And if they had only known what Horspaw believes, they would have done it immediately upon Lord Balzar's demise. However, they didn't know or understand the finer aspects of recycling to be aware of this little known fact, but genetically altered cells reverted back to the original host's structure when recycled using one of Keazar's recently updated chambers. When Keazar discovered the secret to restoring fertility in his recycling chambers, he had also unwittingly modified the process enough to allow just such a catastrophic thing to happen. But then, he had also made it impossible for Horspaw to ever be recycled and renewed. Horspaw was destined to live only one life upon Heälf before growing old and dying, and this was a good thing for all of mankind.

Unfortunately for Lord Balzar, he never anticipated that his genetically altered offspring would be so self-centered that it would be impossible for him to consider anyone else's needs or desires beyond the one that had been painstakingly engineered into his makeup; not even those of his self!

Licking his lips, Horspaw continues gazing at the still, subdued foliage. He is growing hungrier by the minute, and the few meager supplies that he carries are not what he craves. It is time to get moving, time to start hunting. Within a matter of time, his hunger will be sated. Of this one fact, he is certain. He sees no point in carrying prepared foodstuffs or the necessary utensils to prepare it. He harbors no fear of hunger. If it can bleed, it will fill his need!

### **2**

Loté looks complacently out on the children playing in the small clearing made for their camp. Only a few short weeks ago, they left Keazar's floating domain. Now, with the sun cooling at their heels, they are making their way west. The temperature is already several degrees cooler and the air considerably more humid than that of the Eastern Fringe they left behind.

Although they are a small group, they are well armed and amply supplied. And because they are relatively still near to Keazar's recycling labs aboard the floating domain, they are also well known in the area, though there are relatively few inhabitants this far to the east.

A smile comes to her face, lighting up her already beautiful features with a warm glow. Since the birth of their son, Nava, life with Rod aboard the domain was good. They were surrounded by their friends and their friends' families.

While anxiously anticipating Rod's return from a short scouting mission to the north, she lazily thinks back on these pleasant times. Soon, they will be reunited. The scouts discovered a small encampment with several aged and frail members not far from the equatorial trail. Since they left almost forty-eight hours prior, it comes as no surprise, when she hears the sentries calling out their return. It is customary for Rod to return with 'guests-in-need'' that she can practice her nurturing on. And, as always, glean news and information from at the same time.

Realizing that he is returning and close at hand, she turns and retreats into the small hut that has been hastily thrown together. Their shelter is nothing more than a hodge-podge of limbs and loose foliage raked together from the debris left lying about after hacking out the clearing. It serves their needs as little more than a place to store their supplies and give her and Rod privacy when needed. Because the weather never varies much on Heälf, thanks to the equidistant moons and unvarying orbit around its too near sun, the hut was not built to protect its inhabitants from foul weather.

Moving with the speed and grace that always came natural to her, she gathers her tote of cloth bandages and medicinal salves together, quickly tucking them securely under her left arm, while a sheathed long-knife remains firmly gripped in the same hand. As an afterthought, she scoops up a flagon of distilled spirits, just in case she needs a general anesthetic. Although Keazar has long since developed medicines that are advanced to the point of easily alleviating pain and suffering, distilled spirits are always welcomed with a warm embrace by both those in need and those not so in need.

She also checks her supply of orange directional-sickness pills. Because Keazar's powerful healing drugs do not keep well in the high humidity of the surface, Loté attempted to dry them further with a heat source powered by his wonderful solar panels. The panels produced a much drier form of heat than any wood source could provide. But when the gray pills turned a bright orange and became as hard as stone chips, the effect they had on the human body also changed. After much studying of their newfound characteristics, it was discovered that rather than heal wounds or re-grow limbs, they eliminated the physical and mental effects brought on by eastward travel, a sickness that only effects surface dwellers, and is also more commonly referred to as directional-sickness. Before anyone can be sent back to Keazar's with remains for recycling, they must take a dose of the orange pills to avoid directional-sickness. Because the effect of the orange pills lasts only a few hours, it is necessary for them to carry a supply large enough to reach the labs, or wait until Keazar's labs overtake them.

Even before Rod and his small band of missionaries can return to camp, the celebrating begins. As she snatches another quick glance out the opening to check on the children, she notices that the cook fires are already being stoked up with dried limbs. Heavy slabs of meat will be carefully positioned over them as soon as the high flames from the fresh fuel die down. Because most of their main staples are cured and dried against spoilage, fresh meat is always a treat that everyone looks forward to and savors.

These happy thoughts are at the forefront of her mind when a cold chill suddenly sweeps through her flesh, raising the small hairs at the nape of her neck and stopping her in her tracks. Despite the slightly lower temperatures here compared to what she is acclimated to, it is still far from cold. In addition, the increased humidity more than makes up for the lower temperatures, making it feel even warmer and more uncomfortable than the drier heat of the Eastern Fringe.

Her heart lurches for a moment before starting to beat rapidly within the close confines of her chest as a feeling of dread and uncertainty slowly creeps through her, chilling her even more. At the same time, her stomach grows taut and cramped in anticipation of some dreadful premonition, her bowels suddenly feeling loose while her insides twist into a tight knot of fear. She has never experienced anything like this before, and she doesn't like it. The happy glow quickly fades from her beautiful face, leaving behind a rigid, pale expression of deep concern. But the concern isn't for Rod or the hapless folks that he and his small band might be bringing back with them. Rather, the concern is for her. And although she can't justify it or begin to understand it, she is deeply terrified of it.

With the back of her free hand, she wipes off the bead of sweat that has formed on her forehead. For the first time in her life, she feels small and fragile, uncertain of her own destiny and future. Suddenly afraid and not knowing why, she wishes for Rod's quick return, realizing for the first time in a long while just how desperately she needs him.

Moving stiffly, she hurries across the clearing to Nava, their son. Dropping the tote and long-knife in a heap with the flagon of spirits on top, she scoops him up in her strong, limber arms, and holds him tightly to her chest. Mistaking the attention for an untimely feeding, Nava's strong little hands search out her milk-laden breasts. Finding them, he pulls roughly at her flesh. For an instant, she holds him out of reach, while soothingly apologizing for the misunderstanding, her breath rattling shakily in her chest, feeling foreign and uncomfortable. His little body is warm and reassuring, quickly dissipating the unease that has come over her and yet, not quite explaining it away either. The chill slowly recedes; reluctantly relinquishing its grasp against the warm reassurances of Nava's innocence snuggled securely in her arms.

"Loté, is everything all right?"

Fane's voice snaps her out of her reverie, bringing her back to the present. She blinks at the bright moonlight, suddenly wondering if everything that just happened had really happened, or if it was just her imagination.

"Loté, do you hear me?" Fane persists. "If you squeeze that child any tighter, you're going to suffocate the poor fellow."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I guess my thoughts must have drifted elsewhere." Fane is a close and dear friend that was reborn in Keazar's recycling labs. For unknown reasons, she took to Loté, following her around the floating domain and helping or assisting her whenever she could. She idolizes Loté and never bores to hear the tales of Loté and Rod's adventures. Loté also likes and trusts Fane explicitly. They share secrets and almost everything else with each other. Fane also adores Nava, though she has no personal desire to be a mother. It is a commonly heard phrase of hers that although she loves looking after the child, she is equally glad to see his mother return so that she can be free of him. Loté trusts her with her life. But more importantly, she trusts Fane with Nava's life. Excepting for a very select few, she can't say that. Fane's voice betrays her immediate concern, as she notices the tension in Loté's blanched face.

"Looking at the expression on your face, you should not make it a habit to wander there often," she remarks, trying to portray a sense of levity, but coming off sounding flat. "You look as though you have just seen the evil Balzar," she adds concernedly.

It has become commonplace on both the surface and in the tunnels and catacombs of Heälf to refer to the ultimate evil by the name of 'Balzar'. His reign of terror will remain in people's minds for many generations to come. "It's okay, Fane. Really, there is nothing to worry about; I'll be alright in a minute."

"Then you won't object if I take this little guy with me," she says, her voice sounding much more relaxed. "I can see that you have your medicines and long-knife with you and are ready to go." She raises a knowing eyebrow as she glances at the flagon atop the tote. Without trying, Fane's natural mannerisms are having a calming effect on her that she greatly appreciates.

Reluctantly, she gives up Nava to Fane's strong young arms. Fane has watched him many times before, and yet, she can't remember ever feeling this way about leaving him. Fane, sensing Loté's lingering trepidation, quickly assuages her fears and concerns with a few words. "I will put him with the other children and I promise to you that I won't take my eyes off of him until you return. He will be safe, my dear friend."

"I know he will be," she replies to Fane's pledge, feeling more of the trepidation dissipating. "I will return just as quickly as I can."

"You always do," Fane remarks with a candid smirk.

### **3**

Horspaw moves forward with growing desire and anticipation. Although the foliage on the planet's surface is foreign to him, he moves through it easily, almost gliding without actually touching any of the dew laden leaves. The draw to migrate in a westerly direction is not ingrained into his blood, as that of a natural-born surface dweller. Instead, his modified genes instill an acute sense of direction, any direction. Without error or hesitation, he can find his way easily, despite the changing terrain. Now, only because he is drawn by her sweetly demure scent and the stronger aroma that reeks of innocence, which can only be her offspring, he moves against the natural flow of the planet's surface by traveling in an easterly direction, his mind consumed by a keening of what the future holds for him.

Without giving thought to his actions, he slides forward, moving silently toward his prey, thinking only of the great satisfaction that will be attained when he finally catches up with it. No mortal man is his equal, and none can protect his quarry. The moment he awoke from the recycling chamber, she was as good as his. She will not slip through his ironclad grasp as she did his creator's. He will not fail, as his creator had done before him!

Without warning, he pulls up short, his senses abruptly bringing him back to the present. Not moving, he listens intently. Something, or someone, is moving through the foliage ahead of him. Yet, unlike every other living, breathing creature on Heälf's surface, it too is traveling in contrast to the setting horizon. Like he, it is moving against the natural flow of traffic upon the planet's surface, which can only mean that its origins stem from the subsurface, or it is not human! And like him, it too is on the hunt.

Subconsciously, he realizes that if he hadn't been moving with such speed and stealth, he never would have overtaken it. But unlike Horspaw's own movements, which are swift, silent, and sure, the thing ahead of him is moving brusquely, slogging along and deeply intent on a quarry of its own. Yet, despite the sluggish sound of its movements, it covers ground with a fair amount of speed. Whatever it is that he is overtaking, it has to be much larger in size and stride than that of a human male. The speed with which it is moving is clearly indicative of a creature consisting of considerable size. This conclusion also indicates that his first hurried assessment of the thing ahead of him having originated below the surface because of its easterly direction of travel could also be wrong. To his knowledge, which is quite extensive, thanks to his plethora of teachers, there are no subsurface beings larger than that of a human male. With the exception of some misshapen clones and grotesquely large men, it is physically impossible for a being of any great size to move about within the close confines of the tunnels and catacombs.

However, there are several rare creatures upon this god-forsaken planet's surface that do not possess an ingrained instinct to travel westward to the same degree of dedication as those of a human. These are the scavengers and predators that move in whichever direction the scent of their prey takes them. Unlike Horspaw, however, these creatures still possess the westerly driving instinct, just to a much lesser degree than their surface born brethren. The instinct is little more than enough to keep them from being scorched to death by the rising sun.

This knowledge and more, Horspaw subconsciously digests, quickly formulating a mental sketch of the creature moving ahead of him. It is easy to determine from the sound of the being's heavy footfalls and lapse of time between them that it is a large, heavy creature with a long stride. Yet, he cannot be certain whether or not he is overtaking a creature of human origin, since so many deformed clones somehow survived the devastating holocaust that supposedly obliterated almost every living thing beneath the surface. As a direct result of all the experimentation that had been done leading up to the infamous Clone Wars, a plethora of strangely absurd human beings have been turned loose, both on and below the planet's surface. Although a large percentage of them have been hunted down and exterminated, many are still running wild, wreaking havoc on their more normal kin.

And then again, it might simply be a large, surface-dwelling beast of a species that is rare and infrequently seen, going about its routine business of survival.

The scent emanating from it quickly grows overpowering in his nostrils, momentarily masking the softer, sweeter scent of his former prey. Even before he realizes that he has determined it to be so, he knows that he is closing in on a carnivorous beast and not a man. It reeks of rotting flesh, decay, and old feces. But with his highly tuned senses, he also detects the scent of blood intermingling with the other cloying fragrances. This latter scent is many days old, indicating that the beast hasn't eaten for the same period of time.

In a sheath over his left hip, he carries a long-knife. This is standard subsurface armament. Over his right hip, he sports a drastically modified skinning knife. Unlike the standard fair carried by almost every male and some female surface dwellers, his skinning knife has a two-parted blade secured by a lock-hinge that allows the leading half of the blade to pivot downward, creating a scissors action against the rear half of the blade. Yet, the hinge is designed so that the blade can function as a standard skinning knife when needed, which, in Horspaw's case, has proven thus far to be rarely.

In addition to these formidable weapons, he carries yet another, smaller blade. Strapped securely to his back and generally hidden beneath his long locks of thick wavy hair is a narrow-bladed dirk for close-quarter fighting. Perfectly balanced, it is also a lethal projectile when thrown, the effective range dependent upon the terrain. He is more than proficient with all of these weapons. But unlike most men, he doesn't carry them for survival. Because unlike most men, Horspaw doesn't just kill for food or in defense of his life, he also kills for the pure joy of it, the entertainment factor. And he kills whatever and whomever he desires without compunction!

Yet, he is most dangerous with his bare hands, and thus, doesn't feel the need to draw a weapon now, as he closes in on his new quarry. After pinpointing the exact source of the spoor, and instinctively calculating a course to the south and then back to the north that will bring him directly ahead of it, he sets off, moving even swifter than he had before, and yet, all the more deliberately and silently.

Within a matter of minutes, he estimates his position to be parallel with that of his immediate target. In even less time, he is ahead of the blundering beast and waiting anxiously in anticipation of his first blooding on the planet's surface.

This is not his first kill. Nor will it be his first human kill, if the creature is human. On his journey to the surface, working his way methodically through the tunnels and catacombs of Heälf's subsurface, he took many lives, almost all of which were human. Much of the killing could easily have been avoided. Unfortunately for his victims, Horspaw found great pleasure and satisfaction in killing, and even veered from his predefined route when he picked up the scent of solitary travelers. He was careful to avoid large groups. Not for fear of being overpowered, because he wasn't capable of fear, but because he couldn't afford to leave a trail that might draw attention to him. And a trail of dead and decaying bodies would not go unnoticed during this time of prevailing peace!

It isn't a long wait before the creature breaks out of the underbrush before him. Upon seeing Horspaw standing directly in its path, it draws up short. Curious, but not afraid, it studies him for a long moment, its massive bulk dwarfing Horspaw. It sniffs the air inquisitively, confused that it didn't notice this strange being's scent before coming upon him.

After a while, it grows edgy, fidgeting its stance from one front paw to the other; clearly unable to comprehend why the small creature is standing its ground and not fleeing for safety. Never before had anything or anyone stood in its path, so subtly hindering its freedom of movement.

With a mighty bellowing of its chest, it lets out a thunderous roar, challenging the small creature before it. Saliva hangs in thick slimy threads from the ends of long, sharply tapered fangs. Horspaw, although never having laid eyes on such a vicious creature before, admires its naturally evolved weapons of death and destruction with a keen eye. He, of all the creatures both on and below the surface of Heälf, can appreciate the strength and capabilities of the massive beast standing before him. It never occurs to him that like he, the beast is also not intimidated by the other's presence; this is a trait that he finds most appealing.

Growing impatient with the lack of movement from Horspaw, the beast feigns a forward lunge, intending to startle the smaller creature into flight. But when Horspaw doesn't so much as twinge, it again draws up short, the distance separating the two of them now less than three meters. Although the enormous beast can easily rend Horspaw with a lethal swipe of its massively clawed forepaws, for the first time since discovering Horspaw, it gets a strong whiff of his scent, and it fails to recognize the all too familiar smell of fear. Everything the beast has ever smelled before has always reeked of fear. It finds this knowledge unsettling.

Although the creature is huge and ungraceful, it possesses a limited ability to reason, without which it never would have survived as long as it has. Failing to discern any trace of fear in Horspaw, it studies him anew. It is quick to realize that there is something different about the small being standing its ground. Instead of simply wanting to kill and trample the small creature before it, it feels a strange and unfamiliar need to investigate him further; its curiosity has been piqued, much like a cat toying with a mouse before boring of it and killing it.

Horspaw is also studying the beast standing before him, but in a new light. He has moved beyond the first appraisal of the creature's massive, heavily muscled stature. He has also gotten beyond the long fangs protruding from its broad jaw, and the sharply pointed claws, each again as long as the blade of his skinning knife. He has progressed beyond all of that and is studying the creature's large, oval eyes. Staring intently into the yellow irises and the fathomless midnight of it pupils, he senses a bright and alert intelligence lurking within. Without realizing that he is doing so, he assesses the creature's value to him, swiftly determining whether he should kill the beast or dominate it. Is it worth his efforts to harness such brute strength to his own end?

Neither laziness nor dependency lay harbor in Horspaw's vocabulary. He has no need of the beast for ease of traveling, though he could easily ride upon its broad shoulders. Nor does he desire the beast for protection, as he firmly believes that he is capable of taking care of himself in any situation.

Yet, he cannot shake an ingrained desire to ally the beast to him. Although not nearly as strong as his drive to hunt down Loté so that he can take her for the twisted ends that Lord Balzar programmed into his genes, there is another need, something deep within his subconscious that is urging him to take this beast under his wing and teach it to be loyal to him. It is a strong desire to make the powerful creature another weapon in his already mighty arsenal. Any other man would have found this a desire to 'befriend' the beast. But 'befriend' isn't in Horspaw's vocabulary! Subdue, conquer, abuse, and dominate are words he can appreciate and understand. These are words that describe his intentions toward the beast most accurately, or so he believes.

Still, he asks himself if the effort will be worth the gain, or will he be wasting valuable time that can be better spent in the pursuit of his primary objective. These are not easy questions with easy answers. Though he is engineered to possess lightening reflexes and superior strength, his brain capacity does not exceed that of a normal man, even if he generally believes otherwise of himself. It was on Lord Balzar's list of priorities to create a man that could out-think and out-smart any opponent. But to his great dismay, it remained the one aspect of all the genetically modified specimens that he engineered that he was unable to overcome. All of his best attempts could only render subjects that were limited in mental capacity to that of his own mental prowess, which, like Horspaw, he also believed to be superior to any normal man.

### **4**

Horspaw quickly comes to the conclusion that the beast is worth more to him alive than dead. But before he can prove to the creature that he doesn't intend it any harm, he has to catch and subdue it. The quickest method that he comes up with is to simply tie it up, restraining it from injuring him or itself until he can prove that his intentions toward it are not hostile. As he studies the surrounding terrain for a suitable length of vine with which to immobilize the beast, a slight movement in the foliage just beyond the creature's massive bulk catches his eye. There is no wind on the planet's surface, which immediately makes any movement of the heavy, dew-laden leaves suspect.

Before he can ponder the situation further, however, the answer steps forward, appearing from behind the concealing leaves of the thick foliage. With a long-knife held at the ready, she is quite an impressive sight. Tall and dark complexioned, her flesh is firm, her limbs lithe and well proportioned. She makes a very appealing silhouette with waist-length, jet-black hair, framing a strong, handsomely beautiful face.

Almost before Horspaw can move to intervene, she lunges forward, intent on attacking the beast from its rear. Clearly, she mistakenly believes that he is in trouble and she is coming to his rescue. He finds the notion quaint, but very inaccurate.

Moving even faster than she, he leaps the incredible distance separating them in less than two bounds. Passing by the beast, he deftly lashes out with an open palm, striking the huge creature a stunning blow to the side of its massive head. It collapses in a heap, landing on the ground almost at the same moment as he lands just paces from the young woman. Close up, her features are even more striking. For the briefest of moments, he is taken aback by her beauty, as any normal male would be. But he is not any normal male, and before she can accurately assess his hungry leer, he regains his senses.

Like both him and the beast lying upon the ground, she too is momentarily stunned. But like Horspaw, and unlike the beast that will remain immobile for some time to come, she recovers her composure swiftly. Facing him, she brings the edge of the long-knife to bear, suddenly assuming a defensive stance against the man she thought she was going to save, and embarrass in the process. Much to her chagrin and surprise, however, the man that has just leaped an incredible distance to reach her while simultaneously taking down a formidable opponent with one fell swoop, simply and innocently grins back at her. Her surprise and chagrin is quickly replaced with anger and humiliation. Never before has she met a man that isn't immediately intimidated by her, and she isn't sure how to react to this one, whom she believes to be the first.

Horspaw studies her intently for a moment, never concerned that she might actually try to hurt him. And besides, even if she does, for all her apparent speed and agility, she is no match for him. He can easily over-power and out-maneuver her. Yet, he is intrigued by her, the unconscious beast lying behind him suddenly all but forgotten. For reasons that he can't begin to fathom, he feels certain that she can be much more valuable to him than the huge beast; for the same reasons that he feels the way he does about the beast, and some others that he can't quite yet grasp. Although Horspaw is immune to the notion on a conscious level, and his maker would have been appalled to learn of such a fact, Horspaw is only answering to a deeply seated need for companionship. But such a brazen thought will never enter his mind; he is much too strong and independent for such trivial weaknesses.

While he openly studies her, she returns his gaze, appraising him in kind. She is not immediately smitten with his handsome features or strong, muscular build. A man has to offer more than mere looks to impress her. If anything has made an impression on her, it has been his amazing agility and strength that she's just witnessed firsthand, as well as the unconscious beast laying immobilized on the ground behind him. Yet, she is determined not to let him know that he has made such a favorable impression upon her. Although she isn't nearly as angry as she imagined she should be by his blatant impunity toward her, she isn't ready to let what anger she does possess evaporate too quickly. First, she wants to show him that she is an equal to him, that she can be dangerous too, and that she is someone worthy of respect.

Moving suddenly with uncanny speed and agility, she leaps up and forward, diving head over heels, her feet gliding gracefully over her head. At just the right moment, she strikes out with the balls of her feet, intending to give him a glancing blow across the forehead. It is a move that she practices frequently, since it never fails to impress and intimidate opponents. She is very good at it.

The hilt of the long-knife, grasped almost delicately in her right hand, swirls around in her palm, working as a counter-balance to her flowing momentum. She has never used the weapon against anyone during this stunt; it is simply for show and dramatic effect. But when the hilt suddenly slips through her fingers and is gone, she realizes that something is wrong. Dreadfully wrong!

Horspaw watches her leap toward him as if she is approaching in slow motion. Her reflexes are no match for his genetically altered sinews, and he almost laughs aloud, the grin broadening across his face, his white, even teeth now fully exposed. Tilting his head just the slightest, her callous-hardened feet barely missing his forehead, he deftly grabs the blunt side of her long-knife and holds on, easily pulling it from her grasp. It is almost too easy, and for just the briefest moment, he reconsiders her worth to him as an ally. But it is only for a fleeting moment, and then her heel catches him in the nape of the neck, just above his broad shoulders.

No one has ever struck him before with such startling intensity. Stunned, he lets the momentum of the impact rock him forward before nimbly regaining his balance. The blow is much more than a tap to display her prowess to him. She has been intimidating superior opponents for a long time, and has worked many contingencies into her every move. This one is no exception. While twirling through the air above his head, she realized instantly when he sidestepped her. Instinctively, she guessed his move to the right and lashed out viciously with a back-kick to his left, no longer content with merely impressing him, but now intent on inflicting pain. She is suddenly more determined than ever to make an impression on this handsome man. When her heel solidly connects, she almost cries out with glee, the long-knife suddenly forgotten.

Landing lightly on the balls of her feet, she spins about to face him. To her surprise, he is already lunging toward her, her long-knife held comfortably in his left hand. Before she can react, he has his right hand around her throat, gently squeezing off the flow of blood to her brain. Although her breathing isn't impaired by his grip, her surroundings grow darker, gradually closing in on her as her brain cries out for oxygen. Consciousness is quickly slipping away, despite her best efforts to lash out at the strong arm that easily holds her at bay. Through the encroaching fog and darkness, her last vision is that of his broad, inviting smile, and then she slips quietly into oblivion.

Holding her upright by the throat, Horspaw once again reconsiders her value to him, and wonders why he doesn't simply kill her. She will regain consciousness when he is ready for her to, and not a moment sooner. In the meantime, he has things to do. The beast has dropped to a low priority, and has gone from being a potential ally to being their next meal, as well as provisions for the journey that lies ahead of them. He suddenly realizes that he is thinking in terms of more than just himself. His thoughts and plans for the immediate future now include the unconscious woman that he holds at arm's length before him.

With a gentleness that doesn't feel or come natural to him, he slowly eases her limp form to the ground, studying her long, smooth and shapely legs, and the easy rise and fall of her full, firm breasts beneath a scanty leather harness.

He studies her for several long moments before he is able to turn away from her sensuous form. Using long, powerful strides, he hastily moves around to the front of the unconscious beast and, using her long-knife, tests its edge against the animal's throat. The blade is incredibly sharp, slicing through the heavy fur and thick skin with relative ease. Although he doesn't like admitting it, the blade is on a par with his own in both quality of steel and fineness of edge, and he has been trained in metallurgy by the best metal smiths of the subsurface.

After wiping the blade clean across the dead carcass, he returns it to its sheath and, with it held loosely in his right hand, strides back to where he left her lying. Returning her sheathed weapon to the ground beside her, he can't help his eyes drifting to her lithe and innocent pose. To his surprise, he is again taken aback by her beauty; she is a stunningly beautiful woman. Much more attractive than any he ever came across while growing and studying in the subsurface, or even during his journey to the surface. Most of the women that he'd met were squat and heavy in stature. Perfect beasts of burden for the chores that needed doing within the close confines of the remote tunnels and caverns.

As he studies her sensuous form, his attention is drawn to the rise and fall of the vein running along the side of her throat. Her pulse is quickening. He has underestimated her will to resist the tranquility of unconsciousness. Placing his thumb and forefinger against the vein, he quickly returns her to a deeper state of oblivion. For the second time since meeting her, he has underestimated her strength and determination. He makes a mental note not to be so careless in the future. The next time he underestimates a mere mortal, it might cost him his life, and he has much more to do before he can let that happen.

If there is one thing that Horspaw has no illusions about, it is the finality of death. For anyone born conventionally, eternity is almost a given, thanks in great part to Keazar's advanced science of recycling. No longer is a complete corpse required for recycling to be effective, as it had been in the early days. Today, as little as a single molecule containing a complete DNA chain is sufficient to recycle an entire human. Moreover, unlike the early days of recycling, where a finished body was left sterile, even that tremendous hurdle has been overcome. Now, not only are people reborn to the healthiest state of their being, they are also able to give birth to healthy offspring, thus increasing the overall population of the planet. It is a good time to be alive. Thanks in great part to Rod's heroic efforts to wipe out tyranny and establish a new and just hierarchy that is free of slavery and oppression, and Keazar's great advances with the recycling process, Heälf has a promising future.

However, Horspaw's existence is a fluke of both science and nature. Unlike anyone before him, he doesn't possess a DNA chain of his own. If a sampling of his DNA ever went through the recycling process, the outcome would not be what anyone expects. Because of the manner in which his DNA has been altered, only the host DNA will survive the recycling process. Instead of a renewed Horspaw, a renewed Lord Balzar will be reborn in his entirety, complete with his demented soul, memories, and desires. The evil obsession would be real once again. Of course, although Horspaw suspects all of this, he has no real interest in it. His only interest is in keeping himself alive for as long as he can. He doesn't possess any inborn desire or will to perpetuate Lord Balzar's future. He holds no loyalty to the man that created him, beyond the drives and desires that have been sewn into his genetic makeup, and they are not of his choosing!

Since she had been careful not to leave any evidence of her passing, he is forced to follow her back trail by scent alone. Still, it doesn't take him but a few moments to hone in on her carefully stashed bundle. Assuming that it contains nothing more than a few meager supplies, he doesn't bother wasting time looking through it. Instead, he simply slings it over his shoulder and retreats to where he has left her lying unprotected on the ground near the dead beast. In her unconscious state, and with the scent of fresh blood hanging heavy on the air, he doesn't want to leave her any longer than is absolutely necessary. All sorts of wild beasts and scavengers could be honing in on their location, or so he tries convincing himself. If the truth of the matter were known, he would be forced to admit that he is actually worried about her. It is an unfamiliar feeling and therefore, he doesn't immediately recognize it for what it is.

As he approaches her, she slowly stirs, her instincts warning her of approaching danger. She is strong and willful, and he admires her spirit.

Dropping the pack next to her weapon so that she will find it when she regains consciousness, he again places his thumb and forefinger over the vein, cutting off the supply of blood and oxygen to her brain. When he finally allows her to waken, except for a throbbing headache, she will suffer no long-term ill effects.

Again, he catches himself studying her prone form, her vulnerability. Starting at the base of her heavily calloused feet, he slowly drags his eyes up her supine form, not missing any detail. She is wearing a leather halter, which he carefully undoes and inspects for hidden pockets. Her breasts are firm and very well shaped, if not overly large. An unfamiliar stirring in his loins guides his hands to touch her. She is surprisingly soft and yielding, yet firm to the touch. Unable to restrain his hand, he squeezes a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a soft groan from her.

Next, he undoes her loincloth and inspects it in the same fashion. Within a fold near the front, he finds a small, double-edged knife tucked into a secret pocket that doesn't belie any outward bulge. Returning it to the hidden pocket, he quickly redresses her, but not before placing his large, powerful hands over her breasts and cupping them with a gentle pressure. He is amazed by how such a simple act can make him feel weak and strong at the same time, and the way it makes the urgency of his ultimate mission suddenly falter. Such wanton acts need to wait until he catches his primary prey. Only when he has Loté in his grasp can he allow himself to act on these depraved urges, and he is certain that the foreign feelings are indeed depraved desires dredged out of his creator's genetic contribution.

By the time he has her redressed, she is stirring again, her eyelids fluttering desperately in an attempt to open. She is struggling with all of her incredible will and determination to regain consciousness. Horspaw is again awed by the strength of that will and determination. During all of his long hours and days of training, no one that he ever practiced the technique on had regained consciousness in such a short period of time. Without hesitation, he puts her back under with a gentle pressure to the side of her throat.

Rising, he moves to stand next to the dead beast. He suddenly feels hungry, and it is time to procure some provisions for the journey that lies ahead. Planting his feet, he grasps handfuls of the creature's thick fur and lifts, the muscles and sinews of his limbs straining against the burden of rolling the heavy beast onto its back. It is a feat that no normal man could have accomplished without help. With a crash, the carcass plops over, its distended belly pointing toward the jungle canopy above. Using the skinning knife from the sheath draped over his left hip, he disembowels it, removing the sex organs before their musky scent can taint the meat and give it an off flavor. Next, he makes a continuous slit that extends from the groin to the cut across its throat. Using his blood-covered hands, he proceeds to peel back the thick fur, exposing the dead creature's still-warm vitals. Reaching into the breast cavity, he encircles the heart muscle with his right hand and extracts it to the surface. Using the knife, he easily cuts through the connecting veins, arteries, and muscle tissue. Setting the organ aside for later, he plunges his face into the thickening gore and drinks lustily of the sluicing red liquid, savoring the warm fluid as it washes over his face and runs thickly and sweetly down his throat, the taste of salt and copper adding tremendously to the euphoria. No longer does he appear the handsome warrior. Instead, he looks like the bloodthirsty savage that he is.

Invigorated by the coppery sweet taste of the creature's blood in his mouth, he turns toward the young woman lying unconscious on the thick mat of moss just beyond the dead beast with renewed interest. In all of his training, women had served little purpose beyond feeding and cleaning up after him. His genes had been engineered to lust for only one, and yet, he cannot deny the stirring in his loins when he watches the slow rise and fall of her breasts. The memory of their firmness and how it contrasted with the gentle softness of her flesh washes through his mind, suddenly cluttering his thoughts and confusing him. He was begotten in the bowels of a research lab; never during his brief existence had there been anything resembling a mother. No one or nothing had ever encouraged him to suckle. There is no ingrained desire for a woman's breast or a need of nurturing, and yet...

His blood-covered hand swipes slowly across his forehead, pushing the settling gore to the side before it can cloud his vision. With a loud grunt, he stands to his full height and shakes off the fervent feelings that are crowding his thoughts. Moving stiffly, almost methodically, he finishes retrieving the organs of interest from the dead beast's carcass after wiping the gore from his face on the heavy fur. By the time he is done, the woman is stirring again. He briefly considers keeping her under until he is able to relieve his mounting frustration, but quickly puts the troubling thought from of his mind. In the back of his mind, he determines that she will be much more of a challenge if she is conscious.

Leaving the freshly extracted organs spread out on the soft fur of the dead beast's belly, he goes back to her side and kneels down, gently grasping her wrists in his vice-like grip. The feel of his touch on her skin quickly brings her out of the last vestiges of darkness that are still holding her prisoner. But when she tries to rise, he holds her firmly, immobilizing her to the ground. To his surprise, she quickly relents when she sees his face looking down at her.

Instead of striking out with her feet or teeth, she simply asks of him, "Who are you?"

Her question catches him off guard. He is expecting her to scream or to cry out for her release. She should be in fear for her life, and yet, she doesn't do any of these things. There is no fear in her eyes, which are dark pools of mystery and intrigue, drawing him closer as if by magic. He silently reminds himself that she possesses no magic, no talisman to use against him. Her strength is nothing more than his weakness. If he doesn't show any weakness, she won't have any power!

"I am Horspaw," he says proudly. When she doesn't respond immediately, he asks, "You must also have a name?"

She stares at him, not certain she should give him the power of knowing her name. Horspaw recognizes this hesitation for what it is. To know a person's name gives you power over them. It is slight in nature, but she isn't sure she can afford even that small amount. Yet, because he so willingly gave her his own name, she understands that she runs the risk of offending him by not offering her own in return.

"Pena!" she blurts out defiantly, almost as if expecting him to strike.

To her surprise, he replies instead, "That is a very beautiful name. It befits you." When he spoke, he subconsciously relented a little on her wrists. But she would have been even more surprised if she knew what troubling thoughts were going through his head. His intention is only to keep her off guard, to win her trust and loyalty. He never expects that he will actually feel the words that he speaks to her. Lies come as easily to him as the truth. And yet, it takes him aback that he feels what he says is the truth. Her name is very pleasing to his ear and her beauty is undeniable. It will not hurt his feelings if he is forced to look at her for a very long time.

Confused by his response, she resorts to anger as a means of dealing with her troubling emotions and humility at being subdued. Although it would have been much easier for her to simply accept his compliment, such remarks usually come with a price or a hidden meaning, both of which demand instant defusing. And anger is her immediate weapon of choice.

"Horspaw," she spits out. "What kind of name is that?"

He likes her spirit and realizes immediately that his kind remark, although not rehearsed, achieved more than he could have hoped for in such a short time. Speaking calmly, stressing the fact that she hasn't perturbed him with her demeaning attitude or question, softly states, "It stands for my birthright, for everything that I am meant to achieve during my existence here."

By the subtle change in her expression, he can see that she wants to know more, but is afraid of appearing overly curious. He will work her slowly, eventually winning her over. But in the meantime, he can't act too arrogant; she is not a fool, she will quickly see through his charade if he isn't careful. She possesses much more intelligence than a simple beast.

"You make it sound as though you were put here by a higher being for a divine purpose," she says almost sarcastically, but not quite. She isn't sure whether he is toying with her, or if he truly believes his own diatribe, and that he is here to serve a higher purpose.

Her comment quickly reaffirms that he needs to be careful. She is very astute.

Staring into her eyes for dramatic effect, he carefully pronounces, "Are we not all placed upon this world to fulfill a mission?" When she only gazes back at him, he continues in a prophetic tone of voice, "Certainly, there must be more to our existence than just the struggle to remain alive. If that were all there was, I should be grateful for your assistance in killing me now." He follows this with a conciliatory wink, and she immediately breaks into a smile, realizing that his serious demeanor is only to humor her. Behind the veils in his mind, he registers a small victory.

Releasing her wrists and turning toward the carcass of the dead beast, he says, "I have laid aside some of the more choice pieces. We should eat our fill now and pack what we can for the journey that lies ahead."

She gracefully rolls to her knees, and then stops abruptly to steady herself, as the blood rushes to her head.

"My head hurts," she says softly, putting a hand to her temple.

"You took quite a blow," he casually lies, watching her closely for any sign of not believing him. "The pain will pass shortly, I'm sure."

She remains still for a moment, her eyes darting around until they fix on the long-knife lying next to her. She has no recollection of being struck on the head, and is equally certain that if she feels for a lump, she won't find one. But then, just as quickly as she has these thoughts, she wonders also if indeed he believes a bump on the head was the reason for her unconscious state. There isn't any reason for her to suspect him of anything else. After all, he could easily have taken advantage of her while she lay unconscious. And yet, he behaves like nothing less than the solid gentleman that he appears to be. And more than that, he is very handsome.

Rising to a kneeling position, she picks up the long-knife from where he has placed it next to her. With a flourish, she slides it half way from its sheath before ramming it home again and rising to her feet. Horspaw has already started back toward the carcass, ignoring her antics with the weapon. He simply notes them in his mind, pleased that she is still trying to impress him. But he isn't ready to give her the satisfaction of knowing that he is impressed. That will come a bit at a time, as he deems it necessary to string her along. It will be a lengthy process that he cannot rush without fear of losing her, not physically, but mentally. Slowly and surely, he will make her his own. In time, she will grow to become loyal to no one but him, to the point of putting his needs above her own. When he's finished working on her mind, she won't even remember who she is. His selfish needs will be the entirety of her existence, and she'll be powerless to resist.

But it will take time, much time. It is not something that can be hurried. His mentors have taught him well. This is just another of the many aspects that he has come to master during the long hours of training that he'd been subjected to in the deep, dark catacombs beneath the surface. Without her even realizing it, he will break her down and then carefully rebuild her. His ultimate goal will be to have her loyalty without sacrificing her spirit in the process. It will take time, but in the end, she will be worth it, of that, he is certain.

Hurriedly, she prances over the rumpled vegetation in an attempt to overtake him. Her head still hurting, slowing her movements and throwing her balance off slightly. He, on the other hand, moves effortlessly, reaching the carcass well ahead of her. Standing next to the dead beast, his stance almost too relaxed, he glances back at her. She doesn't miss the subtle shake of his head, clearly showing his disdain for her sluggish clumsiness.

Pena is not used to someone treating her so casually, so nonchalantly, and it doesn't sit well with her. For a long moment, she considers her situation. Horspaw has quickly turned back to the carcass, retrieving the bloody organs that he'd placed atop the distended belly. As quickly, as he has acknowledged her, now he seems to have forgotten her. His mannerisms indicate that he is equally unimpressed with her mastery of the long-knife, as well as her acrobatic style of attack. Yet, for reasons that she can't fathom, she feels it necessary to impress this man. She senses something special about him and it stirs within her an unfounded need to win him over.

With the bloody organs in his grasp, he continues a short distance beyond the carcass before coming to a halt and turning. Glancing back at her slow progress, he asks loudly, "Are you not hungry?"

Pena is trying desperately to catch up to him, and yet, he moves with an uncanny grace that propels him effortlessly on his long strides. While she is only a few inches shorter than he is, and born with a natural grace of her own, she is unable to match his stride without obvious effort. Sweating and frustrated, her head still paining her with the forced movement, she suddenly demands of him, "Wait!"

At the sound of her voice, he stops and bends over, quickly clearing a place on the ground to build a small fire.

Defiantly, she continues, "I know what you are up to. But there is no need to humiliate me!"

He glances up, a look of genuine concern and confusion on his face. She is closer now and there isn't any need to shout. "I am sorry," he says softly, his voice dripping with sincerity. "But I am afraid that I do not understand. This is where I intend to build a cook fire," he continues, indicating the area with a sweeping gesture of his hand. The ground formed a shallow declivity, making an ideal campsite. Even through her anger, Pena can see its obvious advantages. But before she can reply, he gently adds, "It is not my fault that you are having a problem keeping up with me. If you wanted me to go slower, all you had to do was ask."

She is only a few feet from him now and he stands hunched over the meat, a stone in one hand, and his long-knife in the other. His sincerity seems genuine, taking her by surprise. She expects him to deny her accusations, but she doesn't expect him to sound so believable. Suddenly, she wonders if she might have misjudged him and read his intentions incorrectly.

Embarrassed, she weakly pleads with him, "Please, forgive me. It has been a long time since I have been around other people. Try to understand if I appear a little distrusting. In the past, strangers have been quick to take advantage of me. It has become my nature to be on guard until I get to know someone."

"There is no need to apologize," he replies good-naturedly, working hard to disarm her. "Like you, I too must remain a bit suspicious. It is the edge that keeps us alive. I would be disappointed if you were not."

He meant this last with all of his heart.

She almost blushes, completely forgetting her feelings of humiliation that had brought up her guard just moments earlier.

"Bring me some of that drier tinder over there, please," he asks of her, nodding toward a loose mound of dead vines that had fallen free from the canopy of vegetation almost two-hundred feet above their heads.

Without hesitation, she jumps into action, quickly moving to fetch the tinder for his fire. All former traces of her headache are instantly forgotten. When she returns with an armload of it and many loose tendrils dragging along behind, he indicates where he wants it and promptly thanks her. Sparingly, he flakes off some rendered fat from Pena's supply over a small mound of kindling before flicking the back edge of his long-knife against the stone to drop a shower of sparks on it. Flames spring to life and they both jump back in surprise, startled by the sudden uproar. Pena has no way of knowing that Horspaw has already flaked the ground immediately beneath the small pile of tinder with fresh tallow from his sack of raw meat.

Grabbing Pena, he pulls her close, acting as startled as she. Then he just as quickly lets go of her and steps back, suddenly apologetic for his actions. "I am sorry," he stammers, bringing a blush to his cheeks by forcing air into the back of his throat, a trick one of his many mentors has taught him.

She laughs, suddenly feeling much more at ease in his presence. His actions make him seem much more approachable, more human. Then, just as quickly as the thought protruded into the forefront of her mind, she wonders why she had thought it at all. Why would she think him 'more human'? It seems absurd.

But she quickly forces the question from her mind and, puts a reassuring hand on his arm, saying, "It's all right..."

Moving faster than her eyes can follow, he grasps her wrist before she can pull back from him. The look that passes over his face scares her, sending a chill down her back and turning her blood cold. But then it just as quickly passes, and his touch, which threatened to crush her wrist just a moment earlier, is soft and gentle, if still a bit firm.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, casually massaging her wrist. "It's that mistrust thing again."

This time she doesn't say it's okay, because she isn't sure it is. She can still feel the chill in her blood from the look that she saw flit across his face like a wisp of smoke. It was evil, and she won't easily forget it.

Pulling her hand from his grasp, she says a bit apprehensively, "I must get my things."

He releases her wrist and simply nods in agreement. "I'll start the meat." As an afterthought, he adds, "If you come across anything larger for the fire, bring it along."

"Sure," she hurriedly agrees, apprehensively turning her back to him, but wanting to be as a far from him as she can get as quickly as possible. She needs time to think, to sort things out. Everything is happening much too fast, and she feels uneasy with it.

She has only gone a few feet back the way from which they'd come when a terrible urge, maybe intuition, tells her to run. It is telling her to run as far and fast from this handsome man as her long, muscular legs can carry her. But she knows she won't. Something equally strong is telling her that it will be a futile effort. If he desires to, he will catch her before she can get very far, even if she continues eastward, the direction that normally perplexes most surface dwellers.

In this respect, she knows that she is definitely different from most surface dwellers. She has never felt at a loss when moving toward the eastern horizon, or in a northerly or southerly direction either, for that matter. It is a trait that she can't trace back to any specific origin. But on more than one occasion, it was a gift that had proven useful in keeping her alive and ahead of harmful pursuit. No one had to explain the dangers of traveling alone on the surface of Heälf, especially as a single woman. But the dangers are even more so when that woman is also a very attractive and desirable woman!

Although he hasn't said as much, she realizes that Horspaw is not a surface dweller. Her trait is unique. She has never met anyone before that can travel eastward that isn't from the subsurface. But like her, this trait alone isn't indicative of his heritage. Just because he has no compunctions about traveling in an easterly direction doesn't mean she can easily classify him as originating from the subsurface. There are other things also that set him apart. He possesses skills and abilities that are uncommon among surface dwellers. His knowledge and use of the long-knife, for instance, doesn't seem learned, but inbred. Only in the subsurface, where iron has always been abundant, were long-knives commonplace for a long time. But then, in retrospect, she hasn't divulged all of her abilities either. Moreover, with the newly opened gates allowing both subsurface and surface dwellers to move freely between the two habitats, people from the subsurface were becoming more commonplace on the surface. It also didn't help that she kept to herself, for the most part, shunning tribes completely unless she was in need of trading supplies. Because of this hermit lifestyle, she didn't meet many solo travelers like herself, who were much more likely to be from the subsurface than not. Surface dwellers usually traveled in tribes or large families, rarely solo.

For no apparent reason, there was something about him that told her not to trust him, and yet, she increasingly believed that her best chance of survival lay in staying with him and playing his game. There wasn't any viable reason for her to feel this way. He was just a man, after all. She'd been dealing with brutishly crude and sadistically cruel men her entire life. In all those dealings, she had learned a thing or two about them and how to deal with them so that she always held the upper hand.

So, what made this one different? What drew her to him on the one hand, and made her fear him on the other? He'd done nothing to warrant fearing, aside from an unexplainable expression, a simple look that passed quickly across his otherwise handsome features. It was nothing more than a simple slurring of his expressive face that could easily be explained away by the situation. And when she thought about it further, hadn't they both been startled? What crazy expression swept across her own face? What had he seen in her features? And could they just as easily have been misread?

Or was she afraid of him for completely different reasons than the obvious?

Her pack lay where he had placed it earlier while she lay unconscious. As she picked it up, she had a crazy feeling that it wasn't right. She suddenly realized that he had retrieved it for her. Almost frantically, she jerked it open and looked inside. Everything was intact, except the tin of tallow.

She sat down in a heap, the strength suddenly gone from her legs. She had watched him flaking off bits of tallow on the small heap of kindling and never even realized that it was her tin, taken from her pack without her permission! She felt violated, even though she knew it wasn't a serious offense. And did it really matter? He carried no supplies of his own that she could see. It was only natural to expect him to have gone through her pack while she was unconscious, familiarizing himself with the essentials. So why had the thought stunned her? Was she just overreacting to a little thing that could easily be explained away? And did she even want to upset him by asking him when he had taken her tin of tallow? There was no simple way of stating it without sounding accusatory, and she didn't want that. For reasons that she couldn't explain, she knew she couldn't afford to confront him! And yet, there was a time not that long ago when taking someone's tin, simply because of its composition, could have resulted in death.

Before turning back toward Horspaw, and the fine tendril of blue smoke that was just visible in the near distance, she reconsidered her options. Now that she'd had a moment to think without his presence to sway her, she didn't feel foolish, like that immature child experiencing a crush on an older tribe member. It had been her misfortune to be orphaned as a small child. She didn't have the luxury of role models to guide her or to teach her. She learned life's lessons on her own, surviving many through sheer luck and quick wits. But that was such a long time ago. All she was told was that she'd been born into a tribe of rebels, the offspring of a young slave woman. Unable to tend to the child, her mother had cast her into the jungle, a defenseless child in need of a mother's succoring. It was only through her good fortune that a small band of hunters stumbled across her almost lifeless body and took her back to their camp. A woman with her own newborn child was designated as a surrogate mother for her until she could be weaned. But the woman resented the unknown female child, and was determined that her own, a male, would not receive any less of her precious milk. Hence, Pena, the name given to her by the tribe's leader, grew sickly and weak, barely kept alive. If not for the tribe's leader, she would certainly not have survived.

Growing up was a daily ritual of abuse and torment from the other tribe members. But instead of remaining weak and spindly, the abuse forced her to grow strong and independent. When she had her first period, the tribe's leader, now an elderly man, made his intentions known; she would have his heir! He would impregnate her for the single purpose of making him a male child, someone to carry on after his demise. There was no love in his heart, only an ulterior motive; the foundation of all the resentment that Pena had felt growing up.

With understanding came determination. Before her first blood had ceased flowing, Pena procured a long-knife through thievery, along with several days' worth of food, and headed east, the only direction that she could be certain they would not follow after her.

She was surprised when the direction had no ill effects on her body. It was common knowledge among surface dwellers that an easterly direction of travel left one feeling disoriented and nauseous. Some even grew physically ill from going against their ingrained instincts. Since the planet was first colonized, the population was forced to travel westward, away from the rising sun. In the beginning, man had traveling machines and the fuel to run them. But when the host planet, Mother Earth, was the scene of a nuclear holocaust, all supplies ceased to arrive, and the colonists of Heälf were left to fend for themselves.

First, the stockpiles of fuel dwindled until only a few air ships remained flying. These few airworthy craft were designated strictly for government use and an established regimen of rescue missions. Early on, however, government dignitaries and wealthy traders and businessmen realized that the fuel wouldn't last forever and hastily built floating domains. The size and girth of each domain was evident in the wealth of the man behind the construction of it. Hence, this class of people was commonly referred to as the Wealthies by the less fortunate. Using behemoths and men on the surface that were tethered to the domains with strong ribbon like cables capable of slicing through the jungle canopy, the homes containing high officials and their families were towed along on huge bags of lighter-than-air gas.

When the fuel stores eventually ran dry, and there weren't any remaining parts to fix what aircraft were left, the general populace was forced to ground. It was a matter of continuing their westward movement or perishing. Unfortunately, the weaker inhabitants did just that, they perished. Others became the slaves of the stronger, more powerful. Capturing and indenturing slaves tethered to the surface, their homes floating safely above the jungle canopy. With their complement of servants and slaves, they were far removed from the daily atrocities that went on just a few hundred feet below them.

To maintain a large compliment of slaves, rebels started attacking the weaker tribes, selling the strong and healthy captives into slavery while killing the others. The more desirable men, women, and young children were brought aboard the floating domains as chattel to be used by their powerful owners anyway they desired. When they were physically used up or grew too old to be attractive, they were lowered to the surface and chained into a harness that was tethered to the domain, or simply thrown over the side as so much garbage. The less desirable, but still of child bearing age, were forced into sexual slavery upon the surface, often delivering heirs to the growing bands of rogues or replacements for the harnesses.

Along with human flesh, iron became a traded commodity worth more than life itself. Until the discovery of the subsurface and its iron-rich population, short-bladed skinning knives were the rule. Anything with a longer blade was considered an extravagance, a prize worthy of dying to obtain. When long-knives first appeared on the surface, they were extremely intimidating, as well as highly sought after. Many lives were lost, both in trying to keep the prized possessions, and by those trying to steal them. But when a man learned to use one, he immediately became worthy of obeisance, and most attempts at thievery resulted in the thief's loss of life.

Excepting the subsurface inhabitants that remained in the subsurface, the surface dwellers were still forced to continue their westward trek or die, and the ingrained instinct to survive was a strong one. Pena understood early on in her life that her lack of this westward instinct was truly a blessing and not a lack of survival instincts.

The instinct to survive is currently making itself known to her. She is fighting a strong urge to run, to put as much distance between herself and Horspaw as quickly as possible. But instead, she slings her pack over her shoulder, and heads back toward the growing column of smoke. Already, she can smell the meat cooking over the small fire, and her trepidation retreats even further. She hasn't eaten for almost a day, and her stomach is letting her know it. Along the way, she veers from her course to retrieve several larger pieces of dead branches that haven't molded away in the constant humidity, and drags them along behind her. When she breaks through the underbrush and comes into sight of the fire, Horspaw smiles disarmingly up at her. He is gently pushing small green twigs into the fire, being careful not to smother the delicately licking flames. The meat is hissing and spitting above the heat, the outer surface just barely turning brown. The smell brings a heavy flow of saliva into her mouth, forcing her to swallow it down. Adding to the enticing scent is an inviting scene. It exudes a warm, tranquil, domestic feeling, strongly drawing her in to its comforting embrace. There isn't any crazed creature waiting to disembowel her, Or a madman lusting after her tender flesh, ready to drop out of the canopy above her so that he can inflict evil and sadistic things upon her. There is absolutely nothing threatening about the situation at all. It is serene and comforting, very domestic.

Immediately, she reprimands herself for having thought that he could be dangerous, and that she had almost taken off running like a foolish child. How could she be so silly? He is, after all, just a man!

Nothing more than a very good-looking, vibrant young man. In fact, given time, she could learn many things from this man. She might even teach him a thing or two!

### **5**

Moving with an inborn sense of direction and grace, Loté moves swiftly through the jungle, meeting up with Rod and his small band just a short distance from their encampment. She quickly learns that he has already dispatched several men back to Keazar's lab aboard the floating domain with the deceased bodies that they found in the deserted camp. Her bag of bandages and salves will not be necessary; there aren't any survivors, only remains.

"Did you miss me?" Rod asks excitedly of her. When she hesitates in her reply, his jovial demeanor immediately turns serious and he studies her closer, noticing for the first time the pinched corners of her mouth and the worry lines creasing her forehead. Something has obviously upset her. Concerned, he caringly demands of her, "Is something wrong, my love? Is Nava all right?" The thought of something happening to Nava is suddenly more than he can bear. Anxiously, he asks, "Nothing has happened to him, has it?"

"No, no, everything is fine," she quickly reassures him, feeling her own degree of reassurance by his outward fatherly concern. His caring attitude has an immediate calming effect upon her. When she considers what has made her feel so anxious, she suddenly feels silly, fearing to tell him of her concerns because he might laugh at her. Smiling up at him, she lies, "Everything is fine. I was just worried for you."

"You should not have to worry for me," he gruffly replies, clearly pleased that she is. "I am sorry that we have no news, but there were no living among the corpses." Trying to add a little levity, he quickly adds, "It appears that Keazar will get to hear their stories before we do."

"That is okay, as long as I have you," she says huskily, her arms encircling his waist and drawing him nearer. "Maybe we can make our own news," she adds coyly.

They're lovemaking sessions had grown fewer and farther between since the birth of their son. Not because Rod didn't try, but because Loté's time and energy was always being spent chasing after the little one. She never has the strength left for anything as physical as sex. It is enough for her just to have quiet time with the man she loves; she can only hope that it is enough for him also.

"You will always have me," he whispers softly in her ear, silently wishing that he had sent everyone back to the floating domain with the bodies. But hence, they aren't alone, and once they return to camp they will be swamped with duties and responsibilities again, not the least of which is their little Nava.

Not wanting to release her, but understanding that they are being closely watched by the others, he says, "We must hurry back to my son. He grows into a man while we stand here fretting over what cannot be changed."

"Fane is looking after him. But I am certain that he misses his father." Rod believes that Fane is taking good care of their son and he trusts her completely. There isn't anything to cause him worry. Yet, knowing that their son is in good hands doesn't change the fact that he misses him, all the same.

With Loté in the lead, they hurriedly cover the short distance back to camp, where they are met by the rest of their party. Although Rod and his small group haven't been gone long, and they haven't brought back any survivors with which to share news and information, the reception is warm and high-spirited. The flagon of distilled spirits that Loté has taken for use as an antiseptic is quickly retrieved from her pack and passed around to all that are considered adult enough to partake of it. Rod foregoes the liquid spirits and instead heads straight to Nava, lifting him high above his head before settling him into his arms and securely embracing him. Loté's heart is warmed by the sight of her man and son. Yet, the chilling edge of her prior anxiety hasn't completely abated. Something unexplainable is still bothering her, niggling at the edge of her conscious thought. But as constant as it remains, so does her inability to grasp it, to explain it away.

"I told you he grows too fast. Already his is larger and heavier than when I left," Rod proudly bellows, holding his son high on his chest before swinging him above his head again. Nava kicks and screams delightedly, thoroughly enjoying the attention of his father. "It won't be much longer and I won't be able to lift him at all, much less above my head!" Nava screams even louder with pleasure, almost as if he understands his father's proud words.

Smiling, Loté looks on. All prior anxiety is washed away by the sight of her mate expressing so much love for their son. Rod notices the tension flowing from her face and smiles even broader. Clutching the child to his breast, he says cheerfully, "Come, let us find some food. It has been a long journey and we are all hungry."

Already, several women from the group are bringing forth trays laden with cooked meat and freshly dug roots. It is not a feast, but a hearty meal for hungry men. It will keep the meat on their bones and give them the necessary energy to continue westward.

Porg, a tall man in the process of losing the battle with obesity, holds the now empty flagon up and throws a wink toward Rod, clearly seeking his permission to fetch another. Rod only grunts his disapproval in return, nodding toward the trays of food instead. He is being careful not to upset the man, since he'd just accompanied him on the last jaunt and righteously deserved some small reward for having done so.

Porg shrugs nonchalantly and carelessly throws the empty flagon aside, not wanting to go against the man they all admire and respect as their leader. But his disappointment is quickly all but forgotten, as he reaches out with a large meaty hand, grasping spiritedly at one of the passing women's exposed buttocks. Because of his slightly inebriated state of mind, he underestimates the strength of his grip, eliciting a shrill cry of pain from the poor woman. She is not his woman, but instead, she is betrothed to one of the men that were sent back to Keazar's domain with the corpses they'd recovered. Because Rod sent her man on an errand, he feels a certain responsibility toward her, as he does the others that they'd set out from the domain with.

"Porg!" Rod loudly commands, not feeling it necessary to explain himself.

Sheepishly, grinning as though he has found his own behavior humorous, Porg glances over at Rod. If not for the fact that he has hogged down a generous portion of the distilled spirits, he would have noticed the serious tone in Rod's voice and cowered away. But because he drank so greedily of the flagon, he fails to realize the gravity of the situation. All that matters to him is the fact that the woman's mate is currently not present, and in his temporarily skewed vision, that makes her available for him.

Whether he is ignoring Rod's meaning or simply not understanding of it is debatable, as he reaches out toward the woman for a second time. Slurring his words, he defensively states, "We're just going to have a little fun, is all."

Angered, but not wanting to upset his son, he gently sets Nava down on his pudgy little legs that wobble with inexperience and gives him a gentle nudge toward Loté's outstretched arms. Oblivious of the serious situation unfolding around him, Nava stumbles laughingly into Loté's grasp.

Porg has been a troublesome irritant to him and the others for a long time, but he'd been tolerated because he was generally a good man to have around. He always carried his own weight and was quick to assist when someone needed help. Unfortunately, he was always the first to break out the spirits and the first to overindulge in them. And when he did, his personality and demeanor changed. When he was sober, he displayed deep feelings for others with much empathy for their individual plights. Often, he was overly generous with his own few possessions, giving away to the less fortunate what he really could not afford to part with. But after partaking of a few swallows of the distilled liquids, his own selfish needs quickly rose to the surface, dictating his actions.

Like everyone else that knows Porg, Rod has always tolerated him and his moments of indiscretion. But for reasons that he can't explain, this time he's had enough of Porg's boorish behavior, and he's not willing to tolerate it any longer. Whether he is feeling short with Porg is because he senses Loté's troubled mind and she has made it clear to him that she is unwilling to disclose the cause with him, or because the only bodies they found in the abandoned camp were beyond their simple medicines to cure, and there wouldn't be any fresh news or information to share over the campfire, he isn't really sure.

Also, he can't ignore the fact that the woman Porg was harassing is his responsibility, and as such, he will have to take some action on behalf of her absent mate. Stepping toward Porg, he says softly and yet firmly, "Go to your hut Porg, and leave the women alone! You can eat later, once you've found your manners. Until then, go!"

It was a clear and direct order. No state of inebriation could render his words unmistakable. Porg suddenly swings his fist toward him, moving faster than Rod expects him capable of in his current condition. He also moves faster than even he himself is capable of, thanks to his greedy consumption of the distilled liquids. Losing his balance, he sprawls forward, grunting loudly as he lands in a heap on the trampled vegetation at Rod's feet.

Suddenly feeling empathy for the drunken sloth, Rod bends down and grasps him beneath the shoulder, intending to help him to his feet. But Porg isn't done, the alcohol-instilled anger and fight is still boiling within his mind. Feeling Rod's touch beneath his shoulder, he viciously juts his head upward, connecting with a loud crack against the bottom of Rod's chin.

Loté gasps, her hand instinctively reaching for the long-knife that hangs casually draped over her left hip. But Rod is already moving upward, away from the full force of the impact with the top of Porg's skull. While his left hand slides away from Porg's shoulder, his right clenches into a fist and comes down with a thud at the base of Porg's neck, driving him unconscious to the ground.

Spinning away from the unconscious form, Rod spits red froth on the ground, instinctively clutching his tender jaw. "Damn, that hurt!" he swears at no one in particular before remembering his son Nava is still present, and bites off the rest of his vernacular.

Setting Nava down, Loté hurries to him, tenderly reaching out to inspect his jaw. With a grace and gentleness born of love, she works it open and shut before delivering her expert opinion. "It doesn't appear to be broken. Let me put some of Keazar's salve on it. If we can keep the joint from swelling it won't interfere with your eating and drinking."

The cut to his lip is inconsequential and has already stopped bleeding by the time Loté returns with the salve from her medical supplies. Although it isn't the potent stuff that they'd experienced in the tunnels of Heälf's subsurface so long ago, it is still an effective cure for almost every form of ailment from broken bones to near-lethal knife wounds. Its main difference lay in the fact that it doesn't have the potential to re-grow irreparably damaged organs or tissues. But according to Keazar, it is much easier to produce and remains viable for a much longer period of time, despite the high heat and humidity they will encounter on the surface. In the cooler and dryer climate of the subsurface, the more potent mixture is much more preferred. If they encounter anything too severe for the salve to be effective on, they will just have to return to Keazar's lab for recycling, which by now has become fairly commonplace.

Satisfied with her handy work, Loté stands back for a moment, studying his face for other bruises. Rod immediately turns back to the sluggishly stirring form of Porg and nods toward the nearest man, "Give me a hand with him. We'll put him on his mat and let him sleep it off. He'll wish he hadn't been so greedy with the spirits once he sobers."

The man quickly responds to Rod's request for assistance. His time on the planet's surface was one of slavery, starvation, and abuse until Rod and his friends came along. By defeating the evil Lord Balzar, they had almost single-handedly defeated the corruption and dictatorial hierarchy that once reigned. In its place, they are building a just and fair place for everyone to live. The rich wealthies are no longer allowed to own slaves, but instead, hire workers and pay fair wages with benefits. The recycling machines that were once controlled exclusively by and for the planet's leaders are now available to everyone, regardless of their station in life or their ability to pay. These are the start of better times, even though there will be bumps and hiccups along the way.

Keazar, the man responsible for advancing the recycling process to the fine art that it is today, has been an integral part of the rebuilding process. His keen insight into the inner workings of the human mind, mixed with an uncanny ability to assess outcomes of policies before implementing them has proven to be an invaluable asset to Rod. In fact, but for a few close contacts and friends, no one knows that Keazar is in all actuality the architect and designer of almost all of the new policies being put in place both above and below the surface. Rod is the icon and the voice that magnetizes the people, bringing them together and uniting them, but Keazar is the ultimate engineer and brains.

Grasping Porg beneath the arms, they literally drag him over to his makeshift bed of dry leaves covered with animal pelts. Unceremoniously, they drop him in the center of it. "I'll keep an eye on him until he sobers," the man assisting Rod softly offers. "He might be a bit cantankerous until then."

"Thanks," Rod replies, looking at the man for the first time and liking what he sees. "I'm sorry that I haven't taken the time before to get to know you."

"It's okay. I can see that you are a busy man with many responsibilities. The name is Lark," he quickly adds, self-consciously extending his right hand.

"My pleasure, Lark," Rod says gratefully. As an afterthought, he quickly adds before turning back toward the others, "Make sure you get something to eat before we break camp."

"I'll be alright," he reassuringly replies while settling himself down on the ground next to Lark's bed.

As he heads back toward Loté and the others, he wonders why he hasn't taken the time to familiarize himself with Lark before. Generally, he makes it a point to know the members of his groups intimately. It's an old survival trait that hasn't left him since the times of Lord Balzar and Lord Thar; two of the planet's vilest rulers since colonization, more than three thousand year's prior.

Lark is a middle-aged man, which suggests that he was born on the surface. It is common knowledge that most of the surface dwellers are still hesitant about being recycled, and as a rule, forego recycling until they are too old and decrepit to keep up with their respective tribes. Whereas, the subsurface peoples, on the other hand, are almost too quick to demand the services of the recycling centers. Long before they reach middle age, they will be in line for recycling, preferring to live in the prime of their life one hundred percent of the time. Recycling is a new phenomenon on the surface, while the Lords have been using it to keep their work forces alive and healthy in the subsurface for thousands of years.

In the early days of recycling, an almost complete corpse was required, and the entire process could take over a year from inception until release from the recycling chamber. The more initial material at the start of the process, as well as the severity of the cause of death, dictated the actual time involved in the process. In addition, everyone that was recycled, although reborn in the prime of their life, was reborn in a sterile state. Thanks to the devotion and resourcefulness of Keazar, recycling has advanced to the state where only enough material to obtain a complete DNA chain is required to recycle an individual. The time frame has been cut down to hours instead of months. And most importantly, for the sake of the human race, recyclees are reborn fertile, able to bear children. It is because of this giant breakthrough in the recycling process that allowed for Loté and Rod to have Nava. Although both were in perfect health at the time of this breakthrough, they quickly underwent the recycling process so they could have a child.

Upon seeing the relief on Loté's face, Rod quickly forgets about Lark. Nava is smiling and giggling his childish smiles, immune to the stress and rigors of adult life. Rod almost envies him his youthful naivety. Taking his son in his arms, he looks up at Loté and says, "As soon as we finish eating, we will be breaking camp."

"But you and the others have not had time to rest," she starts to protest, knowing that they hadn't stopped to rest on the return trail because they weren't escorting any sick or aged individuals. To set out on the journey so soon after their return would mean breaking camp just to set it back up again within a few hours when they needed to rest.

"It will be better if everyone has something to do for the next few hours," he quickly argues, not wanting to get more explicit than necessary in the presence of so many.

Understanding the reasoning behind his decision, she doesn't argue any further with him. Porg will be waking soon and he won't be sober yet. If they are busy tearing down the camp and getting ready to move, Porg won't have time to make trouble. Although she doesn't fully agree with him, because of the unsettling feelings that she'd experienced shortly before his return, she holds her tongue, deciding instead that it might indeed be better for all concerned, including her.

"Yes, you are probably right." Taking Nava from his father's embrace, she turns back toward their small hut. "I will start packing," she simply states, leaving Rod to finish his meal with the others. If there are others that don't agree with him, they are holding their collective tongues. Rod is their leader, and no one will openly disagree with anything he says, unless they are under the influence or otherwise bolstered.

Upon reaching the hut, she finds Nava's carrying pouch and puts him in it. Settling him on a thick fur hide, she carefully and purposely begins putting her various supplies into two large packs. One contains mostly medicines and treatments for use on the sick and dying that they will eventually encounter. The other contains spare weapons, tools, and a few food items. The latter are mostly for Nava's concern. Although Nava is eating most of what they eat, she still keeps a small stash of treats and nourishments aside for him, in addition to the occasional feeding from her breasts. Although she is no longer certain whether she allows him this treat for his sake, or that of her own, as the painful pressure continues to build despite having weaned him.

With the last of the items packed away, she looks around the makeshift shelter, suddenly feeling remorse at the thought of having to leave it all behind. It is crude and hastily thrown together, but it represents something much more, something that she hasn't even realized a need for until the birth of Nava. It represents her basic need for stability. Her entire adult life was spent traveling; first to stay ahead of the rising sun, and then in search of her missing parents. Until the last few months spent aboard Keazar's floating domain, she never realized what she was missing.

But she quickly dismisses the feelings. This is no time for sentiment. They have a duty to perform and they need to get on with it. Until they meet up with the next tribe or receive word of other castoffs, they will continue on their humanitarian mission. Furthermore, she will never complain about the continuing journey, or the drive within Rod that drives him forward, forcing him to continue with it. After all, it is because of his righteous ideology and his compassionate empathy toward his fellow man that first made her realize how much she loved him.

Back when the Heälf Air Services were still flying, Rod had been a pilot assigned to rescuing the sick and aged, society's castoffs. Heälf has always been a deadly planet, one that shows no mercy toward its inhabitants. When an individual can no longer keep up with his or her tribe, the tribe as a whole is forced to abandon them and leave them behind for the predators of the jungle. As cruel as this practice sounds, it is done strictly as a matter of survival for the majority. Conditions on Heälf's surface are much too cruel and unforgiving. Unless a tribe can stay ahead of the rising sun, it is doomed to perish. And a tribe cannot hope to stay ahead of the deadly inferno if it has to carry its sick and decrepit with it.

When Loté was a young child, her mother was mauled by a fierce predator that was brazen enough to attack their camp. Her mother was left paralyzed from the waist down, and her contributions to the tribe became very limited. It was only because of her father's high standing in the tribe, along with her own youthful strengths and abilities, were they allowed to keep her with them. And even then, they had the burden of carrying her weight, as well as her duties, without any assistance from the other tribe members. If it had been anyone else, they would have been forced to euthanize her and/or leave her behind for the scavengers and other creatures that eek their lives out of the inhospitable proximity to the eastern horizon. They would not have been given any alternative.

Unfortunately, even though the tribe made an exception in her mother's case, time took its toll, and her father grew old and frail, forcing Loté to carry both of their shares of the burden that were required as tribe members. When eventually she couldn't keep up any longer and they fell behind, the tribe was forced to abandon them. It was a sad day, but one that couldn't be avoided. The tribe came together, donating everything that might be of use to them, including a lot of things that were simply left as homage. This was followed by many tears and sorrowful goodbyes. When the tribe finally set off without them, they were left standing alone amidst mounds of food, water, broken tools, and other trinkets that were generally useless to their previous owners. In reality, it was little more than a sacrificial offering. Everyone understood that the three of them would soon be dead and the items consumed by the rising sun.

When the tribe had a good head start, they set off in pursuit, hoping to keep a minimal distance between them and their forsaken friends. Although they didn't want their prior tribe members knowing they were intent of remaining close behind, they didn't want to lose the little protection that came from their relative proximity. They left all the trinkets, broken tools, and most of the food behind, taking only what was absolutely necessary or of value. Still, they quickly fell behind, losing ground to the faster moving tribe, and eventually also, the protection of the tribe. In time, their concerns changed from that of roving bandits and rogues to the much more serious threat of facing the rising sun. Unless they found a way to increase their pace, they would eventually succumb to the climbing temperatures.

Loté had pretty much resigned herself to the fact that they were going to perish in the eastern fringe. They were pushing themselves as hard as they were physically capable of when they heard the rescue craft swiftly approaching from the southeast, flying low in the sky, barely above the jungle canopy. It was moving much faster than she remembered them ever flying, and knew immediately that something was different. The craft approaching was not on any ordinary rescue flight. As it drew nearer, she sadly realized that it was going much too fast to stop, as well as emitting a tortured screaming sound that she'd never heard one make before. When it flew over without slowing, she was saddened, but not surprised. Her family was resigned to their destiny and did not expect any help.

Within the cockpit of the failing craft, a short and one-sided argument was ensuing between the pilot and his co-pilot. Against his co-pilot's better judgment, and without any prior knowledge of the people struggling for their lives on the ground, Rod had determined that the small band of stragglers were their main priority, and that any distance they could carry them away from the eastern fringe was more than worth the risk. He didn't realize at the time that he was dooming them to crash on the surface, or that he had just sentenced his co-pilot to a horrible death. But even if he had known these risks or their ultimate inevitability, he wouldn't have done anything different. His job was to rescue those that were no longer capable of caring for themselves. It was irrelevant that he was only prolonging the inevitable for all of them.

Pulling hard on the controls, Rod spun the craft around and entered the only visible break in the jungle canopy, approximately two hundred feet above the surface. With a horrendous crashing, they clipped the protruding foliage and plunged to the rock-hard surface below. Before losing consciousness, Rod knew that his co-pilot and good friend was dead. When he awoke, still trapped in the wreckage, it was Loté he saw first. Despite the dire situation and loss of his best friend, he couldn't deny the immediate feelings of attraction that he felt toward her. And because he'd crashed in the jungle, his co-pilot dead, his craft a mangled mess of twisted metal, it was Loté and her parents that had come to his rescue instead of the other way around.

In the time that's passed since their first chance encounter, they have toppled corrupt empires, driven out evil dictators, and returned a sense of equality and justice to the people, both above and below the surface of Heälf. Although that was a long time ago, and neither the Air Services nor any of the rescue craft remain, Rod still feels the same strong sense of duty toward the less fortunate now as he did back then.

Picking up the pack containing medicines and bandages, she slings it over her right shoulder. Looking down at Nava, the child that her and Rod had conceived in their love, she smiles at his upturned face. After tightening the straps so the pack will ride without shifting and throwing her off-balance or causing chaffing and blistering, she leans over and grabs a loose strap from the other pack, the one that contains the spare weapons and food that Rod will carry, and drags it to the entrance. Turning back toward the smiling, upturned face of her son, she carefully leans over, balancing the weight of the pack on her upper shoulder blades. Using the weight of the pack on her back as a counterbalance, she scoops up Nava in his slinged-pouch and hugs him tightly to her chest while casting her arms through the straps. Tilting her head forward, her long, dark hair hiding his face, she kisses him softly through the strands. Although she can't see him, she hears him cooing and giggling at her touch and the happy prospect of riding with his mother. This was and always has been his most enjoyable thing to do. When Rod first fashioned the pack to wear on her chest instead of on her back like most mothers with infants, she had no idea how functional his creation would be. Of course, his creation added more overall weight for her to carry, but she'd never considered Nava a burden. Besides, the weight of the pack on her back was almost balanced out by his growing weight on her front, and by balancing the two weights, she was capable of carrying many more pounds than would otherwise be possible.

Pulling her hair back from his face, she quickly ties it up in a knot at the back of her head. It isn't stylish, but it is very practical. Moving to the entrance, she carefully lowers herself by bending at the knees and grasping the strap of Rod's pack. With it grasped tightly in her fingers, she heads out the door and into the diffused light cast from the equidistant twin moons. They are a safe distance from the eastern horizon and moving westward. Compared to the heat on Keazar's floating domain, which is as close to the eastern horizon as anyone can safely be, this climate is moderate and comfortable. Unless they push themselves, they probably won't even break into a sweat.

Seeing Rod coming toward her from the camp's center, she smiles at him. His belly is plump and he seems quite content, considering the disturbance with Porg just a short while earlier. His face lights up at the sight of her and Nava. Loté feels awash in his glow and she suddenly wants him, overcome with a strong need to be close and intimate with him.

Nava kicks his dangling legs, striking her sharply just below the ribcage, and she immediately remembers their place. As he reaches them, she lifts his pack and helps him into the straps. She purposely put more stuff in his pack, not because she begrudges him any hard feeling, but because he demands the larger share of their combined load. Shaking his broad shoulders, the straps settle into a comfortable place between his taut muscles.

Rubbing Nava's thin hair, he casually remarks, "We'll make good time if Porg doesn't slow us."

"Maybe you could send him back," she pensively remarks, not wanting anyone passing to overhear her.

"You know that would only humiliate him further. How would he explain himself back at the domain?" He hesitates a moment before adding, "He'll be fine once he sobers."

She forces a smile and jokingly says, "That's just like you, always concerned for the other, even when they bring their own embarrassment on themselves."

Others were already forming a line, getting ready to head out and looking toward Rod to take the lead. Although they only travel westward as a group, with Rod breaking off to the north or south when intuition dictates it, and then, he only takes a select few with him when he goes on these excursions, they always relegate Rod to the head of the column, the place of honor. Moreover, because they follow a constant westerly direction along the equatorial trail, it isn't important that everyone be ready to march at the same time, the laggards will eventually catch up with the rest.

Moving to the place of honor, smiling and nodding to everyone they pass, Rod does one last shake of his upper body to settle the load into position, and then starts off. It doesn't miss his notice that neither Porg nor Lark are in the first group. Although he didn't really expect to see Porg for a few days, since he will need time to sleep off the distilled spirits, and then he will be moving slow for a while, he is a little disappointed that Lark isn't among the main group. Loté, sensing his concern, gently whispers to his broad back, "I saw Lark putting Porg's gear together."

Rod understands immediately that Lark is hanging back to look after and possibly even share a little insight with Porg. Without having to be asked, the man had understood Rod's concern. They both realized that Porg wasn't a bad sort, just a bit misguided from time to time. Hopefully, with a little guidance from Lark, he will straighten himself out before he gets himself into something he can't handle.

With Rod leading and Loté close behind him, they make good time, moving easily on the overgrown trail that Rod manages to find in the dense growth. Although Loté would much rather have been in the lead cutting trail, as she possesses a natural ability to do so, she understands that for the others to maintain their respect for Rod as a leader, it is required that he take point. Besides, she has Nava to entertain and be entertained by, while Rod has the responsibility of concentrating on the trail and staying tuned in to their immediate surroundings. The group depends on his sharp eyes and quick reflexes to maintain a constant vigil for danger.

In addition, Rod is quick to notice broken trails that might lead to stragglers wondering away from the equatorial trail after falling behind their respective tribes. His is the ultimate decision as to whether the broken trails are worth pursuing or not, while all she is required to do is keep Nava quiet and content, which he does of his own accord. He is a wonderful baby, never crying or putting up a fuss. And with the carrier on her front, he can be fed without having to stop.

After almost two hours, Rod's sharp eyes and keen sense of smell recognize what turns out to be a small shallow pond, just a short distance from the main trail. Veering sharply to the right, they are abruptly standing on a moss-covered bank, the surface of the pond reflecting the surrounding vegetation without a ripple. This is the first body of water larger than a puddle of condensation from dripping leaves any of them have seen for a long time, since the planet's surface tends to be drier the farther east one ventures.

An excited outburst of happy cries and the sound of packs dropping to the ground erupts just an instant before Rod and Loté are literally pushed aside to make room for the more anxious of the group. Seeing no harm in it, Rod and Loté set their own packs to the side and withdraw Nava from his carrier. Although the child has no idea of what to expect, the surrounding laughter and shrill cries are contagious, and he is growing more excited by the second. Taking him from Loté's grasp and holding him high, Rod steps eagerly into the agitated water, the murky muck of the bottom already being stirred to the surface by the uncontrolled excitement of the others.

The pond is less than thirty feet across and barely three feet deep at its deepest. Holding Nava out in front of him, he settles down on his haunches, letting first Nava's feet, and then his legs slowly dip beneath the surface. Nava kicks out at the water excitedly, screaming with delight, as he experiences the sensation of water touching and caressing him. Although the water is tepid and muddy from all the activity, it feels delicious against their sweat-encrusted skin.

With extreme care and pride, Rod settles Nava's little body down on the soft mud of the bottom, the water rising to just above the child's chest. Loté steps around behind him and with a chunk of soap, sets into scrubbing his little back and head. Nava screams all the louder, his shrill voice adding to the merrymaking of the rest of the group. It is a wonderful moment; one that Rod wishes could go on forever. The feel of the mud between his toes, and the warmth of the water washing over his groin brings back a flood of memories; good memories of when he and Loté first met.

Although it was a trying time for both of them, they discovered something special in each other. Loté had just been separated from her parents, while Rod had just lost his closest friend in the crash of his rescue craft. It was the end of an era. Rod had no way of knowing that his was the last of the flying machines. But even though he hadn't known it at the time, he harbored no hope of ever flying again. All the pilots knew that theirs was a dying breed and that they weren't being replaced. It was common knowledge also that fuel and replacement parts were hard to come by.

And so it was, when he met Loté, he looked upon her as a potential mate that he could take care of, if she would have him. But after her initial reaction toward him at the pond shortly after her parents were carried off by the behemoth, he felt certain that there wasn't any hope of her ever coming to see things the way he wanted them to be. Her reaction to his advances left him no way of knowing that she cared as deeply for him as he did for her. Or at least, he didn't realize the depth of her feelings toward him until after they were separated in the subsurface, and he experienced the poignant guilt of having betrayed her trust in him.

Loté was also plagued by guilt, but not for the same reasons as he. Hers was more a feeling of loss and regret. She missed Rod terribly and regretted the way she had treated him prior to being separated from him. Until they were reunited, they could only trust that the other felt the same as they did. And when they finally did find each other, neither was disappointed.

Sitting in the warm water with Nava held securely in his grasp, these thoughts and more were flooding through his mind. Loté looked more beautiful than he could ever remember. Until this moment, he wouldn't have believed that he could be so deeply in love. His whole world was sitting in front of him, and he couldn't imagine ever losing either one of them. He would banish himself into the eastern fringe before he would let that happen.

### **6**

Within a short time, the meat is cooked to perfection, and they have both eaten more than their fill. With the fire smoldering lazily into ashes, they lay back on the thick bed of green moss and doze, each one content with the world for the moment. All prior thoughts of danger and anxiety having drifted from Pena's mind, she feels more relaxed and secure in Horspaw's presence than she can ever remember having felt before in her life. Certainly, she has never experienced anything so close to contentment before, and in that and of itself, she is suspicious.

Although Horspaw ate more than he should have, he isn't feeling sleepy. Lying back on the comfortably soft bed of moss, he pretends to doze, since that is what she expects of someone after such a filling meal. He can tell by her relaxed and contented expression that she has gotten past her earlier feelings of distrust and fear. Almost laughing out loud, he considers how easy it is to read her mind. Her eyes give away her feelings almost as straightforwardly as if she has spoken them aloud. And what thoughts she manages to conceal behind a forced mask, her body language gives up, betraying even her innermost desires.

Feeling cocky and confident, which is his normal disposition, he silently rolls onto his side so that he can study her more closely. His eyes graze the full length of her supine form, carefully examining every inch of exposed flesh. After reaching her feet and noting the heavy calluses they bear, his eyes change direction and start drifting back up the length of her calves. He takes note of their firm, well-rounded muscles, and how they tie seamlessly to the equally well-defined flesh of her thighs. A foreign longing to reach out and gently caress her taut skin swells up within his breast. When he realizes with great difficulty that he is unable to squelch the desire and banish it from his foremost thoughts, he quickly grows angry with himself. It is not in his genes to be so weak. His destiny is not this woman! There is only one woman upon this planet that he should be having such feelings and desires for, and this is not she! Only Loté is the exception. Only Loté should be eliciting such amorous feelings from his genetic fodder. And yet, he can't deny the hunger for this woman lying next to him as he feels it growing within his loins.

Slowly, he fights down the impulses and regains his composure, letting his eyes continue grazing along the gradual curve of her hips, following the softness of her flat tummy, the muscles well defined and firm. Lost in the moment of her beauty, his eyes continue onward, finally coming to rest upon her chest. For the longest time, his gaze remains transfixed on the rise and fall of her breasts as they moved seductively with each intake and exhalation of breath. A quickening of warmth flows into his groin, awakening the sleeping desires within. Without realizing that he is doing so, his right hand moves down to his manhood. Grasping it firmly in his strong hand, he squeezes it hard, savagely, immediately awakening himself to his actions.

Conscious of what he is doing and further angered by it, he viciously jerks himself, creating a sharp bolt of pain that rings loudly in his groin, rocketing up into the pit of his stomach. The action brings an abrupt end to his amorous urges.

Or so he believes.

Still, he is unable to take his eyes from her, and they remain a moment longer on her breasts, before slowly, inexorably, they move on to the fine curvature in the small apex of her throat. With mounting interest and an equally slow-boiling anger, his eyes come to rest upon her lips, their fullness drawing him back into the deep, dark well of turmoil and troubled emotions.

This shouldn't be happening to him! He is much too highly developed to be drawn in by such base emotions and desires. And yet, he is feeling less powerful to resist her by the moment. It is almost as if she is exerting some unnatural force over him, distorting his perception of reality.

Moving with extreme stealth, he slides alongside her. With a strength that belongs only to a genetically altered network of muscle and sinew, he quietly positions himself above her, balancing carefully on the tips of his fingers and toes. Carefully, ever so carefully, he lowers himself down until he is suspended just a mere fraction of an inch above her sleeping form. Her scent fills his nostrils, momentarily blocking out the scent of his one true quarry. His head rolls from side to side, absorbing the vision of her face so close to his own. For the first time since leaving the recycling apparatus, he faces uncertainty. He is torn by a dilemma that he hasn't been trained for, or so he believes.

Moving slowly, with uncanny ease and grace, he raises himself above her, gently planting a foot on either side of her torso. In one fluid movement, he rises to his full height, never taking his eyes from her tranquilly sleeping face.

"You will be mine," he whispers softly, his voice dripping with determination. "But not now. First, I will learn to control this strange power that you exert over me. It makes me weak and brings me to my knees. It leaves me vulnerable and susceptible to your wiles. But when I learn to control it, it will be the power by which I control you." Yet, he isn't sure whether he is trying to convince the sleeping beauty below him, or himself.

Almost as if sensing his presence over her and having heard his gentle whisperings, she stirs in her sleep. Quickly, he springs to the side, landing in a prone position on the exact spot where he had been lying earlier. If she had glanced over, she never would have suspected that he had moved.

But she purposely does not glance over at him. She doesn't want him to suspect that she may have heard his mutterings, even though she has. While feigning sleep, she felt his presence hovering just above her, though she doesn't understand how it could have been. Yet, she didn't dare open her eyes, or even so much as change the rhythm of her breathing. It has taken her most demanding flirtation to get his interest, she cannot afford to slack off now, or so she believes. Unfortunately, for Pena, by the time she understands the true meaning of his words it will be much too late.

When she heard him professing that she possessed some form of power over him, she wrongly assumes he means that he is falling in love with her. And while he is not the first man to profess his love for her, he is definitely the most promising. Unfortunately, she also misconstrued his true meaning when he stated that she would eventually be his. In her naivety, she assumes he means that she will be his mate. To her ultimate dismay, she will come to learn the true meaning of being a possession of Horspaw's, and when that day comes, she will not only dislike it, but she will also rue it.

Their rest is abruptly ended by the sound of many feet moving through the underbrush. Horspaw is the first to shake off his illusion of sleep, his thoughts regarding Pena still muddled and confused. But there isn't time to consider them further.

"Pena," he hisses.

She is already rising, the long-knife suddenly appearing in her hand.

"Scavengers," she whispers back, standing at the ready. "They are drawn by the scent of fresh blood."

Grabbing his pack, he hurriedly instructs her, "Follow me."

Although a pack of scavengers isn't much of a threat to them, a confrontation will only prove fruitless. There is nothing to be gained by killing scavengers except running the risk of being injured. Even a slight scratch from one of the unholy, filthy beasts could lead to infection, and eventually to a much more serious situation. And even though almost all of Heälf's inhabitants are aware of recycling and what it means to an individual, Pena has never personally undergone the process. Unlike most, she remains leery and distrusting of the whole notion. It has done nothing to ease her healthy fear of death or the dying process. To her, dead is dead. She would be surprised to learn that Horspaw feels exactly the same way, even if for entirely different reasons.

Without hesitation, she quickly falls in behind him, content for the moment with being led. He is a strong, intelligent man, and she is drawn to him for many reasons, not the least of which is physical. She isn't a virgin, far from it. But she isn't as promiscuous with her body as most of the women she's met in her travels. In her experiences, most were only interested in catching a man, a provider and protector, someone that will look after them. They advertise themselves by using their bodies to please prospective males, most of which have little interest or desire to be saddled with a woman beyond the immediate gratification they can provide.

Pena has always fancied herself as better than that. She only regards men when she is in the mood or need of their services, and then, it is always on her terms. She never desires to be with a man for longer than it takes to slake the passing need. Instead, they are generally viewed as rivals, competing for the same things that she herself desires.

But Horspaw is different. She feels an unfamiliar longing deep within her belly to have him, to be his mate, and even to bear his children. No man has ever elicited such deep feelings from her before, and she is uncertain as to how to act on them. For, although these feelings she is experiencing are foreign to her and of an overwhelming intensity, she must keep a tight grip on her emotions; she can never allow herself to act irrationally.

Horspaw moves nimbly through the undergrowth, quickly putting a safe distance between them and the carcass of the dead beast. It is a safe assumption that the scavengers haven't even realized that there are humans in the vicinity, their anxiety only fueled by the cloying scent of warm blood. It is taxing on Pena's strong, muscular legs just to keep pace with him. Yet, she strongly suspects that he knows exactly what she is capable of physically and is pushing her to her limits. While he isn't even breathing hard from the exertion, she is gasping in large mouthfuls of hot air, her bronze skin glistening with sweat. She has never felt so taxed by another human, not even a man. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wonders if he really is human.

But her thoughts don't dwell on the impossible or improbable for more than a moment before turning to more real concerns. Tired though she is, she studies his muscular frame and sinewy limbs with growing interest. Despite the ease with which he moves through the dense undergrowth, his muscles are pumped up with blood and energy, their presence more sharply defined. He is becoming more beautiful in her eyes with each sharp intake of breath, until she isn't certain whether her shortness of breath stems from her own physical exertion or just the sight of his body so near to her own. She has never desired a man so physically before. A warm wetness glistens between her thighs.

They are far enough from the scavengers that they don't need to worry about being discovered, and yet, Horspaw pushes on, leading the exhausted Pena forward. It is almost as if he is on a mission, as if he is being driven forward by an unseen force. Or rather, he isn't being driven at all, but instead, he is being drawn forward, lured toward an unknown destination that only he can see.

However, Pena is only vaguely aware of these disturbing thoughts fleeting through her consciousness. Unfortunately for her, she is too preoccupied at the moment with simply trying to keep up with him to give them any merit. And just when she is certain that she can't take another step forward, he abruptly stops.

Standing like a statue, he sniffs the air for a long moment, turning his head first one way and then another until he is satisfied that they are alone. Unable to remain upright any longer, Pena sags to her trembling knees before collapsing in a heap on a thick blanket of green moss. Under normal circumstances, she would have been embarrassed and humiliated to act this way in front of another. Showing weakness went against her entire being. And yet, she is too tired to care. If he wants to show off his prowess by outrunning her, then so be it! She is much too confident in her many other abilities to let on that she can be so easily humbled.

"Rest," he says calmly, his breathing steady and relaxed. "I'll be right back."

He drops his pack next to her panting face and then quickly disappears into the undergrowth surrounding them. Within moments, her breathing stabilizes and she pushes herself up into a sitting position. For the first time since meeting him, she studies the pack that he's left with her. It has been hastily fashioned from the skin of the dead beast's carcass and, without having to inspect it further, she realizes that it contains nothing more than the lean strips of meat that he'd freshly rendered from the dead carcass. She had been there at the time watching him, studying how deftly he had used one of his many knives to quickly do the deed. She remembers also, how vividly his ease and lack of effort had impressed her. These are just the kind of traits that prove he will be a good provider, if she were interested. But at the moment, she isn't, or so she hastily reminds herself. She can take care of herself; she is not in the market for a provider, or anything else!

It isn't what the pack contains that sparks her interest though. Rather, it is what the pack doesn't contain that starts her thinking; everything a man should be carrying for simple survival on the planet's surface is missing! Although Horspaw appears clean, exceptionally free of sores and pimples, he doesn't carry any of the usual toiletry items that most men carry. Even the disgusting rogues that she'd had the misfortune of running across carried some basic items related to hygiene. It is simply hard to believe that he keeps himself as neat as he does with something so basic as a hunk of tallow. If this were the case, she should at least see the telltale signs of such. Nowhere on his beautiful body were there any telltale signs of thick tallow deposits that he'd missed when scrubbing his skin, or the usual stench of decaying fat, sometimes masked by using wild blossoms or herbs, depending on your personal preference. It is almost as if he were just naturally pure and clean, free of impurities and sickness.

Pena is suddenly torn between the warm and caring emotions that she feels developing toward this strong, handsome man, and the more sinister feelings of suspicion. Something isn't quite right about him, and yet, the only thing she can put her finger on is the uneasy sense that he is too good. Not too good for her; no man was that good! But he is too good to be true.

Everyone that survives on the surface needs a few basic essentials to ease life's little bumps. Her own kit consists of a few simple items that include a whetstone for sharpening her weapons, eating utensils, the all-important water flagon, and several small keepsakes that she knows aren't necessary weight, but doesn't have the heart to abandon.

Horspaw has none of these items. If he is thirsty, he has to find available water. If he is hungry, he has to find an immediate source of food. If his blade grows dull, he has to find an appropriate stone with which to sharpen it. And most importantly, if he is lonely, he has to comfort himself with only the memories he carries in his head.

At this last thought, a small pang of concern tugs at her heartstrings. Maybe she would do well to heed from his example. Were the small trinkets necessary to her survival, to her existence as a human? Or were they simply dead weight, weighing her down and keeping her from moving forward as quickly as she should.

She rolls up into a sitting position and reaches around for her pack. Horspaw will be gone for only a few moments and she wants to be done before he returns. Although she shouldn't care what he thinks, she can't help herself; she does care! And she doesn't want him seeing her discard the nonessential trinkets and keepsakes from her pack.

Pulling the drawstring loose, she dumps out the contents in a heap before her. Starting with the most important items, she hastily drops them back into the sack. The first items are the whetstones, followed quickly by a roll of bandaging material and a rusted metal container of thick salve. She no longer remembers how she came by the container of salve, but what precious little remains, she values highly.

In another container of approximately twice the size of the one containing the salve, she has a small stash of thick grease. This she uses for keeping her blades from rusting in the high humidity of the planet's surface. She also uses this for scrubbing the lice from her hair as well as the rest of her body and intimate areas when needed. It adds necessary moisture to her skin, leaving it clean and smooth. Whenever the opportunity arises, she replenishes its contents with the drippings from well-marbled meat rendered over a low fire, the meat preferably that of a behemoth. But behemoth meat is scarce, and she will use the tallow from whatever she is eating at the time if her tin is low.

The next item she selects from the few remaining items scattered on the moss in front of her is a small, bright red stone. Its surface is smooth and polished, casting the moon's reflection in an almost eerie fashion, very reminiscent of fresh blood. As she studies it, rubbing it warmly in her right hand, it appears that the red turns more burgundy in color, changing from the warmth of her touch. It grows richer, deeper, almost translucent, and the surface begins to swirl between her fingers. The memory of the time and place where she acquired the treasure springs to life in her mind. It came from deep beneath the planet's surface, where few dare to travel alone.

An ancient, misshapen man clothed only in his filthy skin rendered it to her when she assisted him across a narrow bridge spanning a wide chasm. The bridge swayed as if in an unseen or unfelt breeze, making it impossible for the frail old traveler to safely cross. It seemed like a trivial thing at the time, both the deed and the token. If she had not been scouting a fissure that eventually led her miles beneath the surface, she would not have become lost, and ultimately would not have needed the old man's help in finding her way back. But she didn't divulge her own plight to the ancient traveler; she simply assisted him, and then inquired of his knowledge with respect to the surface. If he sensed her distress in her words or demeanor, he made no show of it. Instead, he gave her the stone and apologized for having taken her so far out of her way. With that, Pena understood. She accepted the stone, and turned back the way she had come. Once she was back across the bridge, the stone glowed warmly in her grasp and tugged at her, almost as if trying to lead her. She can't explain the sensation she felt because it is physically impossible for a stone to pull a person in any given direction, but that is the most explicit she can be when describing the feeling, or even remembering it.

The stone led her back to the surface and ultimately to safety. It has never reacted in the same way since. Yet, she has been unwilling to part with it, almost as if it hasn't really fulfilled its ultimate destiny for her. When that time comes, she will know it, and she will in turn pass it on to someone that needs its guidance. Carefully, she drops the stone back into the pack, noting for an instant how the gloom in the bottom parts as if liquid. Not willing to give it more thought for the time being, she discounts it as a trick on her eyes.

Before she can consider the next item, she hears Horspaw returning. In a flourish, she scoops up the last couple of items and drops them back into the pack with the stone. For a moment, as they slip from her grasp, she wonders at how silly she is behaving. Just because Horspaw doesn't have any mementos or tokens from his past, why does she feel that she shouldn't?

"You are rested?" he asks, studying her almost quizzically.

Not wanting to let him think that she might be a liability, she blurts out, her voice tinged with just a hint of anger, "I'm fine."

"Good. We must be going," he replies, not acknowledging her tone of voice, if he even picked up on it. She is not sure, and wishes she had been more careful.

Getting stiffly to her feet, she mumbles, "What's the rush?"

Instead of answering her, he scoops up the packs and hands hers to her, keeping the one filled with fresh meat for himself.

She has no doubt that he heard her. But realizing that he isn't going to comment, she indifferently leans forward, lithely stretching the stiffness from the backs of her thighs and lower back. She is acutely aware that he is watching her intently, studying her femininity with a scrutinizing eye. But unlike in the past, when other men had looked at her in such a way and she had found it disgusting and humiliating, this time she discovers that she likes the attention he is giving her. There is an unmistakable glint of lust in his eyes; a look she has seen many times before. Only this time, to her amazement, she discovers that it pleases her.

With a little extra effort, she languishes her long, supple limbs, literally posing for his benefit without making it obvious of what she is doing, purposely not turning to meet his gaze. Slowly she straightens, cocking her head slightly to the side to catch a glimpse of him behind her. Too hurriedly, he looks away, averting his eyes and acting distracted with his pack of meat. To Pena, it appears to be a normal mating ritual, the dance of lovers. Yet, she can't understand why he doesn't just take her. It is more than obvious to her that he wants her. And although he is not aware of it, she has conceded to the eventuality that if he advances upon her, she will willingly give in to him. Even if neither is willing to admit it just yet, they want each other, and it is just a matter of time before they consume each other with their pent up lust.

Without a word, he takes the lead, darting quickly into the surrounding vegetation and disappearing from her sight. She stands still a moment longer, looking after the place where he has gone. A diminutive smile turns up the corners of her full lips. Without realizing that she is doing so, she touches herself gently between the thighs, feeling the moistness that he has stirred in her. With renewed energy and excitement, she slings the pack over her shoulder and hurries off after him.

Horspaw has only gone a few feet when he realizes that she isn't directly behind him. A momentary pang of loss and disorientation wash through him. But he quickly reprimands himself for having such weak feelings. He is Horspaw! The future of Heälf is his destiny. He doesn't have time for such failings!

Instead of breaking stride and slowing so that she can overtake him, he increases his pace, lengthening the distance between them until he is certain that she is too far behind to hear or see him ahead of her.

But even then, he doesn't slow. Instead, he gradually increases his pace even more. For reasons that he cannot comprehend, he suddenly regrets having allowed her to stay with him. His life would be tremendously less complicated if he had just taken her and sated his physical desires before killing her and abandoning the body.

Before this last thought can even fully form in his conscious mind, he stumbles, a first for the surefooted Horspaw. Although it is difficult for him to admit, she has gotten to him.

Pulling up short, he leans over with his hands braced on his knees and moans aloud from the physical pain behind his breast. It is genetically impossible for him to feel anything for anyone but himself. And yet, he suddenly longs for and misses this woman that he's just met. He misses her immediate presence, the soft glistening of sweat on her firm flesh, and the coy sound of her voice. But even worse, he discovers how acutely he misses the sensual sweetness of her scent in the air, and the way it playfully tickles his senses, secretly igniting the desire in his loins. In fact, when he reminisces on her scent, he all but forgets about that of Loté, which has been genetically written into his physical makeup.

But how can that be?

He is not capable of love! His existence has but one goal, one mission to achieve before his eventual demise. There isn't any recycling in his future. When he succeeds in his one mission, his life is done, his destiny fulfilled.

And yet, here is Pena! What is her role in his destiny? How can she possibly fit into his preordained future?

Plagued with questions and confusion, he is further startled by Pena's sudden appearance just a few short feet away. Rising to his full height, he turns toward her, his face masking the turmoil beneath. Ashamed of the way he has been acting, he feels a moment of remorse and wants to be kind, to apologize for leaving her behind.

Instead, he demands, "You must push yourself harder if you're going to keep up or I will be forced to leave you behind."

Short of breath, she drops to her knees and defensively gasps, "Why do you push so hard? Where are we going that there is so little time to get there?"

"You ask too many questions," he snaps overly harshly at her. He is surprised that someone is questioning his actions, but even more surprised at the anger that he feels toward himself for speaking so harshly to her.

"If you want me to travel with you, then at least tell me where we are going. No one travels east without a cause. I ask only what that cause is and why you are in such a hurry." She pauses for a moment, her breathing stabilizing. "If you are looking for someone, you would just have to wait here for them to arrive." And then, without thinking, she sarcastically adds, " Or are you too new to the surface to realize that yet?"

The words are out of her mouth and it is too late to grab them back, though she regrets her brash demeanor immediately. She also regrets letting on that she has figured out that he is from the subsurface.

"I am more than aware of that," he starts, undecided as to whether he should be offended by her impunity, or finally admit to himself that he actually admires her spunk. He suddenly wants to open up and be honest with her, to tell her of his mission. And yet, he knows that he cannot. "Come, we must get going," he says quickly, his voice dropping off as he turns back in the direction they are going.

"Wait!" she suddenly cries out, the tone of her voice stopping him in his tracks. She wants to demand so much of him, and yet, she realizes that she doesn't have any right to know anymore than she already does. He agreed to allow her to join him. But she is free to go her own way, or so she still believes. She is not his prisoner, at least, not in the usual sense of the word. Yet, she knows that she cannot turn away from him.

Slowly, he turns back to face her. There is a fresh tear escaping from the corner of her eye. The fiery anger that had flared up so quickly is suddenly quenched by this single tear, and his heart misses a beat. He suddenly realizes that when he hurts her, he hurts himself even more deeply.

Fighting back tears, Pena humbly apologizes. "I'm sorry," she softly mumbles, unaware of Horspaw's keen sense of hearing, or the effect that her pain is having on him.

"It's alright," he says equally softly. Moving fluidly, he is suddenly standing beside her. Just as suddenly, he is on his knees. Reaching out, he tenderly places a hand on her shoulder. He is surprised and confused by the flood of emotions that sweep through him. But before he can pull away, she turns to him and wraps her arms around him, pulling herself hard against his body.

Slowly, with the scent of her filling his nostrils, his head reeling, he puts his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace. She is soft and pliable beneath his touch, melding into the curves of his muscular body. Never before has he wanted so desperately to protect something or someone. He feels a tremendous desire to succor her, to comfort her, to alleviate all of her pain. In the blink of an eye, Horspaw realizes that he is in love, and he quickly pushes her away from him and lunges to his feet.

"No!" he blurts out, torn and confused by his newly discovered emotions. And then, gaining control of his emotions, he softly adds, "I am sorry, but I cannot."

Her eyes plead with him for an explanation. Weakly, she demands of him, "Why?"

More confused than ever, Horspaw wants desperately to tell her why he is here. There is a burning need to explain himself to her, to explain his origins and even his destiny. But he understands on some deep level of his being that he cannot. He must not! There are greater forces at work than even he is capable of comprehending or controlling. Eventually, though, he will have to make a decision. He will be forced to choose between this beautiful woman and the destiny that he had no say in construing.

He knows this with the same surety that he knows the rest of his destiny. But the time is not yet right. Too much is happening too fast, and his head is spinning crazily, leaving him dizzy and confused.

Looking away from her eyes before he can be drawn into their bottomless depths and become lost forever, he says, "I cannot explain what I must do. Not yet. But you are welcome to come along with me or go your own way. The choice is yours."

And for the first time since they'd met, he means what he says. This time the choice is truly hers and hers alone! If she chooses to turn and walk away, he will let her go.

The words haven't even left his lips and he is suddenly overcome with worry that she might decide to go her own way. He won't blame her if she does, after the way he'd just treated her. But he secretly suspects that she won't. His feelings toward her are being reciprocated. Although he is confused and disoriented in her presence, he still possesses enough of his wits to realize that he isn't the only one feeling this way.

She realizes that the time for questions is over. He has just given her an ultimatum. He has given her the choice of staying with him, and keeping her questions to herself for the time being, or going her own way. She has no doubt that he will tell her what he can when he can.

There is never a moment of doubt as to what she will do. "Just don't go so fast that I can't keep up," she says with a pouting grin.

As he turns to go, she glimpses just the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. She missed the silent sigh of relief that slipped through his pursed lips, but she isn't missing the new bounce to his step. And, although Horspaw doesn't realize it yet, he will eventually learn that she is willing to follow him straight into the eastern fringe, if that is where he leads her.

But Horspaw has no intention of going into the eastern fringe. His intentions are simply to go as far as it takes to find his quarry. And now, more than ever, he wants to find her and fulfill his quest so that he can get on with his life. Until he met Pena, there had been nothing in his destiny beyond finding Loté and fulfilling his genetic obligation to Lord Balzar. All that has just dramatically changed. And although he is still destined to find Loté and do with her what Lord Balzar only obsessed doing, one thing remains the same, despite learning that he is capable of love, he is still incarnate evil. Loté must still pay for her humiliating treatment of Lord Balzar. Although Horspaw doesn't understand why he is destined to wreak such horrific destruction on one individual, he has never questioned it.

Until now!

Even though it is his ultimate purpose and sole reason for having been created, a crack has erupted in Lord Balzar's finely honed plan. Regarding Horspaw's purpose, nothing has changed. He will not die before fulfilling his preordained destiny! He will kill any and all that stand in his way. Then, and only then, will he take Pena into his heart, letting her feel all the passion contained therein. But now, Horspaw is wondering to what purpose his destiny serves. Surely, it does nothing in the way of enhancing his life upon this planet.

Love. It is a strange thing, an alien force that Lord Balzar had not intentionally fostered in his prodigy of evil. Where there should have been room only for hate, death, and ultimate destruction, a seed of hope is growing. It gives Horspaw a glow, a new purpose in his existence.

Yet, it is a glow very unlike that of the heat and light emanating along the eastern horizon. This is a glow of warmth that doesn't burn and terrorize or instill fear. Instead, it draws a warmness of likeness, a kinship that guards and protects. Lord Balzar would have been disgustingly disappointed to learn of these feelings growing in his creation. If he could have predicted such a dour outcome, he would have terminated the project immediately. But he had no way of knowing. No one did! All the world had blithely assumed the same thing, and that was basically that Lord Balzar's being didn't have the capacity for any other sentiment beyond evil. His was a body wholly possessed of nothing more.

Yet, Horspaw isn't concerned with what Lord Balzar would be doing if he were alive and aware of what was happening to his beloved prodigy. His main reason for being hadn't changed, and he wouldn't allow his newly discovered feelings toward Pena to get in the way of his ultimate purpose. In this respect, Lord Balzar had not failed. Horspaw is first and foremost a killer. He is an evilly superior being of egotistical, mind shattering destruction. He will not become distracted by a small dose of humanity. A much larger dose of Lord Balzar rules him. In this, Horspaw has no choice, even if he thinks otherwise!

### **7**

While some continue to linger in the cloying water, enjoying the warm cleansing action of the soothing liquid over their sweat-drenched bodies, others move lazily ahead to a recently abandoned campsite that the lead scout came across while foraging. Although it has been vacated less than two Earth days prior, it is already heavily overgrown with vines and sprouting saplings. But because the new growth is fresh and tender, it takes little time for the first men overtaking the scout to hack it back with their long-knives and clear a useable area.

The first women to arrive quickly set to work building a central fire and collecting a supply of reasonably dry vegetation to keep it going. Fire is the only sure way to keep the jungle's predators at bay, at least, the non-human variety of predators. Within a short time, the smell of cooking meat and boiling roots draw even the most stubborn stragglers from the delicious comfort of the water. It is a quick lunch, since it has been just mere hours since resuming their westward journey. The water was a temporary distraction, a chance to cleanse the body and enjoy each other's company. Although their mission is strictly one of mercy with a definite agenda, they are not on a timetable. In addition, Rod wants those that are coming along behind them to have a chance to overtake the main party before he finds it necessary to deviate from the main equatorial trail again. With so many of their main party already spread out along the trail behind them, he doesn't feel he can safely split the group into any smaller factions. If he follows spore leading away from the main trail now, he will be forced to leave too small a number of people behind as lookouts for their own safety. Such a small group will be much too vulnerable to both predators and rogues.

He silently wishes that the stragglers will hurry, and that those sent back earlier with the first remains don't dally on their return. But he knows that won't be the case. None of them has any reason to hurry. They are all volunteers. Most joined the expedition simply because it gave them a legitimate excuse to get away from Keazar's floating domain. It gave them a chance to get some 'downtime' on the surface so they can reconnect with their roots. As much as everyone loves Keazar, both above and below the planet's surface, after a while, some time away from the man becomes a necessity. His gregarious personality and unreserved hospitality eventually becomes more than anyone can bear.

Before sitting down to eat, Loté wedges the carrier containing Nava between her and Rod's packs so that Nava's head rests comfortably against a soft roll of animal hide that protrudes from the top of Rod's pack. Because Rod doesn't want anyone to eavesdrop on his and Loté's conversation, he makes a point of waiting to get their food until everyone else has taken theirs and chosen their individual places in the clearing. When the rest are settled in with their food, in either small groups or individually, he fetches enough for both Loté and himself before leading her to a small alcove-like space in the dense foliage adjacent to the larger clearing. It is important to him that no one know what he is thinking until after he has a chance to discuss it with his love.

With Nava sleeping comfortably between them, Rod leans over to voice his concerns to Loté so that only she can hear him. Before he can say anything, however, Loté says firmly to him, "You have something on your mind. Everyone can see it as plainly as myself. They are giving you the space you want out of respect. In the future, you would be wise not to disrespect their trust and loyalty so openly."

"I suspected as much," he answers lightly, inwardly disappointed that he is so easy to read. "Should I stand up and apologize for my insensitivity?" Instead of responding to his sarcasm, she waits in silence for him to continue. His manner turns serious, almost angry, as he gets to the point. "I found a fresh trail leading from the pond, heading due south."

"Then you should send a scout to investigate," she replies rather coolly and matter-of-factly, feeding off his temperament.

"It's not that easy," he says softly, glancing around to assure himself that there aren't any ears leaning too close in their direction. Although he trusts every member in the party, his angry pride won't let him openly admit it to Loté.

"Why. What is different this time from all the other times?" she asks in a more serious tone, her interest suddenly piqued.

"Several things," he says, hoping to fuel her interest further and thereby win her confidence back. When she only looks back at him, waiting patiently for him to continue, he begrudgingly continues, "The sign is not like any that would be made by an old or frail individual. It is much more discreet. It has all the earmarks of an experienced scout." He hesitates a moment before adding, "But what makes it unique to any other sign we've come across is that it doesn't just branch away from the trail. The maker of this track came to the trail from the southwest, and he was in search of something before heading back in almost the same direction from whence he came, but only slightly sharper toward the west."

"The sign leads to the trail, and then back the way it came, which is out of the southwest? But who would make such a trail and why? What could they be looking for? And where could they have come from?" she suddenly blurts, unable to control her excitement, while her anger at him is instantly forgotten.

"I have a couple of ideas, but nothing definite," he says, scowling at her raised voice.

He can see by her anxious expression that she is growing increasingly impatient with his pauses. But he doesn't want to rush his news and overlook something obvious. Besides, he is thoroughly enjoying having her undivided attention. It is the first time in a long time that Nava isn't all they talk about or share.

"We both know that there are slavers working along the main trail. They are difficult for Layton and his men to find because they retreat to floating domains moving parallel to the equatorial trail." He pauses to swallow, knowing that he doesn't have to explain to her about Layton being commissioned by the new governing body of Heälf to organize an army of good and righteous men, their primary mission or directive being to ferret out the remaining followers of the old hierarchy and dispose of them. Their secondary directive is to restore justice to all of Heälf's inhabitants, both above and below the surface. It is quite an undertaking, but both Keazar and Rod firmly believe that if anyone is capable of carrying it off, it is the remarkable Layton. He is a very charismatic leader of men with a strong moral compass. Unfortunately, the majority of his time is still being spent recruiting and organizing men that he can rely on and are truly loyal to the cause. Despite the logistical problems that he's encountering, his efforts are being felt in a positive way throughout all of Heälf.

Unable to contain her enthusiasm, Loté quickly suggests, "Then we should send a man back to Keazar with word of this position so that Layton can look into it." Sounding more defensive and demanding than she'd intended, she just as quickly falls silent. But even before she finishes speaking, she realizes why it is so important to him to apprise her of the trail he's discovered before making the news public to the other members of their party. A cold chill creeps into her bones and her blood suddenly runs cold despite the high heat and higher humidity. It is suddenly all she can do not to scream out for him to stop thinking such nonsense. Although she has momentarily forgotten that Nava is sleeping quietly between them, she wonders if he has forgotten that they even have a child!

"There isn't time for that," he says softly, trying to calm the storm that he can see mounting behind her beautiful features. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt her. It pains him to see her features growing taut with fear and anger.

"Why? Why do you have to save the world and everyone in it?" she demands of him, her voice rising uncontrollably with her growing anger.

"By the time Layton gets the message and either comes with a force of men or sends someone to investigate, they'll be long gone. It'll just be another wisp of vanishing smoke like all the others. This is our first true grasp at something more tangible. They might finally be within our reach, Loté."

"But we are just a small group. We've already sent several men back to Keazar, and others are straggling far behind because of Porg," she argues, looking anxiously into his eyes for some sign that he might relent. Yet, she knows him too well to think he might give in once his mind is made up.

With mounting anxiety, she realizes that there is only one other weapon to use on him, and although she doesn't want to resort to it, if it will make him change his mind and back down from this precarious slope that he's put himself on, then she is left with no other choice. Taking a deep breath, she plunges in after him, "You can't possibly want to subject Nava to such danger!"

"Of course not!" he replies, his own anger flaring at the thought that she could even think such a thing. "I would never willingly put him in danger!"

"If you leave him here with so few to protect him, you'll be doing just that!"

She has a strong point, one that he can't argue against without appearing selfish. There are many dangers lurking within the jungle that only sheer numbers can protect against. His group is already scattered throughout the jungle for miles behind him, in addition to the men that he sent back with the remains they'd found earlier. Moreover, no one knows for sure how the orange pills will react in such small bodies as those of the children. Even in some adults, their effect is not what's expected, and they fail to ease the physical pain or mental anguish attributed with traveling eastward. By sending the women and children back to Keazar's labs, everyone will have to take the orange pills, including the children.

"Then I won't leave him here," he says as calmly as possible, his mind racing. Desperately, thinking fast, he tries coming up with a way that will allow him to pursue the rebel domain while not subjecting Nava to any undue risk.

"You can't seriously be thinking of taking him with you into the southern hemisphere!" she cries out incredulously, her voice carrying shrilly to the rest of the group.

Startled by her comment and with all heads turning in their direction, Rod softly replies, "I won't even ask how you might think that I could possibly consider taking our son into the southern reaches. But no, I was thinking of sending him back with you to Keazar's domain, where it will be safe."

"No!" Her voice is shaking with anger and disbelief. While Rod silently studies her beautiful features, she calms herself enough to continue. "We waited until he was old enough to safely travel. It was our intention that he grows up knowing the jungle, the beauty of it, as well as the danger of it. I thought it was as important to you as it was to me. But I can see now that I was wrong. It's not what's important to Nava or me, it's only what you need!"

Seeing her on the verge of tears creates a painful pressure against his heart, constricting his chest and making it difficult for him to breathe. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt her or Nava. He would rather die first, if that were what it took to spare them from misery or discomfort. But he can't just ignore the possibility that they are close to a band of slavers and not do something about it. Slavers are one of the remaining scourges upon the planet refusing to conform to the new hierarchy. They need to be stopped! But even more importantly, this might not be just any normal band of rogues. This might be the last truly organized cell still operating on the surface! If they don't pursue this lead, they will be doing humanity a huge injustice. He has to make her see this his way.

"I wish that were true, Loté, I really do. Because if it were, it would be a simple decision on my part to just forge ahead in search of stragglers and turn a blind eye to the very real possibility that we're within striking distance of a ruthless band of slavers. But it's not true. If I don't do something about this now, when I have the chance and opportunity to, I will always wonder who I let down. The next time I hear a report about innocent people being tortured or worked to death because of inhumane conditions, I will wonder if it was because I was too selfish to do something when I had the chance." He pauses a long moment to calm himself and catch his breath. The iron-fisted grip around his chest slackens only slightly. "If it makes any difference, we will wait here until Lark and the others catch up. But then we must pursue this trail before it completely vanishes." Almost pleadingly, he tenderly adds, "We may never get such an opportunity again, my love."

Loté sits in silence, debating her next argument. Never before, has there been so much at stake. In the past, when Rod showed his self-righteous nature, she would see the logic in it and readily cave in to his demands. His moral compass had never been wrong, and she had always willingly believed in and supported him. Even now, she realizes that he is morally right; they might travel for months and never come across another opportunity to discover from where these slavers are operating. Because of their nomadic lifestyles, they are always moving. But unlike the regular inhabitants of Heälf, this last bastion of slavers doesn't stay on the equatorial trail. They hound it from a distance, always retreating into the northern or southern reaches. But where their trail goes from there, nobody knows. It is almost as if they vanish into thin air. There is never a trail leading to the east or west that can be followed with any certainty. It is almost as if they raise everyone aboard a floating domain and control its course from the skies, leaving no footprints on the ground to follow.

Now, for the first time, they have an opportunity to overtake the slavers without their knowledge of being followed. If he moves quickly, they might even be able to set up an ambush, thereby capturing many and decimating the remainder. It could be the coup that marks the start of a new world, firmly establishing their hierarchy for all time to come.

The possibilities are almost overwhelming. But whatever they decide, they have to do it soon or they will forfeit the opportunity. If he has to, he will wait for Lark and the others to rejoin them. But he remains determined that they cannot wait for the party he'd sent back to Keazar's with the remains earlier. It might be weeks before they catch up!

Once Lark and the others bringing Porg along finally catch up to them, he will send the women and children back to Keazar's domain. Carrying word of his discovery, they will urge the returning salvage party to hasten so they can lend assistance at the first opportunity. Furthermore, he will leave a very visible trail for them to follow into the southern reaches so they won't be further delayed by having to scout track. Once Loté reaches Keazar's domain, she can get word to Layton, if he's not there, and organize reinforcements. After reinforcements are gathered, it will be her choice whether to assist against the slavers or stay behind with Nava on Keazar's domain. Although he would prefer that she remain safely behind with their son, he isn't naïve enough to believe for a minute that she will. With Fane to look after Nava, she can lead the reinforcements back to him post haste.

"I'm going with you into the southern reaches," she suddenly says with finality. Before he can summon up an argument, she quickly continues, "Fane can take Nava back to the domain with her. She is capable and caring; she won't let anything happen to him." Until the words left her mouth, she never actually believed that she would say them. It was almost unthinkable to imagine sending Nava back through the perilous jungle alone. Of course, he won't be alone in the true sense of being alone. But he will be without either of his parents, unless Rod is willing to personally see him back to Keazar's domain. She trusts Fane completely. There isn't any doubt in her mind that the woman would die before she would allow anything to happen to their child. It isn't any secret that she loves Nava almost as much as does Rod or herself.

"No," he says with equal finality and conviction. "Nava is my son too, and I forbid you to leave him in Fane's care while he is away from Keazar's domain."

"You forbid it?" she exclaims indignantly.

"I forbid it."

He says the last as if it is the end of the discussion. But she isn't anywhere near finished. In her mind, she hasn't even begun to argue. And no matter which way the final outcome comes to pass, she is determined that the final say will be hers!

As she is about to protest his last statement, Nava rolls his sleepy eyes toward her and scrunches up his face, tears beginning to burst from the corners of his eyes and run rampantly down his chubby cheeks. Before she can murmur and console the child, his cries shatter the stillness surrounding them. Although neither has been aware of it, the camp has grown silent, listening intently to their argument with averted eyes, each as troubled by their uncharacteristic spat as is Nava. Whichever way the argument comes out, their individual lives will be drastically affected. While some are actually anxious to see Rod triumph, and thus give them a chance to make history in his shadow, others hope that Loté will have the final say, and the fight for justice will be carried out by those that are more committed to doing such a thing. Layton is the planet's moral compass, and his devoted followers are the committed men that will serve that purpose.

Everyone knew, or at least suspected, that they might be put upon to make some small sacrifices while on this journey. But no one expected to have to endure the treacherous climate and terrain that will be encountered in the northern or southern reaches. At the worst, their current mission might have demanded that they return to Keazar's labs with foul and rotting samples extracted from human corpses. But that simply meant their travels would not be taking them as far west as they had hoped. Moreover, upon their return to Keazar's domain, they would find plenty of food, water, and friends. Whereas a journey into the far northern or southern reaches would mean unimaginable hardship from extreme heat, lack of water, and the very possibility of a confrontation with deadly forces. For the most part, this group regarded themselves as missionaries, not soldiers. They are simply volunteers out to have a good time and do some good while they are at it.

Fane suddenly bolts from her place near the cook fire at the sound of Nava's cries. Before Loté can turn and extract the upset infant from the carrier, Fane is already lifting him to her ample bosom with gentle, consoling words flowing softly over her lips. Even to Loté's ears, Fane's voice sounds melodic and tranquilizing. Immediately, the infant's cries subside, turning to soft whimpering noises, as he forces his face deeper into the warm confines between her breasts.

But while Nava is easily lulled back into a calm serenity, Loté feels her argument with Rod suddenly crippled by Fane's quick response to her child's needs. The woman reacted faster to Nava's distress than did his own mother. Fane has just made any argument she could hope to mount against Rod seem futile.

Sensing defeat, she slumps back into a sitting position next to the empty child carrier, acutely aware of Rod's sullen gaze upon her. He isn't smiling. Although he is determined to win the argument with her and ultimately have his way, he doesn't relish her defeat. He cares way too much for her to take any satisfaction from her current mood.

Speaking cautiously, he says, "Nava will be in good hands with Fane. She will be with the other women and children. I will also send two of our best men with them." He pauses for a moment, continuing to study her, looking for a crack, a widening fissure into which he can slip unnoticed and plant the seeds of his will. He has done this to her before, and although he isn't proud of the way in which he manipulates her thoughts, he only does it because he truly believes that what he wants is for the best; for them, for him, and for the entire human race. If he didn't feel so damn confident about his decisions, he might realize that his tendency to pursue justice was goaded by a very selfish motive.

Before he can continue, however, Loté interrupts him with a dismissing wave of her hand. Her voice is heavy with defeat. "It's okay, Rod, you can keep the men with you, I'll be going back to Keazar's with the women and children. We'll be fine without them. And besides, you might need them more than we will." She pauses for a moment before adding, "This will be the first time that many of the adults and all of the children are going to be subjected to the orange pills, and since I was the one that made their initial discovery, it is only right that I be there to see their effect."

Rod can't believe his ears! All he had hoped for was to send Nava back to Keazar in Fane's company. He never expected Loté to go with their son. Suddenly, he is torn between the excitement of having received her blessing, allowing him to pursue the slaving rogues, and the trepidation of being separated from both of his loves, Loté and Nava. They represent his entire life, his whole reason for being, and the main reason he feels so morally obligated to exact justice for the less fortunate. Someday, his son will pick up where he leaves off, and he will be remiss if he doesn't set a good example for him.

She can see the conflicting emotions tormenting his handsome features, and although she is angry and disappointed with him, she also feels pity for him. She appreciates his moral convictions and how they impact his decisions to do what he feels so strongly about. But she wishes also for the sake and safety of their son that just this once he will put them first and the rest of humanity second. At the same time, she also realizes that if he does, she will be equally disappointed in him.

"You can be happy, Rod, it's okay. It would be wrong and selfish of me to try and deprive the rest of the world your services. Because of who you are, you must go after these bad people and bring them to justice. I understand that of you. It's just another thing about you that makes me love you all the more." She hesitates for a moment, struggling to keep from breaking out in tears. "Nava and I will be fine, for now. There are others that need you more than we do."

"I had hoped that you would be going with me," he truthfully states, still clinging to the hope that she might change her mind. "Fane loves Nava as though he were her own. She won't allow anything to happen to him."

Fane smiles down at Rod, acknowledging his compliment. Loté looks up at her, their gazes fixing on each other, a tentative smile quivers on her lips. "I know," is all she can say for fear her voice will crack with emotion. So much more transpires between the two women in that look than Rod will ever know. They share a secret knowledge of each other that he can only begin to guess at. They share a commonality of sisterhood that excludes all but a few men. And those men that understand are merely outsiders looking in.

"Then why won't you join me?" he asks, oblivious of the message that has passed between the two women.

Turning back to face Rod, she stolidly states, "Because this is something you have to do, Rod. My place is with my son, doing what we can to help others until you return." Fane knowingly smiles down at her, Nava still held tightly against her breasts.

"Then would you please consider this for me? When you reach Keazar's, find Layton and tell him what I am doing. It's important that he bring as many men as he can muster. If this domain is truly the slaver's cell that I believe it to be, there will be several hundred rogues in addition to an equal or greater number of slaves. The slaves shouldn't pose a threat to us, but we cannot be certain, and we definitely cannot count on them to assist. They may be so beaten down, brainwashed..." His voice trails off as the disgust grabs hold of him.

Feeling a mixture of guilt and concern for his safety, Loté flatly states, "Once I have Nava safely aboard Keazar's domain, I will contact Layton so that we can return together with all the men we can find." Rod starts to protest, but Loté firmly raises her hand to silence him. "You cannot argue with me on this point, my love. It is not up for discussion. I am coming back with Layton."

"I love you, woman," he says, fighting hard to hold back the tears of pride he is feeling toward her.

Fane is smiling and rocking happily with Nava in her arms. She is glad to see that her two favorite people, excluding little Nava, are no longer arguing. Bending over, she hands Nava down to Loté, mumbling something about finishing her meal, before turning and retreating to the group that she'd been sitting with prior to Nava's outburst.

Loté smiles over Nava, meeting Rod's gaze, "You know I can't leave you alone for too long. Who would keep you out of trouble if not for me?"

With the news of Rod and Loté's decision having spread through the small encampment almost as fast as it happened, many take the opportunity to catch some sleep, while still others return for one last dip in the pond. Such a luxury is rare enough under normal circumstances. For most of the group, nothing will be even close to normal for some time to come.

It is determined that within four hours, Loté will set out with all the women and children on the return journey to Keazar's floating domain. As they are certain to meet up with the stragglers still coming, they will inform them regarding the discovery of the trail leading into the southern reaches and what decisions were made regarding it. It will be their right to choose between returning to Keazar's with them, or continuing west to overtake Rod and assist in following the suspected slavers.

"You should get some rest, Loté," Rod suggests as he studies the loving scene of Loté cuddling her infant to her breast. "If you run into trouble, you can always stay put and wait for Keazar's domain to overtake you." She knew that he was referring to any bad side effects that the orange pills might inflict upon her group, none of which to her knowledge was experienced at traveling eastward.

"It is much too important to reach Layton so that I can return to you, my love," she resolutely states, her voice soft and pleasing so as not to disturb Nava's feeding. "With all that will follow you, you are still too small a force to confront the slavers, or even slow them down until I return with Layton and his army. Promise me that you will only follow them at a safe distance, and not try to be a hero. I know how difficult that will be for you when you see the innocent people that they are surely torturing. Or the multitudes chained into the tethers of the domain." Her eyes were on the verge of tears. It was almost as if she were feeling the pain and hardship that the vision suggested. "You must promise me that you will be patient, Rod."

It is an easy promise for Rod to make, and for the moment, it seems as if it will be an easy one to keep. "I promise, my love, that I will bide my time and remain safe until I lay my eyes on your fabulous beauty again," he says, trying hard not to smirk.

She leans toward him and tenderly pinches at his bare chest. Rolling out of her reach, which is limited because he is being careful not to disturb Nava, he chuckles softly before righting himself. His face suddenly turns serious. Leaning toward her, he says, "I will do as you say, but you must promise me that you will not take any chances in my absence, either."

"I promise to remain safe and faithful to you, my love." There is a moment of silence while they gaze at each other as though they may never share such intimacy again. Then Nava abruptly pushes her breast away and belches, a runny drool hanging from his mouth. With the moment broken, Loté says, "I will be safe and faithful to you my love, but I will do whatever it takes to make haste my return. Every minute that we are apart will feel like an eternity."

While most of the group rest or wallow in the pond, Rod and Loté, with the help of a few others, divvy up the supplies and water flagons. Although Loté feels strongly that Rod should take the medicine bag with him, he firmly insists that she keep it with her for the women and children. "After all," he remarks, "She is the only one that actually knows what everything in it is for and how to use it." In return, Rod takes the majority of water flagons, since there won't be much water where he is going. Loté confidently remembers all the watering places between their current location and that of Keazar's domain. She is certain that despite their relatively small sizes, many of them measuring less than a large puddle of dew, they will be sufficient for the return. Rod also takes the larger bulk of food staples, since wild game to hunt will be scarce also.

With everything broken into two piles, they curl up on a thick hide of behemoth skin that has been tanned to an exquisite suppleness, and close their eyes, hoping to catch a little sleep before setting out. Unfortunately, each is as apprehensive about being apart as the other, and sleep eludes them. It is too warm to comfortably embrace for any length of time, and neither is in the mood for sex. Resigned to the reality of the situation, they lay next to each other with Nava between them, occasionally mouthing a word or two as they think of different things that might crop up in the other's absence. Neither discusses the remote possibility that they might never see each other again.

Although neither of them is sleeping, the remaining time passes quickly, and before they are ready, it is time to get started. Others are already up and sorting through the two piles, selecting what each will carry. With the supplies broken down between individuals, the two groups slowly draw apart from each other, both reluctant to be the first to start out on their individual journey.

Settling Nava into his carrier, Loté pecks Rod on the cheek, and watches his face as he leans into her and kisses Nava on the head, softly wishing them both good-speed and wellness. Together, they turn away from each other and start off on their respective paths. Slowly, the others follow suit, and after saying more quick good-byes and giving last-minute hugs, fall in behind their respective group leader. Within a matter of minutes, the clearing is void of human life, and the two groups are beyond seeing and hearing each other.

Even though it has been but a few minutes, it feels like a much longer time, just knowing that Rod is beyond her sight and out of range of even the loudest cry. And although she has Nava strapped securely to her chest with Fane walking directly behind her, she can't remember ever feeling so alone and terrified.

But she can't let anyone suspect how devastated she feels; they are looking to her as their leader. Her job is to lead them safely back to Keazar's domain and the sanctity of his labs, and she will do that without question, despite the growing sense of dread that she can't explain. This is not the first time that her and Rod have been separated; there isn't any clear reason for the feelings that are plaguing her. But whatever the reason, it is especially important to her that Nava not sense the unreasonable fear welling up within the pit of her stomach.

They are only a few hours apart from the group being led by Rod when they encounter the last of the stragglers being led by Lark. At the sight of Loté approaching, his face lights up with joy, and then quickly clouds over with concern. He is not surprised to see others from their original party heading east, as they may have been dispatched with newfound remains that need to be delivered to Keazar for recycling. But he can't comprehend the reasons behind Loté leading them; Rod would never send his love away without good reason.

Within minutes, they are close enough to exchange words, and Lark is the first to speak. "Loté, my dear," he cries out, his voice betraying the concern that he feels. "What brings you back this way?"

"Oh Lark, I am so glad to see you," she returns, the joy in her voice allaying Lark's immediate apprehension. Others are coming along the trail behind him, and Loté immediately recognizes the tall, hulking form of Porg. Even before he draws close enough to overhear her and Lark's conversation, her moment of happiness at being reunited with friends is souring. She abruptly averts her eyes from Porg and meets Lark's gaze instead. "I will tell you everything, but then you must hurry to overtake Rod and the others. He will throw caution to the wind and try to save the world if you are not there to restrain him and teach him reason," she quickly blurts.

Sensing that Loté is overwhelmed for the moment with a mixture of relief and worry, Lark takes immediate control of the situation and orders the others to set up a quick camp where they are. They will eat a simple meal and replenish their bodily fluids before continuing. He also notices that Loté's small group consists only of women and children, in addition to carrying very few supplies or flagons of water.

His concern mounting, he takes her by the hand and leads her a short distance from the trail so they can speak in relative privacy. Fane has taken Nava just minutes before they met up with Lark in order to free Loté's hands so that she can more easily wield the long-knife. Even before they set down on a bed of plush green moss, Loté starts unloading her story like an unwelcome weight. She hurriedly tells him of the trail they discovered leading first to and then away from the main trail. Next, she blurts out how Rod insisted on following it, convinced that it's been made by slavers returning to their floating domain. She goes on to explain that based on the condition of the trail and the capacity and requirements of a floating domain, Rod has determined how many rogues and slaves there might be. Taking a deep breath, she hurriedly continues, sensing that each minute she detains Lark is one more minute that Rod is in danger, though she can't explain why she feels such assurance in Lark. "Rod sent me back with the women and children so that I can find Layton and dispatch him posthaste with his new recruits." She purposely left out the fact that she couldn't leave their son in someone else's hands.

"Then we must hurry, before the trail grows over and we cannot find him!"

"Yes," she quickly agrees. "Although Rod is leaving the trail well marked, nothing is permanent in the jungle." She hesitates a moment before adding, "You should know also that he gave everyone a choice before they set out."

"What choice was that?" Lark asks, his voice emanating new concerns. He has been around Rod long enough to understand the man almost as well as Loté. Rod might not have taken the time to know him, but he has taken the time to learn about Rod, beyond the usual legend stuff. If Rod gave anyone a choice, it went without saying that he was looking for heroes. And if that is the case, he purposely neglected telling Loté of his entire plan.

"He gave everyone the choice of following him or returning with the women and children."

"Doesn't seem like he gave them much of a choice," he knowingly acknowledges, rising to his feet. Lending a hand to Loté, he adds, "After a short rest, we'll give everyone here the same choice, then."

Although he tries to sound as though it is a joke on Rod, Loté immediately understands the meaning behind it, and her fear and worry grow. The sense of hope that Lark's arrival had instilled in her just moments earlier is short-lived. It suddenly becomes ever more important that she return to Keazar's domain quickly so she can get the reinforcements that Rod will be needing started on their way.

There are only three other men, including Porg, sitting with the women and children when they break back onto the trail. Porg is openly leering at the women, but keeping his vile thoughts to himself. He seems especially interested in Jai, a very capable and pretty young girl that Loté had only until now taken for granted.

But she quickly dismisses any relevance to the moment as she notices Porg's haggard demeanor, looking as if he hasn't washed or slept for several long days. There is also a fresh purple and black bruise flowering above his left chin, the swelling further distorting his already discomfiting features. Seeing Loté and Lark enter the small clearing in the trail, his head slowly tilts to the side and his gaze drifts to Loté's long, supple legs. With relish, they continue upward, coming to a halt just short of meeting her gaze; he is either unwilling, or unable to look her in the eye. Although he doesn't intimidate her, he makes her skin crawl, and she can't forget the trouble that he constantly causes Rod. Self-conscious of her actions, yet unable to stop herself, she hugs her arms to her chest, rubbing them gently with her palms in an effort to warm her inner core, and also to prove that there really isn't anything crawling over her flesh.

### **8**

Sensing Loté's unease in Porg's presence, Lark quickly determines that it is unwise to comment on it. He has witnessed Loté's prowess in battle with both her hands and a long-knife, and knows she is more than capable of taking care of herself. And although he is aware of the fact that she respects and trusts him, he is equally aware of the fact that she is much too proud to openly accept any help or advice he might give. In an effort to change the subject and take her mind off the immediate tension in the air, Lark's gaze switches to Fane and the infant, Nava. In a bound, he is off, leaving Loté behind, her arms clutched to her chest.

"There's my big boy!" he says loudly, dispelling the uneasy quietude surrounding them.

Recognizing Lark and remembering him as a fun time, Nava's face lights up. Squirming and fighting, he stretches away from Fane's bosom, trying hard to make his short arms reach all the way across the short distance separating him from the approaching Lark. Scooping him out of Fane's embrace, he playfully raises him high above his head, a gesture that Loté recognizes as one of Rod's favorite ways of playing with his son. It has only been a short while since Rod and her separated to go their individual ways, and already she is feeling his absence acutely in the pit of her stomach. Such moods hadn't clouded her thoughts since she was pregnant with Nava. Without seriously acknowledging the thought, she wonders briefly if there is a slight chance that she is once again pregnant. But just as quickly as the thought forms, she dismisses it; until Keazar tells her otherwise, she won't give it any more credence.

"Already, you are his favorite uncle," she says to Lark's back, as she smiles up at her happily grinning son.

"He is so easy to love, and so much like his mother and father," Lark easily replies without turning or taking his eyes off Nava.

"That is a kind way of saying that he is spoiled like his father," she answers sarcastically.

Handing the child back to Fane, despite its disappointed appeals to the contrary, Lark's expression clouds over and turns serious once again. "Speaking of Rod, it is time for us to get moving."

The brief interlude with Nava is like a breath of fresh air. His innocence and naivety is a refreshing change from the serious business at hand and Loté discovers that she wants Lark to stay for a little while longer, and that the fun not have to end so soon. But she also realizes that he is only cutting their rest short for Rod's sake. He is a strong, confident man, and she finds his presence very reassuring, though she doesn't understand why she needs such reassurances. She has always been and always intends to be an independent person. Her independence is one of her many traits that Rod claims drew him to her when they'd first met, so long ago. Of course, he has never denied that her many other equally obvious traits might have had something to do with his attraction for her, either.

"How are your supplies?" Loté asks of him, seeing that only one of the men is carrying a flagon and none have packs of food.

"We have only what you see, which unfortunately, isn't very much."

"We will give you the rest of our supplies," she says quickly, her voice firm and unbending. "But as you can also see, they too are very limited. We gave Rod and his group everything that we could spare, as we planned to find food and water along the way." Before he can argue with her, she hurriedly adds, "You will need the supplies much more than us, since you will be heading into the southern reaches where there is no water and very little game to hunt. We will find everything we need along the trail." Before he can mount a protest, she quickly adds, "We are within a few day's travel of Keazar's domain. If we have to, we can make camp anywhere along our journey and wait for him. You have no such options."

"Thank you, Loté. I will carry your love to Rod posthaste." With a smirk and a wink, he adds in a hushed tone so the others cannot quite hear him, "And I will keep him from committing folly while we anxiously look forward to seeing you again."

With a knowing smile, she whispers in reply, "I know you will, and I thank you."

Lark smiles knowingly before turning to face Porg and the others, "Listen up, men." While they stir from their newly found comfort and turn their faces in his direction, he goes on, "It is my intention to continue after Rod and the others. From what Loté has told me, there is a very good chance that I will be headed into the southern reaches. I don't have to explain what that means; you are all familiar with the terrain that will be encountered. There will be no water and very limited game. In addition, we have little in the way of supplies with us for this type of trek and no hope of finding any when we get where we're going. My guess is that it will be a very difficult hardship, and that is why I am giving you the same choice that Rod gave the men with him." After pausing briefly to catch his breath and give each a chance to consider what they already know is coming, he continues, "You can follow me and give assistance to Rod so that we might finally purge this planet of the scourge that continues to blight it, or you can return with Loté and the women and children to Keazar's domain. No one will look upon you with any less respect for the decision that you render."

Although he adds the last, stating that no one would think any less of them for their decision, Loté doesn't miss the way he stresses returning with the women and children as if to imply it as a weakness, a very thinly veiled slight toward their manhood.

The two men that distanced themselves from Porg immediately upon arriving quickly speak up and confirm their desire to remain with Lark while he pursues Rod and the others. "We're with you, Lark," says the nearest of the two, speaking only for the two of them and not Porg. The other hesitantly adds, "But only if you feel the women and children won't need an escort for their safety."

Before Lark can reply, Porg speaks up from the far side of their small encampment, "I'll see to the women and children. They'll be just fine."

Loté's heart skips a beat. She never suspected that they would be saddled with Porg, but there isn't any way of politely declining him. Moreover, she feels an immediate suspicion in his wording; what exactly did he mean by saying that he would 'see to the women and children?' Did he mean it in the sense that he would see them safely to Keazar's, or that he would 'see to them'? Or was she simply over-reacting? Was she reading more into his comment than demanded? There weren't any distilled spirits for him to partake of, so there shouldn't be any overt problems caused by a drunken misbehavior.

Sensing Loté's flinch, Lark tries to dissuade him. "Are you certain of your choice, Porg? Loté will be leading the women and children and we all know that she is every bit as capable as any man amongst us is. If I didn't feel certain that no harm will come to them before they reach Keazar's, I would personally escort them."

He is trying his damnedest to dissuade Porg from accompanying the women and children, and for that, Loté loves him. But Porg isn't having any of it. Whether he is acting naïve toward Lark's hints, or whether he really is, Loté doesn't know or care. All that concerns her is the fact that Porg is determined to stay with her and the women and children, and that means she will have to keep an eye on him as well as looking out for all the other dangers inherent in traveling through the jungle.

"I'm sure you will, Lark," he replies with a smirk, erasing any lingering doubts Loté might have yet harbored. "But it's okay, you needn't worry about them, I'll go along with the women. Despite your reassurances, there is always the possibility they'll have need of a man along the trail."

It doesn't escape either Lark's or Loté's attention that he conveniently dropped the children from his statement. And there isn't any misunderstanding regarding what needs he will be willing to perform along the way, not that any of the women in the group would ever consider lowering themselves to such a contemptuous level.

Trying a different tact, Loté spits out, "You will be the only man not doing his part for justice." It is clearly intended to insult his masculinity in an attempt to discourage him, but it too falls short. He has an agenda and he isn't going to be discouraged.

"I will be doing my part by assuring that all the women and children return to Keazar's safely," he states matter-of-factly, dropping all prior inflections of sarcasm.

Loté realizes then that there is no deterring him from his decision to remain with her group. Lark, clearly agitated by Porg's determination, starts to say more, but Loté brusquely cuts him off. "It's okay, Lark, we'll be fine." But even as she mouths the words, she can't help but feel that she is saying them for his benefit, his peace of mind, and not her own. Deep down inside, she knows she is lying to him. She can't tell him what is going to happen, because she doesn't know what is going to happen. She isn't gifted with the power to see the future, only a gut full of instincts and a strong intuition. And they are all telling her now that something bad is going to come of Porg's decision to return to Keazar's with her and the women and children. But whatever comes of it, she won't be caught off guard. She will be on the lookout for any mischief from Porg until they are within sight of Keazar's domain. And she is equally determined that if he tries anything along the trail, with any of the women, she will see to it that he answers to Rod for his actions.

With it settled, as to who was going with Lark and who was going with Loté, Lark takes Loté in his arms and gives her a big hug. With his mouth next to her ear, he softly whispers, "Godspeed to you."

For a reply, she simply squeezes his muscular frame tighter. There isn't any more to say that hasn't already been said, or doesn't need saying. After accepting the flagons of water and the last pack of foodstuffs, Lark and the two men turn to the west. Almost as an afterthought, Lark veers over to Fane and gives Nava a quick peck on the cheek. Then, before turning back to the west again, he slips a hand behind Fane's neck and pulls her face to his giving her a quick kiss on the lips before saying, "Take special care of them." With a wink, he turns back to the west and sets off at a quick pace, leading his men down the trail. Within a matter of moments, they are gone from her sight.

Again, Loté feels a strong sense of foreboding and unease at their departure. She makes a mental note to have Keazar check her out once they reach his domain. For a strong-willed and independent spirit, she has never felt such immense apprehension for no explainable reason. There must be something physically wrong with her.

But she doesn't have time to give it any more consideration. As soon as the men are out of sight, Porg announces that he is going to rest for an hour and then he expects something to eat when he awakes. It is an indignant statement, and Loté isn't sure how to react to it. She realizes the minute Porg stated his intentions of returning with her and her group to Keazar's domain, her and Porg were going to have to draw battle lines. Yet, she didn't expect it to happen so soon after Lark's departure, and worse, she isn't ready for it.

Thinking quickly, Loté chooses to pretend his blatant comment is made in jest, and announces instead that they will be setting off just as soon as possible. She quickly adds, "We have a long distance to go, and our men's lives are dependent on us, we cannot afford to let them down."

She is surprised when Porg doesn't put up an argument, but instead merely smirks at her as if to say he is conceding this bout, and rises to his feet. The look on his distorted face makes her skin crawl. The first battle is hers, but it is destined to be a long war, one that might just last all the way to Keazar's domain.

Taking Nava from Fane, they set off toward the east with Loté in the lead and Fane close on her heels. Porg brings up the rear, his grumbling about the heat and everything else quickly becoming a monotonous drone that irritates everyone. They haven't gone more than a mile or so before Loté finds herself looking longingly toward the horizon for the first signs of Keazar's domain. It will be floating just above the treetops, a slight yellowish glow highlighting it from behind. Or at least, that is how she last remembers seeing it before leaving it such a long time ago.

With no water supplies in hand, they are forced to take their breaks as the terrain sees fit. They travel for more than four hours before coming to a pond with palatable water. With small children in tow, it has seemed like an eternity. Porg had long ceased to be an aggravation, his own whining having been drowned out by that of all the hot and thirsty children that quickly grew cranky and irritable from fatigue.

The pond is small, not much more than a few flagon's worth, and the water extremely warm; there will be no bathing or frolicking such as there had been at the large pond just east of where they'd split company with Rod and the men folk. Since they have no flagons to fill or food to cook, it is simply a matter of taking turns crowding around on their knees and lapping at the surface. Even before everyone has slaked their thirst, the children are complaining of hunger.

Although Loté realizes that most of their problem is just fatigue, she decides to find food for the group. It will also give her a chance to be alone and do some thinking. "Fane, would you mind keeping an eye on Nava for a little while? I'm going to see if I can find some game for us to eat."

"Should I get a fire started? Or would that be too presumptuous of me?" Fane chuckles light-heartedly, trying to bring a spirit of levity to the group.

"I'm sure I'll find something, but maybe you should wait until I return, we don't want to jinx my efforts," Loté replies equally good-naturedly.

Porg, having slithered close to Loté, overhears her brief conversation with Fane. Not asking if she would like his assistance, he brazenly states that he will go with her.

"That's okay, Porg, I'm more than capable of finding game and returning with it," she quickly replies, her voice sounding a bit more haughty than she intends. Calming herself, she says to Fane, "I'll return shortly."

"He'll be fine, Loté, I won't let him out of my sight," Fane replies, smiling encouragement to her.

Drawing her long-knife, Loté gives Nava one last look before heading into the dense brush growing along the southern edge of the main trail. It doesn't matter if she goes to the north or south, but because she knows that Rod is somewhere to the south and west, that's the direction she chooses. Before she's gone even thirty meters, she hears Porg following along behind her. He is keeping a distance of less than ten meters from her. Most would not have been aware of his presence, but Loté isn't most. When she is on the hunt, her senses become extremely acute, and what smells and sounds others might miss or overlook, she doesn't. Porg's lack of hygiene as of late has left him with a foul odor, not unlike his current disposition in the group. Loté both hears his approach through the undergrowth as well as recognizing his malodorous scent.

Crouching down within the sheltering confines of a dense shrub, she waits for him to draw near. When he is less than two meters from her, she rises to her feet and announces herself. Startled, he jumps back, his own long-knife clumsily attaining a quasi-defensive position in front of and across his exposed chest.

"You scared me," he blurts, gasping for breath. "I didn't see you there."

Lying, she angrily states, "I was waiting for game to pass, but you have probably scared it all away with your loud blundering noises. Have you never learned to move with stealth when hunting?"

Almost too quickly, he recovers his composure, reverting back to his sly and disgusting self. "I've been known to move just fine," he starts. Before she realizes what he is doing, his long-knife is back in its sheath and his hand is gripping his swelling member. "We're all alone now," he goes on, slowly pushing aside a stray branch with his free hand and advancing toward her. "You can drop the pretenses; no one is going to see us, and I promise I won't tell anyone."

"You disgust me!" she spits at him, stopping his forward momentum. She is still holding her long-knife in her right hand, though she has no intentions of using it on the worm. He is vile and disgusting, but she doesn't perceive him as a physical threat to her. It is still beyond her comprehension that he will actually do anything that might warrant Rod's anger or retributions.

His face twists and contorts, making him appear even more grotesque to her than he had before. "What? You don't think I'm good enough for you."

He takes another step toward her. They are separated by little more than a meter. She can easily reach out and slap him. His foul breath wafts in her face, forcing her to gag for air, while the reek emanating from his unwashed body clings to her exposed skin like heavy oil.

Raising the long-knife so the tip is pointing toward and just centimeters from his exposed chest, she says in an even voice, "Return to the others, Porg, and I won't ever mention this incident to anyone. Keep coming, and I'll cut your heart right out of your chest."

Smiling as if he doesn't believe her capable of such a ruthless act, he angrily states, "Your mate has had it in for me since we first met. He saw the lust I've had for you in my eyes from the very beginning, even if you chose to ignore it. Now, thanks in large part to you from what I've heard, he's not here to protect you, and I will have you as no man ever has before. I'll show you what it's really like to be taken by a man."

He takes another step forward, pushing his bare chest against the tip of the long-knife. Loté refuses to back down or give him space. Even when the blade breaks through his skin and a fine trickle of blood starts coursing downward from the tip of the weapon, she doesn't back down an inch.

"You're not giving me any choice, Porg. You must realize that I am not afraid to kill, and I will, if you don't return to the others now!"

"You also don't give me any choice, pretty woman. There is no returning to the others for me. That path is no longer available. The minute I let Lark and the others continue, while remaining behind with you, I lost that option. No one respects me. They never have!" He pauses for a moment before continuing, the blade pressing dangerously into his flesh. "You have no idea what it's like to be an outsider among your own kind. No one acknowledges your needs; no one even acknowledges your existence until you make yourself difficult to ignore. And even then, you only draw their ire and ilk. But you wouldn't know anything about that. You're the pretty one, you have always been accepted."

He presses against her resistance a little harder, driving the blade deeper. There is a crazy wildness in his eyes, and he seems oblivious of the pain.

"No, Porg, it's not too late! You underestimate yourself. The only time the others find you hard to be around is when you have over indulged in spirits. You are not a bad guy, Porg," she continues, her voice pleading with him. "If you go back to the others now, I promise you, no one will ever know about this incident."

"And leave you out here all alone?" he asks incredulously, the fire in his eyes refusing to dim. "What if something bad should happen to you? How would I explain it to the others that I left you out here all alone?"

He raises his foot and increases the pressure of the weapon against his chest. Loté is meticulous about her weapons; the blade is sharp enough to slice with ease through the thick hide of a behemoth; his flesh offers it little resistance. If she doesn't back up and concede ground to him, he will impale himself upon her blade. Or, though she can't believe that she is actually considering it, she can lower her weapon and try to convince him through argument of words not to do what he clearly intends doing.

At the last minute, something tells her that she cannot lower her weapon, despite her inner turmoil. Porg is not an enemy, nor has he ever posed much of a physical threat; he is just a nuisance. Rod has always found him to be an irritant and an annoying nuisance. But he always believed that deep down inside the man, there was something good, some redeeming quality that would eventually show itself and Porg would ultimately prove to be a valuable friend and ally.

"Nothing bad will happen to me, Porg, not if you turn around and go back to the others. But you must go now, before it's too late."

"It's much too late for what you want, Loté. Don't you see that? There is no going back for me. I'm a fool and a laughing stock in their eyes. But that is about to change." The blood had become a freshet of crimson, flowing madly down the front of his chest and over his fisted hand. With silent drops, it drips from the tip of his erect manhood, darkening the moist green vegetation at his feet. "Soon, they will know me for who I am. Soon, you will give yourself to me, and the world will change."

"That will never happen, Porg. I will kill before I will give myself willingly to any other man but Rod."

"Then you had better be ready to kill me!" he cries through an outburst of breath. Throwing his arms wide, he lunges toward her.

Her instinct is to pull back. He is not an enemy. In the dark musty catacombs beneath the planet's surface, she fought Lord Balzar's soldiers, killing men by the hundreds. It had been irrelevant whether they would ever be recycled or not. But when she'd killed in the past, it had been a matter of life or death. That is not the case now. Porg is not wielding a weapon. In fact, excepting his overt expressions and vile mannerisms toward her, he is not even threatening. How can she justify killing him out of hand?

She can't!

Stepping cautiously to avoid tangling her feet in the low growing vines and vegetation, she swiftly retreats from his advance. The point of her blade is dangerously close to doing more harm than merely drawing blood, and yet, he appears oblivious of the pain.

"Porg, please don't do this," she softly begs of him. On some conscious level, she knows he isn't hearing her. He is like a man possessed.

"Your mate has been treating me like dirt since the day we met. What makes him think he is better than I am? What makes you think you're too good for me? I'm a man. A man with needs just like any other. I deserve respect too!"

"Yes, you do," she gently agrees, trying hard to pacify him, to make him see her as a comrade and not an enemy. She too is a fellow human being.

While he continues talking, she keeps moving backwards, the point of her weapon pressed firmly against his chest. From the un-giving feel of it, she believes it to be hard against his breastbone, and any further advance into his chest will take a large amount of force. But she can't risk it. Unless he does something overt toward her, she can't simply kill him. His slow steady approach gives her time to think, to formulate a plan of action that will leave them both alive.

But as hard as she tries, she can't think of anything, and she can't continue backing up. At any moment, her feet might tangle in a vine, sending her toppling over backwards. He will be on her before she can react. She has to do something soon.

Then his words change and the threat to her is no longer veiled. His mind is beyond reason, and he lays out his twisted thoughts to her. "When I am finished with you, Rod will have to take me serious as a man and not some drunken derelict. Because when I am done with you, you will never look at another man the same."

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his hands lower back to his sides. Unconscious of the action, he grasps his swollen member with his left hand and slowly strokes it. Equally unconscious of the act, her eyes stray downward, following the movement of his hands; all the way from the twisted expression on his face to his erect manhood. For the briefest of moments, she is stunned by the size of it.

Following the gaze of her eyes, he misreads the repulsed expression clouding her beautiful features. Instead of seeing the repulsion that she is feeling, he reads her expression as one of desire. In his sick and feverish mind, he suddenly believes that she wants him, and that she needs what he is holding out for her. Even if her expression has not changed to reflect the disgust that she is feeling toward him, he would have seen what he wanted to see, just as he can only hear what he wants to hear above the ringing in his ears.

"I knew how you felt about me all along," he says huskily, his breathing growing shallow and rapid. "It was just a matter of waiting until the right time came along. We're alone now, Loté, you can be yourself. You don't have to keep up the pretense any longer. There isn't anyone here but the two of us."

Loté looks on in horror, unable to comprehend what is going through his mind. It is impossible for her to believe that he thinks she wants him.

"What are you talking about? You have no idea how I feel!"

"It's not necessary for you to deny it any longer. There isn't anyone here to tell. No one will ever have to know of our little secret."

He is speaking as if they are lovers that are finally able to admit their feelings to each other.

"We have no secret!" she yells at him, sickened by the thought of his suggestion. "You're sick...." She never finishes telling him how much she loathes and despises him, or how Rod is going to react when he hears about this. She never gets the opportunity because at that moment, her right foot drops into a moss-covered divot in the planet's surface, an inopportune gas bubble that left behind a small crater after bursting and releasing its pent up gases into the atmosphere when the surface was still cooling in the western hemisphere. Before she can react, she goes over backwards, her arms flailing wildly out to her sides in an attempt to break her fall.

Her hands strike the moss-covered igneous rock first, the knuckles of her right hand caught between the hilt of the long-knife and the hard, jagged surface. As the weapon is jarred from her grasp, her fingers stinging with the pain of the impact, her back strikes the unforgiving surface a harsh blow, driving the wind from her lungs. Although momentarily stunned, she is aware of Porg rushing at her from above. Weakly, she tries rolling to her left, away from him. But in her stunned state of mind, she is too slow. Porg is already upon her, preventing her from catching her breath by the sheer force of his weight. With her vision blurring, she fights for air, suddenly fearful that she has messed up, and that she is leaving her son without a mother to raise him.

Of course, she is confident that at some point and time in the future, a sampling of her genetic tissue will surface and Keazar will be able to recycle her. But can she trust that Porg won't dispose of her corpse in such a manner that there won't be anything left to recycle? Or that he might hide it deep within the darker reaches of the jungle in a place where it won't be discovered by her friends until it is too late and the sun rises, incinerating it to ashes for all time?

Neither outcome is acceptable! Even if she is recycled immediately, she will be deprived of precious time with Nava. Once the boy grows into a man, he will never return to his childhood, regardless of how often he is recycled. It will be time lost that can never be replaced or lived over.

Porg grabs her by the upper arms and holds her flat on her back, his fingers digging cruelly into her flesh. When he lunged forward, taking advantage of her rearward fall, he used his weight and momentum to its full advantage, pinning himself between her legs and keeping them forced apart so that she can't bring a knee up into his crotch. With his face just inches from hers, spittle and drool from his leering grin falls unabated in her eyes and mouth. She gags, his vileness becoming a tangible thing. When at last he raises his chest a little, allowing her a quick gasp for air, she unwillingly sucks in his vile juices, inhaling them through her open mouth and down the back of her throat. She can taste his sickening, salt laden stench, sucking his slime deeply into her struggling lungs. Instead of getting mouthfuls of refreshing oxygen, she gags and coughs, her throat first closing and then opening spasmodically.

Having allowed just barely enough air to keep her from slipping into unconsciousness, he lowers his bulk down onto her, constricting her breathing again before she can completely regain her senses.

The more she struggles, the harder he clamps down on her arms. Her vision clouds and blurs, the moonlight suddenly turning into sparkles of whiteness that shoot through the jungle canopy above them. Her head feels as if it is going to explode. She can't fight him any longer. His strength and weight is too much for her. There is only pain in her head and in her arms; her fingers are tingling, slowly growing numb and throbbing at the same time. Despite her strongest efforts to breathe, her throat constricts shut.

And then she feels his huge manhood between her legs, and she suddenly realizes that there is indeed a fate worse than death. With every last ounce of her strength and determination, her body revolts against his vileness. It starts as a tremor and then a spasm that ripples through the entire length of her prone form. His body shakes atop her, but he refuses to relent, and he is ultimately too much of a force for her to shake off.

Blissful darkness sweeps over her, and she slips into unconsciousness.

After an undetermined period of time, she slowly regains her senses. He is still on top of her, pinning her bodily to the ground, but she doesn't believe that he is inside of her. It must have been only seconds that have passed. He is leering into her face, a solid skein of drool now connecting their individual cheeks.

He isn't inside her, not yet! But she is quickly running out of time.

Seeing recognition in her eyes, he smiles down at her, his sour breath burning in her throat. She is conscious, and she isn't fighting for breath, so it must have been more than just a few seconds since she'd passed out. With that realization, a terrible thought strikes her; is it possible that he's already taken advantage of her, that he had her while she was unconscious and unable to resist him?

With tremendous effort, she puts the thought out of her head. He wouldn't still be lying on top of her, holding her down in this manner if he had already had his way with her. He would be up and pacing, strutting around with his chest puffed out, proud of his conquest.

So, what is he waiting for? She will never be this vulnerable again, if she can help it.

"Glad to have you back," he says in a guttural voice. He is clearly intoxicated by the amount of power he has over her. She can only assume that he was not expecting such a rush from it, and now he doesn't know how to handle the high.

The pressure on her arms relaxes slightly. It takes all of her will not to try and kick free. But she senses that he might relax his diligence even more if he feels that she isn't going to try and fight him off again. There is no mistaking that he is high on the power of controlling her, and she mustn't let him think that he is anything but in control.

"For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to do a corpse," he says almost conspiratorially.

"Why, Porg? Why does it have to be this way?" she asks of him, her voice grating over raw nerves, reminding her how close to death she'd been just minutes prior.

"Don't waste your breath on stupid questions!" he shouts into her face, fresh spittle stinging her eyes and wetting her forehead. "This is the only way it can be," he continues after a moment, his voicing relaxing slightly.

Loté remains still and quiet, waiting for him to say more. Even when he doesn't speak immediately, she patiently waits, not wanting to aggravate him anymore than he already is. It's vital that she keep up his illusion of ultimate power over her. After a long moment, he continues, "A special woman like you should be shared. One man isn't enough for you. You have too much to give, too much to share, much more than a single man can do justice." He isn't making any sense, but she dare not interrupt him, or ask him any questions. As long as he is on top of her, he has the power, and there is too much at stake to risk setting him off again.

His blood is congealing between them, sticking them together like glue. Cautiously, she risks a glance downward between her breasts. She is encouraged slightly by the sight of so much blood. It only makes sense that he must be weak from the loss. Then, for the first time, she notices that he is breathing hard, taking in copious amounts of air between his words. He is visibly swallowing the air as if it has substance, trying to replace the oxygen in his veins.

Feeling is returning to her fingertips. His grip is weakening fast. But dare she let herself believe that he is suffering from actual weakness brought on by his loss of blood, or is he simply relaxing, his confidence at having control of the situation growing. If she moves suddenly, will he react sluggishly, or will he be ready to pounce? Should she take the risk? Or should she play possum and wait to see what his next move is?

"I'm going to have you, Loté, and then you'll understand what I'm talking about. When I tell Rod how you resisted my advances, he'll forgive you, he'll even agree for you to carry my child to fruition."

"What are you talking about?" she suddenly blurts out, shocked by his inference and unable to restrain herself any longer. "I will never carry your child!"

Almost as if they are just friends on a casual stroll, he says, "I've decided to let you live so that you can bear my heir."

There is a far off gaze in his eyes that she hasn't seen before. Without warning, he lets go of her hands and pushes himself up, the congealing blood fighting to bind them together. She is too stunned by his words to realize what is going on, until he lowers his head and grabs her left breast in his mouth, his teeth almost gently suckling her ripe nipple.

She quickly realizes that in some sick way, he thinks she is a willing sexual partner that desires to have his baby, a partner that actually desires sex with him for the purpose of perpetuating a new life. As outrageous and unthinkable as the situation is, she further understands that he not only believes she is growing more excited by his sexual advances, but is encouraging them. His hands slide down her sides until they reach her waist. Encircling her hips with the span of his fingers, he raises up to mount her, his solid manhood seeking her womanhood.

"No!" she suddenly screams, kicking out violently with her feet while grabbing at his throat with her freed hands.

Moving even faster, her curled fingers barely grazing the flesh of his throat, he jerks backwards while lashing out with his right hand, the knuckles connecting solidly with the side of her head. Again, she sees stars and her vision blurs. But this type of fighting is familiar to her, and she regains her senses almost immediately.

Before he can bring his hand back, she feigns a roll to the right, but instead, rolls instantly to the left, against the direction of the blow, and catching him off guard, knocking his braced arm out from under him. His other arm shoots back, but slips against the moist moss. He flails briefly, his upper body weight unable to resist gravity's mighty tug before flopping down on his side and jarring his chin against the unforgiving surface.

"Dam it, Loté!" he cries out, angered by the taste of his own blood from a gash to his lower lip, but not yet aware that he is rapidly losing control of the situation.

Finally free from his weight atop her, she starts to scramble to her feet. But he is still too quick for her, and he grapples her ankles, dragging her back to the ground. Frantically, she kicks out with her heels, aiming for his face. But her efforts only warrant glancing blows to his shoulders. And then, as if it has fallen from the skies, she feels the familiar hilt of her long-knife. To her dismay, she is wedged on top of it, the blade pinned beneath her torso. Trying to roll farther away from him and get in a position to free it, he catches her by the shoulders and with a shoving, pulling action, brings her bodily back against him.

She cannot afford to give up, and arguing with him is useless, he has already proven that to her. Yet, she can't just squirm around on the ground forever. Eventually he will have her where he wants her, and then it will be over. Even if he doesn't intend on killing her, it doesn't matter; she won't let him have her, and she won't carry his child!

"Porg!" she screams.

For just the briefest of moments, he stops and looks at her, startled by her sudden outcry. In that moment, she moves with all the old agility and cunning that she acquired while learning to survive in the catacombs and tunnels of the subsurface.

Rolling to the left, while pulling her feet up under her and planting her hands on the highly polished steel blade, she literally throws herself away from him, shoving off and away from him with all the force her muscular legs can generate. To her dismay, the deadly edge of the long-knife slices gingerly into her grasping fingers, drawing dangerously close to the tendons and muscles. But she hastily shuts the pain out of her mind, convincing herself that they are just flesh wounds, nothing that will impair her handling of the weapon to any great degree.

Momentarily free of Porg, she spins around to face him, while simultaneously flipping the weapon hilt-first into her hungering hand. Porg lunges, but Loté is the quicker this time, and she slashes at the air over her head, the blade whistling with deadly speed and accuracy. Porg catches himself and freezes in his tracks; his blood-covered torso is just inches from Loté's deadly reach with the long-knife.

Standing in an intimidating stance, Loté says softly, almost gently, "There is no backing down anymore. You had your chance, and you lost it. I'm sorry Porg, but what must be, must be."

With the sound of metal running against hardened leather, Porg draws his long-knife. "No, Loté, it's you that had your chance, and yes, now what must be, must be. You may not carry my child, but Rod will spend the rest of eternity trying to find your remains. As surely as we stand here now, I will consign him to a living Hell! I will show him that he never should have treated me so lightly. Hunger in Hell, Rod!" he cries out at the top of his voice.

Before Loté can reply, he lunges blade-first, a jabbing forward thrust in an attempt to catch her off guard and drive through her defense. Without moving her feet, she easily parries his thrust, the sound of hardened steel ringing against hardened steel. Almost casually, she counters with a crossing slash, testing his abilities against her own. He just as easily parries her slash, displaying a natural ease with the long-knife that she hadn't expected from him. In the back of her mind, she realizes that he must have been toying with her earlier when he acted so inept.

Not one to ever underestimate an enemy though, she puts more finesse into her next move, and strikes out at his legs. Twisting her wrists at the last moment, she turns the momentum in the blade upward; an old trick that will separate a lesser-skilled warrior's balls and worry his manhood.

Once again, Porg is too swift to fall for the move and easily deflects her blade downward and away from his groin, his superior strength proving to be a distinct advantage for him. She has never seen him in action with a long-knife before, at least not when he was sober, as he is now, and thus is surprised by his finesse and ability. Still, she is not overly concerned, as she has fought tougher opponents in her past; she too can prove to be a very resilient fighter, and she is not a quitter.

Sliding the hot steel of her blade along the edge of his, she easily frees her weapon and steps back, planting her feet solidly on the uneven ground. Porg misreads her move as an act of weakness, and steps forward, thinking that he has her on the run. By doing so, he loses any advantage that his longer reach and superior strength gave him. It's an amateurish mistake. As he moves in close, she does the opposite of what is prudent and expected. Unlike the back-stepping move that he expects her to make in defense, she ducks beneath his advance while leaning forward, putting her face almost into the pit of his stomach.

He reacts instantly to her move, and checks his forward advance immediately. But instead of leaping backwards, he arches up and, gripping the hilt of his weapon with both hands, drives it point first at her exposed back. It seems to him that for all intents and purposes he is inflicting the coup de grace.

Loté has badly misjudged her opponent's skill and agility with a long-knife, and now it will cost her her life!

Grinning with the smell of victory in the air, Porg's blade rings loudly with the sound of metal striking igneous rock, the shock traveling the length of the blade and resonating through the hilt and into his hands. Loté is no longer on the ground in front of him, but has shot through the space between his legs and is now standing less than a foot behind him, her back to his. Like a pair of dancers on a music box rink, they turn to face each other, the sound of their weapons striking together above their heads with a clash, ringing through the surrounding jungle. With a terrifying hiss, the deadly edges of their blades slide down each other, each coming to a halt against the hilt of the other. For the first time since their blades met, Loté feels genuine concern for her life.

Using his greater strength and height, he pushes her backwards, forcing her to scramble for stable footing. But while she is searching for balance, he is on her, driving hard, and slashing fast and furiously. It is too much too fast, and it is all she can do to keep his blade from getting past hers while trying desperately to get her footing.

But Porg is breathing hard and tiring fast. His blood-covered torso is dripping sweat, turning him a streaked pink. All of his drinking and slovenly ways are finally showing themselves in his faltering stamina. Spittle flies from his mouth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Moreover, what she had previously believed to be a superficial wound to his chest continues bleeding heavily. He is losing a tremendous amount of blood, and it too is taking its toll on his greater initial strength.

But Loté is also tiring. The tunnels and catacombs of Heälf are a long way in the past. Since then, she has been spending her days with an infant, not staying in form with a long-knife. To her dismay, despite the many times she went through the recycler, she is not in the same great shape that she once was. Moreover, since giving birth to Nava, she has had to refrain from being recycled or lose the ability to produce milk, and now her stamina is being taxed beyond its limits. With a firm stance, she checks his advance, parrying his blows and delivering the same back. Although she still feels the spirit within is strong, she is visibly slowing, her blade no longer snapping the air around them. She is rapidly growing weaker.

Suddenly, Porg eases off and steps back, breaking off the brutal attack. This is the moment she's been waiting for, and she knows that she should press the advantage before he has time to catch his breath. Instead, she makes one last appeal to him.

"It's not too late, Porg," she says between mouthfuls of air. "If you agree to surrendering yourself to Layton and accepting whatever punishment is seen fit by a jury of your peers, we can call a truce. There is no reason for either of us to die here," she breathlessly pleads.

"My punishment will be banishment or eternal death," he argues, sounding saner than he had been as of late. "I don't know what came over me, Loté. Maybe if Rod hadn't been so hard on me all the time. Or if I could have stayed away from the spirits." He pauses for a moment and then smiles as he adds, "Or maybe, if you weren't so damn beautiful, maybe then things could be different."

The tone of his voice brings up remorse and pity toward him. Even though he just tried to rape and kill her, she suddenly wants to help him. But before she can tell him of her intent, he continues, "There's something wrong with me, Loté. I can see that now. What I did to you and was trying to do to you, that wasn't me. Something evil took over, controlling my thoughts and actions. It scares me Loté that I could let myself get so out of control."

"Then we'll get you help, Porg. We'll start by having Keazar recycle you. Maybe something went wrong the last time." Although she hasn't known Porg that long, she assumes that he's been recycled before; almost everyone on the surface and below has been recycled at least once.

"I'm sorry, Loté, but how can I ever be trusted again. Even I can't trust myself not to lose control."

With no warning, he suddenly raises his weapon above his head, exposing his blood-streaked chest, and charges straight at her. Without thinking, she brings up her weapon and drives it into his chest, the point finding the same wound as before. It is almost as though everything that had taken place since her blade first broke his skin until this moment hadn't happened. His destiny was to die by her hand, and destiny would not be denied.

With his arms held high above his head, his fingers slowly relax their grip on the hilt of his weapon, and it falls harmlessly to the ground behind him. Oxygenated blood suddenly froths from between his lips and he stiffly lowers his arms to his sides. Looking into his eyes, Loté sees only relief, such as a tired man giving himself over to restful sleep. His lips move as he tries to tell her something, but only bloody foam spews forth. Loté believes that he is asking her not to recycle him, but to leave him rest in peace for all eternity. In that moment between life and death, he finds what he is looking for, what he so desperately needs, and recycling would only return him to the purgatory that he has just escaped.

Loté never hears the words spoken, but she hears them just the same. She will honor his wishes.

**9**

Working vigorously, Loté hurriedly uses her skinning knife to cut an abundance of small leafy plants that she piles next to the body. The scent of fresh blood has drawn several predators to the area, and it has been a simple matter of lying in wait and killing the first to draw near enough. With the meat ready for transport back to the waiting group, she studies Porg's lifeless and now slightly disfigured body, fighting back the overwhelming urge to extract a small piece of tissue for recycling. She can't ignore the fact that under different circumstances, he might prove to be a very productive human being. And there is always the possibility that his mental problems stem from an inability to control his drinking. Or simpler yet, from a glitch in the recycling process that Keazar can correct. All of these are strong arguments against what she feels she must do.

After the moment of indecision passes, she uses her long-knife to cut several leafy shrubs and adds them to the other pile next to his lifeless body. Satisfied that she has a sufficient amount of foliage, she carefully scatters the debris over the inert corpse. The branches and leaves will only hide the corpse for a short time before scavengers drag it into the open. Furthermore, it would be useless trying to dig into the surface to bury him; the crust is almost impenetrable. Satisfying herself with the knowledge that once the scavengers finish with the body it will be unrecognizable, she steps back from the slight mound of vegetation. The long-knife is hanging limply in her right hand and she momentarily considers using it to dismember the body. But she quickly disregards the notion. It only increases the odds of someone being able to decipher what happened to him if his remains are found before the sun rises. Blade marks are much different from teeth marks. It will be much more prudent of her to allow the animals to disperse the remains until the rising sun can finish the job.

Even with the remains unidentifiable as those of Porg's, the risk remains that someone might unwittingly return enough of his DNA to Keazar's labs to recycle him. Having made her decision not to recycle him, she didn't want anyone else doing so either. But if that happens, it is out of her hands. If she runs into Porg in the future, she will treat him as if nothing has happened, unless he chooses otherwise. Then she will simply deal with the situation like any other. She can be a very resourceful individual if the situation demands it.

Satisfied that there isn't any more she can do to hide the corpse from casual observance, she sets off with her freshly acquired provisions. It is highly unlikely that anyone will find the body before the sun rises and scorches this area to ash. The members of her small group are the only ones that she is aware of this far to the east, excluding Keazar's floating domain. But even they will not be searching for corpses this far to the south, having assumed that her group already scoured the area previously.

"Don't worry about it, Loté," she says aloud to herself. "It's not as if he gave you any other choice."

But he didn't have any say in whether he would be recycled or not. That was a decision she made entirely on her own, and that was the decision that she would have to learn to live with, because there was no going back once she left this place and put it behind her.

With it spoken out aloud, she is finally able to put it to rest, and think more clearly on the near future. Upon returning to where the others are waiting for her, they will wonder what has become of Porg, since they were aware that he'd left directly behind her with every intention of overtaking her. She will need a plausible answer for them. Not only will she have to explain his death and how he died, but even more importantly, they will want to know why she didn't retrieve any of his DNA for recycling.

Then it comes to her! She suddenly can't believe that she hadn't thought of it before. His untimely death is easy to fabricate a story around, even if she doesn't feel comfortable lying to her trusting friends and comrades.

Stopping, she lowers the sling of fresh meat and, utilizing her skinning knife again, cuts a small piece that runs with the grain of the meat, instead of against it. This is contrary to what any hunter or provider will do with a fresh side of meat for the simple reason that it will cook up tough and stringy. Using her soft chamois top, she carefully secures the bloody meat within it and ties it tightly around her neck like a sling. No one will ask to see Porg's tissue; there isn't any reason to doubt her since she is widely trusted and respected. In addition, the knots she uses to secure it within the leather top will make it difficult for a casual observance.

Upon reaching Keazar's domain, she will explain what transpired between her and Porg. Being a close and trusted friend, Keazar will surely arrange an accident in the recycling chamber, thus destroying any remaining chance of recycling the man. Only because Keazar is a trusted friend and confidant can she even consider such a wild scheme.

Eventually, she will have to tell Rod. Without a doubt, he will not approve of such deceit, especially among their friends and comrades. But with the deed done, he will have to keep her secret safe or risk embarrassing and humiliating her. Such a catastrophe could undo all of his hard work, her disgrace overshadowing all of his good deeds. Moreover, it is not fair that Nava should grow up under such a dark cloud.

As she considers all of these things, she silently curses Porg again for forcing her to take the actions that she had. But there wasn't any other option, or so she keeps telling herself. He didn't give her any other choice than to kill him. Ultimately, it was what he wanted.

Each time she thinks she has it justified in her mind and gotten beyond it again, new worries and concerns crop up. But there isn't any going back, and she is almost back to the trail where the rest of her small group is hungrily waiting.

As she draws closer, she smells the green smoke from a small cook fire. Despite her tense mood, she almost smiles, feeling a moment of pride at their confidence in her hunting abilities. They never would have wasted time and effort gathering dry fuel and building a fire if they hadn't believed that she would return soon with fresh meat.

She meets the outlying sentries as she works her way through the dense underbrush. Their eager smiles quickly turn to expressions of concern when they don't see Porg's sulking form tagging along close behind. Hurrying forward to greet her, their concern quickly turns to horror at the sight of all the blood congealed on her upper torso.

"Loté is back!" the second to see her yells excitedly over her shoulder.

Loté hears the excited babble suddenly pipe up from the others waiting back on the trail, a short distance farther. A distinct voice lets out a horrific wail, whether he realizes his mother is back, or just feeding off the excitement of the others, Loté isn't certain. But at any rate, she suddenly remembers why it is so important for her to resort to subterfuge with her friends. They mustn't know the truth! She cannot let Nava grow up surrounded by shame and humiliation.

The first to meet up with her eagerly accepts the heavy burden of raw meat and rushes back to the cook fire.

"Cook it all," Loté calls after her before acknowledging the next woman to greet her.

Her name is Jai, and she glances past Loté, looking for Porg's hulking personage. Loté almost suspects that she sees a glint of anxiety in the woman's eyes. But whether it is in hopes of seeing Porg, or excitement at not seeing him, she cannot be certain.

"Jai," she says with a conciliatory tone of voice, hinting at a possible conspiracy. "Did anything happen in my absence?"

Nava wails again, the tone of his cries clearly alerting Loté to the fact that he knows she is near and demands her presence at once.

"Only that your son misses you," Jai laughs, ignoring Loté's hint. If anything has happened, she isn't going to learn it from this woman.

At that moment, Fane comes through the undergrowth with Nava kicking and squirming to get away from her. She is followed by most of the other women and all of the children that are able to walk on their own, which pretty much includes the entire group. Seeing his mother, his efforts double, and Fane is barely capable of containing him before he literally plunges into Loté's open embrace.

"My baby," she coos, hugging him tightly and drawing comfort from his nearness. "Was he much trouble?"

"Oh no, he was a good little gentleman," she lies, before adding with a smirk, "Just like his father, no trouble at all."

"Now I know you're lying to me," Loté fires back at her, the thought of Rod lighting up her face with a smile. Nava quickly discovers Loté's exposed breasts and sets to work filling his chubby little belly. He is too young and naïve to realize why his mother's breasts are bare beyond what it means to him.

Fane lovingly watches Loté and Nava interact for a moment, as do the others, before inquiring of the small package that she has slung over her shoulder. Everyone present recognizes the wrapping material as that of Loté's leather top. It is a distinction of hers to remain one of the few women that still adhere to the old customs brought forward from Mother Earth so long ago. Although she isn't diligent in her belief, far from being prudish, nudity makes her uncomfortable to a slight degree, especially since she gave birth to Nava. Hence, she conceals her firm and ample breasts whenever possible. To her greater disbelief and amazement, she is aware of the fact that she is literally starting a trend among the women of Heälf, and ever more frequently, she meets women that are doing the same as she is in that they too are adopting the older, more traditional ways as their own.

Fane seems to sense immediately what the small parcel contains, and as one, the group grows somber, including the smaller children as they sense the change in the adults.

"There was a terrible accident," she hears herself saying, though she isn't aware of speaking to them. With no interruptions, she tells a rehearsed story of how Porg was caught off guard by a terrible beast while they are hunting the little Jacklet, a regular staple of game on the surface. Without warning, and before she can come to his assistance, the beast has Porg and is dragging his lifeless body into its lair. Although she tries to play down her own part in the tale, she has to explain how she managed to procure a small part of Porg's great anatomy from the dangerous creature without suffering any wounds.

"Having feasted on Porg's rich corpse," she utters sadly, an emotion that she doesn't have to fabricate, "The beast went right to sleep. Taking advantage of the situation while it lay sleeping, I simply snuck up and cut off a small part of his exposed thigh. Since I couldn't risk contaminating Porg's DNA with the jacklet's DNA, I wrapped it in my top until I can get it to Keazar."

She chose his thigh as the place of extracting a tissue sample because it would most resemble the piece of Jacklet that she had in the parcel, even though she had no intentions that anyone should ever lay eyes on the piece of raw meat.

There was a moment of silence while everyone honored poor Porg's memory and sacrifice. None are suspecting they will never lay eyes on him again.

"Come, we are all hungry, and thanks to you and Porg, now we can eat," Fane commands, terminating the moment of silence.

Leading the group back to the small clearing that has been trampled down by numerous feet, Fane keeps trying to quiet the many children as they bombard Loté with thousands of excited questions. Loté, not disquieted by all the attentions is however, thankful that they are only women and children; men would have demanded answers to questions that she couldn't answer. At least, not truthfully, and she is already tired of keeping up the lie.

Nava is enjoying the attention immensely, now that he has his mother back. All the while Loté fights off the other children's questions, he never stops suckling, his appetite seemingly insatiable. Jai follows closely behind Loté, almost as if she wants to hear the answers to the questions being flung at her regarding the details of Porg's untimely demise. But Loté remains tight-lipped, feigning hunger and fatigue, while giving only vague answers to the children, knowing they are only asking for the excitement of imagining the scene of a great battle. She is fully aware that when they awake after filling their bellies, they will be telling her what happened, and none of their stories will be any closer to the truth than the one she has already given.

If anyone is going to be a problem that needs further convincing of the lie, Loté senses that it will be Jai. There is something about her mannerisms that Loté can't quite put her finger on. If she only knew her a little better, she might understand what it is. Aside from the fact that she's seen her around the domain for some time, she never took the time to get to know her, and hence, knew almost nothing about her. She made a mental note to get Fane alone at the first opportunity and see what she can learn discreetly about the woman. There were deep currents running behind the woman's eyes, and she needed to know what instilled them. For reasons that she couldn't explain, it seemed important to understand why Jai was disappointed by Porg's failure to return with her. After all, they hadn't really gone hunting together.

A new thought suddenly worried her. Was it possible that Porg had confided in Jai about his demented intentions toward her, and thus, Jai suspected that her story wasn't entirely what she professed it to be? But she quickly ruled out the possibility that Jai knew more about Porg's intentions toward her than any of the others did. Porg was working alone. If anything, Jai was simply jealous of Porg's obvious attentions toward her, and that was the end of it!

By the time they broke into the small clearing, the smell of roasting meat was almost overwhelming. Her mouth, as well as the mouths of the many children and the other women, started salivating. Loté's impromptu interrogation by the children abruptly ended, as the smell of food predominated all else.

The children squealed with delight as still bloody hunks of Jacklet came off the smoky fire. Like a pack of starving savages, they eagerly tore into the pieces with ravenous appetites. Because Loté had skillfully carved the meat from the bone in order that she wouldn't have to carry any more weight than absolutely necessary, all the meat was a prime, boneless filet cut, extremely tender and juicy. The woman waited a few minutes longer, preferring their meat more well done. Theirs was the restraint of adults.

While they are eating, Jai continues throwing furtive glances in Loté's direction. Under normal circumstances, Loté wouldn't have noticed. But these aren't normal circumstances. Never before in her life has she openly lied to friends and comrades. Her guilt is gnawing at her insides, eating her alive.

The first bite of meat sits bitterly in her stomach and she realizes that she doesn't really have much of an appetite. The thought that it is only Jacklet meat and not really Porg's flesh in the folds of her top grows evermore distracting. Even while she tries eating, she keeps it slung over her shoulder for fear that someone might decide they want to see it and realize that it isn't human flesh. Children have been known to exhibit extremely morbid curiosities.

Fane notices her picking absently at her single piece of meat and gently asks of her, "Are you feeling okay, dear? Would you like some water? Jai made a water skin from an old hide and fetched water while you were gone. I'm not sure if the children left much, but it will make you feel better."

Her second bite of meat, although mechanically chewed, hangs up in her throat and she coughs to dislodge it, gasping for air. It hadn't occurred to her until just this minute that Porg might not have been the only one that followed her from camp. What if Jai had been following Porg? And what if she witnessed everything that transpired between Porg and her, or at least enough to know that her story was nothing more than a blatant lie?

Catch your breath, Loté, she silently commands herself. If Jai had witnessed anything, she would have already confronted me.

Or would she?

Even before Fane can ask someone to hand the crudely fabricated water flagon to her, it is waiting in Fane's outstretched arms for her to take. The children had been slovenly with it while washing down the almost raw meat and it contains little more than a few swallows. Loté gingerly accepts it and after thanking Fane and Jai, sips meagerly of the tepid liquid. Because of the fabrication, Loté quickly realizes why there is so little left, as the water runs down her chin despite her best efforts at guiding it into her mouth.

Jai notices how empty the flagon is and her mien changes immediately. Jumping to her feet, she quickly offers to refill it for her. Instead of arguing, which is her nature since she has never felt comfortable with other people doing for her, Loté accepts the offer, thankful for the respite from her constant attention and furtive glances.

Fane turns on her the moment Jai is out of earshot, "What's going on with you?" she furtively demands.

"Nothing. Why?" she answers as calmly as she can, feigning ignorance. But her voice betrays her nerves.

"You are not yourself, Loté," Fane tersely states, determined to find out what is troubling her dear friend.

"It is nothing," she argues lamely. "I guess I am just worried about Rod."

Her voice turns sympathetic toward her friend when she answers, saying, "He will be all right. He is a smart and resourceful man, he won't do anything foolish."

Before Fane even finishes pronouncing the last word, Loté looks up at her and their gazes meet; together, they burst out laughing. Everyone that knows Rod knows that he is both a smart and resourceful man. But they also know that he has a tendency to leap before he looks. It is not uncommon for him to get himself into trouble for not thinking a situation through before plunging into it headfirst.

"Seriously," Fane continues, their laughter hesitantly subsiding. "He can take care of himself. I am sure he will be just fine. You will fetch Layton and his army only to save Rod from himself. After all, there isn't any proof beyond Rod's suspicions that the tracks belong to slavers. We all took his word for it because it seemed like a logical conclusion." She was on a roll and determined to say her piece before she let Loté cut her off. "I think," and her voice became guarded so that only Loté could hear her, "I think your Rod was just itching for another campaign, something to give his life meaning and fulfillment again."

Shocked by Fane's boldness with respect to her man's motives, Loté exclaims, "Fane, how dare you!"

"It is true, and you know it," she states indignantly. "Everyone was talking while you and Porg were off hunting," she continues, her voice losing some of its indignation.

"You know me well enough to know that I don't really give a damn what other people think, Fane. But I do care what my friends think." She pauses for a moment while gathering the courage to admit the rest of what she is feeling. "I'm almost hoping that you might be right, Fane. If what everyone is saying is true, then my Rod will not be in any danger, except from me, when I catch up to him!"

They turn to each other and laugh guardedly again, much as two small children sharing a secret. Jai returns with the flagon clutched carefully in her hands, trying desperately to control the spillage as much as possible.

As Loté accepts the proffered flagon, she thanks Jai and quickly puts her mouth to the largest leak. "What's so funny?" Jai asks, setting herself on the moss near Fane.

"Just reminiscing about when we first met," Fane quickly lies. Jai had barely seated herself, when Fane rose to her feet and stated that it was time to be moving. All the remaining meat had been seared to make it store longer in the heat and humidity.

Loté hands the leaking flagon back to Jai, thanking her again, and also rising to her feet. Before Loté can suggest otherwise, Fane states that she will carry Nava. Loté thanks her, since she will be taking the point, which means she might have a need to use her long-knife and can't afford to be encumbered with Nava's forward facing carrier.

They set off at a brisk pace, everyone in the group, including the children, feeling the need to reach the domain and find Layton. Loté senses a new urgency among them since learning of Porg's untimely demise. Although everyone has reached the same conclusion that the men are not in any danger, no one wants to risk being wrong; the consequences are too extreme and Porg's death has reminded them of their mortality.

After five hours of nonstop travel, Loté estimates that they are almost a third of the way back to Keazar's floating domain and labs. Her calculations take into account the estimated distance that Keazar will be making westward during the time since leaving his domain.

Exhausted, the group falls to the moss-covered ground. The pond they will use for drinking water is less than twenty meters from the trail and in plain view. Several of the older children, along with Jai, stumble to the pond before also falling to the ground. After drinking her fill, Jai sluggishly fills the makeshift flagon and then stumbles back to rejoin those laying haphazardly about on the trail. Moving from one to the next, she starts with the younger children, letting each drink copiously of the tepid liquid. When the flagon is empty, only Nava and the adults that didn't go on to the pond haven't had any water.

As Jai stumbles past her, heading back to refill the flagon, Loté reaches out and stops her. "Wait, Jai, I'll take that, you rest." As an afterthought, she kindly adds, "You've already done enough."

"It's all right, Loté, I can handle it," she argues tiredly, but unconvincingly.

"No, I insist," Loté continues, rising to her feet and grasping hold of the flagon. Jai relents and sits where she was standing, between Fane and Loté.

It is a short distance to the pond and takes but a few moments to fill the leaky flagon. Before she turns to go back to the others, she kneels down and drinks her fill directly from the pond, unable to stop until her stomach feels waterlogged. She silently prays that it will be enough to tide her over until they reach the last known pond between here and Keazar's. The next leg of the journey will be the longest and driest, and she almost wishes that she hadn't been so eager to give up the flagons to Rod. But they will make it, she is confident of that. They will just be a little thirsty by the time they got there.

Returning to the group, Loté is suddenly overcome with an overwhelming need to hurry. Assuming that it is only her need to fetch help for Rod, and has been brought on by the delay involved in taking a break, she tries to shake it off. Everyone is tired. She has pushed them hard and they stood up to the challenge without complaint. Now they need and deserve a rest.

Handing the flagon to Jai, she makes it known that they will be resuming the journey in a quarter of an hour or so and to make sure that all the children drink as much as they possibly can. There isn't any need to warn the adults, they all know what is coming and where the next water is. Although Nava is still breast-feeding, he is also eating solids and drinking water occasionally. Loté is pleased when Jai makes him drink first from the leaking flagon. Fane accepts the water next, while the other women decide that it is probably more prudent of them to indulge directly from the pond.

When everyone from the pond has returned to the trail, Loté decides it is time to start off again. She briefly considers breaking the group into two separate factions. One that will stay here by the pond and wait for the floating domain to reach them, and a faster group led by herself that will push on. But just as quickly, as the thought crosses her mind, she dismisses it. Since Porg's demise, she is the only provider and defender of their group. To leave a defenseless group of women and children behind so she can travel with more speed to Keazar's floating domain is a most unconscionable thought. Although they will not lack for water, the water will also prove to be their enemy, as all manner of creatures will be coming to it to drink. Some of those creatures will be hungry, and a group of women and children will make for a very tasty meal.

For reasons that she can't explain, she glances skyward at the jungle canopy almost two hundred feet above their heads. It is growing thinner the farther eastward they travel due to the brighter reflection of sunlight off the two equidistant moons. Loté understands that the heat above the canopy is extremely higher than that lower down near the jungle floor, and that before they reach Keazar's domain, the canopy will be almost non-existent. The rising temperature will be too hot for tender green leaves to survive, leaving tall, pole-like stalks with interspersed lower-growing shrubs that are of a much hardier variety.

Something is pulling at her, but she can't define the feeling. Of one thing, she is certain, and that is that it isn't the inborn sense of direction that dictates westward travel only. Unlike most surface dwellers, she has never been inflicted with the instinct to only travel westward. Even as a small child, she didn't have any problems or qualms traveling in whatever direction she chose. Her fellow tribe members believed her to be an oddity, while her father was wise enough to see it as a gift. In some surface dwellers, any travel beyond a mile or two that wasn't of a westerly direction, resulted in anxiety and even physical sickness, including nausea and disorientation. Loté agreed with her father; she was definitely blessed with a gift.

But the pull she feels now isn't to travel in any specific direction, it is more like a need to be moving, and she hurriedly shrugs it off as nothing more. Taking Nava from Fane, she simply says, "I'll take him." She doesn't want to explain to Fane that she feels a need to keep him close. Fane won't understand anymore than she herself does. Or worse, Fane will misunderstand and take it as a slight to her ability to look after the child.

Although Loté wants to continue pushing the small group hard, she has to pace herself. Having Nava strapped across her front helps her accomplish this. With only her weapons, she has a tendency to travel fast. With Nava's bulk and weight sloshing in his carrier, she has to be much more cautious and pick her trail with care.

Still, they make good time, and within three hours, they come face to face with the returning party from Keazar's domain. With the deceased's specimens delivered to Keazar's labs for recycling, they are pushing themselves hard, and are anxious to rejoin the original group. Under normal circumstances, the reunion would mean a lengthy exchange of gossip and news. But it has only been a short couple of days since they parted ways. Instead of exchanging gossip and niceties, Loté's main concern is their water supply, and whether they can spare any for the young children in her group. Already, the younger ones are growing thirsty, and Jai's shabbily constructed flagon is long dry.

In their haste, they haven't stopped since leaving Keazar's domain, and their supply of water is ample to slake everyone's thirst before being depleted. With their thirsts taken care of, they sit down and explain everything that has happened since last they'd met. It is quickly determined that the three men will accompany them on the return to Keazar's. There are too few of them to offer any reasonable assistance to Rod, and they aren't carrying the right type or sufficient supplies for a journey into the farther reaches. As they are, they will only be a greater burden on Rod.

Within half an hour, they resume their journey eastward with one of the men taking the point. This gives Loté a respite and more latitude with carrying Nava, which she greatly appreciates. In addition, with the added security of the men, she feels a large weight of responsibility lift from her shoulders. Although they are good men and she knows that she can trust them, they never inquire about the parcel slung over her shoulder, and she doesn't offer an explanation. She has no doubt that they will hear the gossip regarding Porg and draw their own conclusions long before they reach Keazar's domain.

They are still two hour's travel time from Keazar's when the children start complaining of thirst again. To pacify them, Loté suggests they stop and chew on the remaining supply of cooked meat. It doesn't add any moisture to their dehydrated bodies, but it gets their saliva flowing and gives them a renewed spurt of energy. After a short break, they started east again.

By the time Loté sees the domain floating above the thinly scattered remains of trees, all of the adults are carrying children and holding hands with others. They've also been forced to call back the point man to assist with the children. They are a dejected looking bunch when Loté suddenly cries out with jubilation, lifting their weakened spirits for the last short distance.

"There! Just ahead! Can you see it?" she says as loudly as possible through her own parched throat. "It won't be much longer now."

Within minutes, scouts aboard the floating domain have spotted them and send men forward to bring them in. The first to reach them immediately checks the children over, administering salt tablets, and monitoring their intake of water. The younger children are carried in their arms and hurried back to the shelter of the domain while the weaker adults and older children are put aboard stretchers to await the arrival of the domain. Loté goes on with the younger children, unable to sit and wait while her mate is heading into unknown dangers.

### **10**

Although Rod isn't convinced that he's made the right choice by pursuing what he believes to be slavers, it is too important of an opportunity for him to ignore. Loté, who is normally supportive of him, isn't completely behind his decision this time, and that adds further to his sense of uneasiness. Moreover, it doesn't help that the men, though willing volunteers on this mission, are already missing their women and children, and they've only been separated a short time. Despite supporting him to the point that they will follow his orders without question, they still harbor a small amount of resentment for separating them from their families when they were so looking forward to the journey that had previously been laid out for them. Now, instead of ease, relaxation, and a good time with friends and family, they are have nothing to look forward to except possibly suffering hardships in an inhospitable environment that they would normally avoid at all cost, and the eventual confrontation of a dangerous and deadly enemy at some point in the not too distant future. Although he is in the lead, and sometimes separated by a fair distance from the rest of them, he can still hear their muted grumblings and complaints, whether they are intentional or not.

But it isn't that he can't understand or empathize with their feelings, because even though this journey was his idea and his alone, he shares their resentment toward himself. It had been a very difficult choice for him to make.

Before parting ways with Loté, he'd sensed that something was bothering her, and he cursed himself for not having paid more heed to it. A loving and devoted mate would have taken the time to find out what was wrong and done something about it while the opportunity was still there. Now he can only ask himself how he could be so damn selfish!

Thanks to Loté, his group is well supplied. The men are staying well hydrated and fed. And since all of them are eager to be reunited with their families, they are making good time, each of them hoping to end this venture as quickly as possible.

After six hours of steady travel in the rising heat, Rod calls a halt. The spoor they are following is well defined because the drier, more sparsely growing underbrush, is slower to conceal it than nearer the equatorial belt. Even this short distance from the equator has a profound effect on the vegetation, slowing its growth rate considerably due to the higher heat and lower humidity levels. The climactic conditions harbor a different type of plant life also that is coarser in both texture and color. Already, the thinning canopy above their heads is giving way to more open sky. Within several days, they will be moving beyond the reach of the jungle and into the even sparser tundra of golden brown reeds. Once they reach the tundra, they will no longer find any surcease from the hot reflection of the rising sun off the double moons. They will find very limited sources of food and definitely no sources of water. In addition, the reflected light will slowly burn any exposed skin.

To his knowledge, Rod is one of the few men in the group that has experienced the terrain of the farther reaches before, and thus knows what to expect. The others only know about it from what they've been told or gleaned from stories told by survivors of the reaches. Since he doesn't know who else has been in the farther reaches before, and didn't have the foresight of finding out before now, he makes a mental note of doing so before breaking camp again. He can't help but feel that their experience might prove invaluable.

After passing around the flagons of water, it is decided to take advantage of the slower growing vegetation now that there isn't any chance of losing the trail, and rest for a short while. Rod is an excellent tracker, but when the vegetation grows as quickly as it does nearer the equator, any spoor is quickly overgrown, making it impossible for even the best trackers to follow.

"We've gone more than thirty kilometers since leaving the women and children, Rod. How much farther from the trail do you think we'll have to go?"

The question is put to Rod by one of his most recent acquaintances, a man by the name of Parco. Parco's sense of allegiance to Rod isn't nearly as strong as that of some of the other men who'd shared experiences with him on previous campaigns. Rod doesn't know much about him because he hasn't sensed anything out of the ordinary in the man. He is simply a follower, a man that will follow orders to the best of his abilities and not create trouble if left to his own accord. If he had a backbone of his own, he would have declined to come along. In Rod's opinion, which he prudently keeps to himself, Parco should have returned to the labs with the women and children.

But out of some inner weakness or deep-seated need to be accepted by his peers, Parco went along with the majority and joined Rod's group. Now, unfortunately, he is burdened with having to keep a watchful eye on the man, as well as several others that he feels the same way about. And, in this particular instance, answer a question that can't really be answered. If he had any idea how much farther they would have to go before discovering the truth regarding the origination of the spoor, he would have shared it with the others immediately. Or so, he tries to convince himself.

In truth, if he is being completely honest with himself, he won't dare tell them that he is expecting they will have to travel many days or more into the farther reaches before they overtake the spoor. It will crush them to learn that they will be exposed to the scorching reflections of the twin moons. Or that there is a very good chance they will run out of water and other supplies long before making their way back to the equatorial trail. Or that most of them will not have the necessary stamina to overcome the excruciating hardships that they're going to encounter and will not survive. And he certainly will not tell them that after hacking off sufficient flesh for recycling from their dead and decaying carcasses, their DNA will be carried back to Keazar's labs in stinking leather pouches covered with flies. Or that what is left behind of their remains will be dried to a crisp and lifeless husk before eventually being incinerated by the rising sun.

"Parco," he says softly, trying to keep his patience in check, "Until we overtake them, I don't know anymore about what lies ahead than you do." If he hinted even slightly at the thoughts that had just run through his mind, Parco, as well as several others, would grab up their gear and make a hasty retreat for the equator. After studying Parco for a long moment, he realizes that he can't do that to the man. Unlike some, he fears that Parco will never get over the embarrassment, even after others have long since forgotten and forgave. Instead, he makes the decision that it is for the best if the man should reawaken in Keazar's labs after enduring a temporary hardship and an ill demise. It will give Parco a story that he can proudly tell his grandkids someday.

Unable to meet Rod's penetrating gaze, Parco quickly looks away. Suddenly feeling ashamed for the way he is regarding Parco, he quickly adds, "If you want to be helpful, Parco, keep your eyes on the southwestern horizon. The first sign that we'll have of overtaking them will be their floating domain. It's really important that we see it before they see us, because they will undoubtedly have sentries on both the surface and watching from the domain. They'll be watching their back trail for any sign of pursuit. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he stutters, his confidence bolstered and feeling important because he has a job to do.

As Parco moves away from him, Rod adds, "I'm counting on you, Parco."

Parco suddenly smiles and meets Rod's gaze, but only briefly, before hurrying to rejoin his little group of friends. Rod can't help but feel that the man is harmless, if not completely trustworthy. Yet, he feels certain that the man will keep a vigilant eye to the southwestern horizon, regardless.

While Rod looks on, watching Parco puff his chest out and explain to his comrades that he will be looking out for the floating domain because it is important that he see it before they see us, one of Rod's older acquaintances strolls over.

"Hey Rod," says Zin, taking a seat on the ground next to him and facing toward the southwest.

Rod met Zin shortly after Keazar took command of the floating domain that currently housed his recycling laboratories. Zin was one of the first to be recycled using solar power to fuel the energy hungry recycling apparatuses, a concept that regrettably has to be accredited to Lord Balzar. Keazar, having discovered the solar energy panels aboard the floating domain after taking it over from Lord Balzar's control, dedicated his knowledge and intelligence to perfecting them. It was determined early on that Lord Balzar had manufactured the solar panels in his own private workshops located beneath the planet's surface just for exploiting the hunger for eternal life on the planet's surface. With the fall of the domains in the subsurface, Lord Balzar had intended using the solar powered labs to rebuild his army from loyal followers that had fallen in battle, while selling the technology to the wealthies in exchange for more slaves and other valuables of every sort and nature. Rod had almost single-handedly foiled Lord Balzar's ambitious plans, eventually conquering his newly forming enclaves of evil.

Although Zin had been a soldier for Lord Balzar before Balzar's final demise, it wasn't by his choice. He had been drafted into service by Balzar's generals because he was a natural survivor. The alternative was a life of slavery, abuse, and eventually a horrible death with little chance of being recycled, even if you wished to be. Zin was an incredible man, talented with both weapons and tools; almost anything that could be done by hand came natural to him. Rod had taken an immediate liking to the man and the feeling had been mutual. They had fought together on several occasions, discovering a lot about each other, and learning that one could count on the other to watch his back; that meant something to men of their nature and caliber. They kept few secrets from each other.

"Hey, Zin," he says back, adjusting his situation to better see him.

"The trail looks fresher by the hour," he pauses, unconcerned that Rod might not understand his meaning. Because they think so much alike, there isn't any need to explain everything when they speak to each other.

"We'll be overtaking the source of the spoor soon."

"Then it's not a floater that we should be keeping an eye out for after all?"

"No," Rod simply states. "A single man on foot. Approximately two meters tall, eighty kilos heavy, give or take."

"A large man by anyone's standard."

"My guess is he's a surface dweller. Too much hesitation in his directional adjustments, even if he has access to the orange pills."

"I agree," Zin states matter-of-factly. Rising stiffly to his feet, a habit that he'd developed despite having been recycled recently, he subconsciously checks the position and ease of movement of his long-knife in its scabbard before saying, "Time to move."

Sealing the flagon that he'd been fiddling with, Rod rises beside him. "Yeah."

As if reading his mind, Zin says, "Feeling guilty about your decision to follow this spoor will only distract you when we come to the end of our journey."

"Yes, you're absolutely correct," he quickly agrees, for he has been thinking the same thing earlier. "Yet, I can't help feeling that I have betrayed Loté and my son. My decision to follow this trail was a selfish one. I'm afraid that I've been having a hard time justifying it in my mind."

"You only feel the way you do because you assume that all good men share your sense of duty." He hesitates for a long moment while they stand in silence before continuing. "Let me tell you something, my friend." Rod has to look away when Zin continues. He is not accustomed to a man of such youthful looks and vigor speaking and acting like a wizened old gentleman. Although Zin was a product of the subsurface, after adapting to the surface, he adopted many of the surface ways and traditions of the surface as well. Like a surface dweller, he allows himself to grow to an advanced age before conceding to the recycling apparatus. And although he has finally conceded, he never loses the image of himself as an aged elder. "Not everyone shares your moral sense of duty or righteousness, my friend. But that does not mean that we don't feel strongly about injustice, wherever it might be. We just don't have the courage or hutzpah to make these decisions and take action on our own. We need men like you to act as our lightning rods; to bring us together and force us to do what we already know and believe is the right thing to do. Please don't feel that it is selfish on your part, or that you are doing the wrong thing here. Once you start doubting yourself, we are all lost." Almost as an afterthought, he softly adds, "All of mankind is at risk when the righteous man doubts his actions."

Rod slowly digests his friend's words before answering. "You're a good and loyal friend, Zin. Thank you. You have made it much easier for me to go forward with a clear conscience now."

With that said, Rod takes the lead with Zin falling in directly behind him while the others string out single file to the rear. His talk with Zin has helped to ease his troubled mind. But he still can't shake the feelings of guilt that he has for not having paid closer attention to Loté before they parted. He is unable to shake the feeling that he has let her down, and yet, he doesn't know why.

This was supposed to be a relaxing journey into the cooler, more hospitable western hemisphere. They are only supposed to be doing human salvage work while teaching Nava and the other children that had been born aboard Keazar's floating domain about survival and their true home, the jungle. The children had spent all of their days since birth aboard Keazar's floating domain, much to Keazar's immense delight, and it was time for them to experience the real world. They are young and in their formative ages. Because of the recycling machines, and the manner in which the machines only restore a human body to its peak physical condition for survival, there isn't any way to recapture one's youth. Once the body is grown, it always remains an adult, there is no going back, and it was Rod and Loté's wish that Nava have every opportunity at experiencing his true origins.

And that was another reason he was feeling guilty over his decision to send Nava and Loté back, while he pursue what might only be an aged, but otherwise healthy straggler from a clan located to the west. The spoor might be nothing more than a delirious soul that has lost his ability to tell direction. Of course, if that turns out to be the case, as unlikely as it is, their journey will not have been in vain either. But even then, he will have paid a high price for the rescue.

They make good time, and yet, the trail they follow doesn't grow any fresher. Whoever is leaving the spoor has picked up their pace and straightened out their course. When Rod and his men first took up pursuit, the trail zigzagged and the man stumbled, varying his course as if he were lost. Now, he is moving with determination and purpose.

"What do you make of this, Rod?" asks Zin, as he kneels down close to study the spoor.

"Someone was purposely laying a trail to look like that of a straggler nearer the equatorial trail. But now that they are farther away from the main route where there is less chance of being discovered, they are moving more brazenly and in a manner not to waste time or effort. This clearly indicates that they knew their destination all along."

"Yes, but what do you think it means to us?"

Rod thinks for a long moment before answering. "It means that we still have a long distance to go, and we will not be overtaking this individual until after he reaches his destination. We cannot push the men any harder than we already have, and now this spoor is outpacing us."

"My thoughts exactly," Zin agrees. "And until we reach his destination, we need to be on the lookout for traps."

"Do I hear the voice of experience talking?" Rod asks of him, a smirk on his face.

"You enjoy this way too much, my friend," Zin answers him with a knowing wink, before rising to his feet and setting off at a brisk trot, his attention riveted to the spoor ahead of him.

Rod follows close on his heels, acting like the man's eyes and nose, trying hard to watch the nearer surroundings so that his friend can concentrate on the spoor. This is a routine that is familiar to them, and they make good time. Yet, despite moving swiftly with the others panting heavily along behind them, the trail doesn't grow any fresher. But then, it doesn't grow any staler, either.

After three hours of pushing themselves hard, the men start grumbling, demanding a rest. Glancing back at them, Rod feels a pang of guilt for having pushed them so hard. They are glistening with sweat and looking ragged and tired. Rod immediately signals Zin to halt. The men instantly drop in their tracks, forming a small group on the dry, thin layer of rust-colored mosses. They are in the broken shadows of a small group of trees. Looking farther to the south and west, Rod notes that the trees no longer grow in clumps, but only individually, and progressively shorter in stature. They also sport many less branches and leaves. The undergrowth has become harsher, the vegetation more brittle and prickly. Soon, Rod knows, they will be out of the trees altogether, and only the tough reed-grass will cover the ground. At that point, they will lose the protection of the trees for shade entirely, as well as the protection of the undergrowth for concealment. As a tradeoff, they will be able to see much farther ahead than they currently can.

Another concern that Rod has is the trail they are leaving for the others to follow. Once they reach the reed covered tundra, they will not be able to mark their passing without great difficulty. He must discuss it with Zin, as well as finding out who has gone into the farther reaches before. Zin will know, because he hasn't been distracted by guilt over his actions, he is thinking clearer.

Water flagons are hastily passed around and Rod looks on apprehensively, watching the men over-partake of the precious liquid. Soon, they will have to ration the water, he thinks morosely, the guilt weighing heavily on his thoughts.

**11**

They move through the dense undergrowth with an easy grace, each as silent as the other. Horspaw is again impressed with her flowing movement and agility. At one point, to allay suspicions that he knows exactly where he is going, he lets her take the lead. In truth, he only desires to watch her graceful movements along the overgrown trail, now barely more than a never-ending patch of low-growing shrubs and spindly saplings reaching up between the thick trunks of the older trees that support the jungle canopy more than two-hundred feet above their heads. It gives him a chance to study her finely toned muscle structure without her knowledge of him staring hungrily after her. As she moves lithely along, picking her way flawlessly to avoid having to backtrack or hack unnecessarily at errant limbs and branches, he feels his manhood engorging with feverishly heated blood. She holds a power over him that he can't resist, and he remains undecided whether he should accept the feeling and embrace it, or fear it as a weakness.

Absorbed to the point of distraction by Pena moving swiftly ahead of him, it is with a start that he suddenly realizes the faint scent of Loté's essence, which was implanted into his memory of memories, is slowly fading from his grasp. Pulling up short, he startles Pena with a loud, vicious grunt. Spinning about, her right hand subconsciously flying to the hilt of her weapon, her clear dark eyes search frantically for the cause of the sound. To her surprise, only Horspaw is standing behind her, a short distance back.

Seeing the pain and confusion on his face, she cringes involuntarily, suddenly fearful of what she doesn't understand. Out of a growing love for him, she quickly overcomes her fear, and hurriedly rushes to his side to learn what has upset him.

"Horspaw," she tremulously inquires, still uncertain of her standing with him, and fearing the raw power that is so evident in his heavily muscled body. "What is it? What troubles you?"

His face remains contorted with anger and confusion, the cause of which he isn't sure he can explain to her without adding further to her already evident fear of him.

Taking a few quick deep breaths, he slowly forces himself to relax. As the anxiety drains from his ruggedly handsome features, he meets Pena's steady gaze. The rapid beating of her heart gives away the anxiety that she is trying so hard to conceal. Consciously, she swallows deep mouthfuls of air, causing her full, firm breasts to rhythmically rise and fall. The movement further calms Horspaw, momentarily causing him to forget his primary objective and the reason for his sudden concern.

But it is only for a moment, and then the realization strikes him; if he intends to build a lasting future with this woman, he will have to be honest with her! If she cannot live with the truth of his origins, and ultimately the destiny that has been laid out for him by the legendary evil of Lord Balzar, then they should part company now, before their feelings for each other become all consuming.

Although the trace of Loté is quickly fading from his senses, he can't pursue it any farther until his relationship with Pena is established, one way or the other. "Pena," he says softly, almost gently, looking into her eyes for a sign.

"Yes," she replies with equal tenderness, her gazed locked in his.

"We must talk." After adjusting his weapon and pack, he gently takes her hand in his and kneels down on the moss-covered obsidian, pulling her down with him, their eyes never leaving each other's.

"What is it, Horspaw?" she asks tremulously, her voice quivering with anxiety. For reasons she cannot explain, she suddenly fears that he is going to ask her to leave him, to go her own way because she is slowing him down.

Yet, though this thought takes her breath away and leaves her with a feeling of loss, she finds it difficult to believe. She refuses to believe that she has misjudged his signals toward her to that degree.

Settling on a thick blanket of moss, he releases her hand and caringly brushes a loose strand of sweat soaked hair from her smooth, sensuous cheek. "Something is wrong," he starts, trying hard to find the right words, as well as the courage to continue. This was the first time ever that he feels anything akin to fear, and he isn't sure how to react to it. Nothing in his highly engineered genetic structure prepared him for feelings of love or fear. And hence, he has no intuition or background experiences to draw from, no friend or tutor to tell him how to behave or react.

"What? What can be so wrong?" Pena asks of him, feeling a sense of relief mingled with new concerns. She is convinced for the moment that he isn't going to ask her to leave, and for the moment, that is enough.

"So that you might understand, I will start at the beginning," he says solemnly.

With the decision made to be open and honest with her, he feels a tremendous weight rise from his shoulders. It leaves him feeling almost giddy, and he smiles at her. She is relieved by his actions, but she senses that he is about to include her in his deepest and darkest secrets, thereby unleashing a burden upon her that may feel inconsequential to a man such as Horspaw, but could be more than sufficient to crush a woman such as herself.

Yet, she is committed to this handsome man sitting before her, and she firmly believes that whatever he is about to share with her will not harm her, because he won't allow it too. She will however, share his burden willingly, and waits anxiously to hear what he is about to say, and how she can help him.

He starts by telling her of Lord Balzar, and the man's obsessive compulsion to capture a woman by the name of Loté. Then, he tells her of Loté's mate, Rod, and how the two of them spoiled Lord Balzar's grand plan to rule the world of Heälf. He tells her everything, leaving out no detail, no matter how small or insignificant it seems. She doesn't miss the fact that he speaks as if he is in possession of firsthand knowledge, and not the ordinary legends and myths that have been passed down in the form of stories and by word of mouth. His tale makes her believe that he is indeed a part of the legends of which he speaks.

When he is on the verge of explaining to her his primary reason for being, he suddenly decides that it might be better to take a short break before continuing. Even Horspaw is not so callous that he doesn't realize the weight of that which he is laying on her. It is a lot to take in, and he wants to give her time to absorb it without feeling pressured.

After building a small fire and heating some of the meat they are carrying, he settles into a comfortable position where he can see her face clearly. Most importantly, he wants to see every expression in her eyes so he is prepared for any reactions that she might have to what he tells her. When he continues, he speaks for over an hour before she suddenly stops him, all the while her face remaining passive and unchanging. He is on the verge of telling her that his sole purpose for being is to carry out Lord Balzar's destiny, when she puts her fingers to his lips and silences him.

"I have heard enough, Horspaw. You cannot tell me anything more to dissuade me from staying with you."

"But you haven't heard the worse, yet," he argues, determined that she should hear everything he has to say so that she might make an informed decision about staying with him or leaving to go her own way. "You must know why I was designed with a purposeful lack of emotions."

"Horspaw," she says softly, yet firmly, once again putting the tips of her fingers against his lips to silence him. "There is nothing you can say that will dissuade me of your ability to feel emotions."

Moving will all the inherent grace in her being, she rolls her knees under her and arches forward, her face stopping within inches of his. Planting her left hand firmly on the moss beside his right thigh, she uses her right to undo first his weapon belt, and then her own. As the weapons fall to the ground with a slight thud, she leans further forward and tenderly licks his lips with her moist tongue. His hands slide around the back of her head, his fingers entwining through her long, dark hair, almost gingerly pulling her face closer to his own. A heat is building in her as their tongues hungrily probe each other's mouths, tasting the buildup of salt on the ledge above their upper lips.

"Horspaw," she huskily whispers, his hands drawing her forward while simultaneously pulling her down on top of him, as he slowly leans back into the soft, thick moss.

"Yes," he answers her, his own breath coming fast and shallow.

"Just answer me one thing."

"Anything."

"Tell me that you don't love this woman that you're supposed to find. Tell me that it's not in your makeup. Please, Horspaw, can you just tell me that?" she pleads with him, their passion momentarily on hold. "Tell me that I'm the only one you love."

"I can tell you that and more," he says, silently relieved that she hasn't asked him to abandon his destiny.

"I don't want you to tell me anymore than you already have." She hesitates, not yet ready to pursue the passion that is still on hold between them. "I don't want you to tell me the obvious," she starts hesitantly, determined to get it all out before she loses her courage. "It is enough, knowing that she is entwined in our destiny. I will stay with you till the end of eternity, Horspaw. And I will help you fulfill your purpose. But, I cannot help you do harm, though I believe you will. You cannot help that. So, we will cross that chasm when we reach it, will we not?"

"Yes," he solemnly replies. "Yes, we will cross that chasm when we reach it."

He wants to tell her that he can forget about Loté and the drive that is forcing him to find her. But he knows that it would be a lie. Already, he is growing more concerned by the minute that her scent is fading, and that he might be losing his edge. They should be hurrying eastward, trying to overtake the fading trail before it is too late. But that time will come soon enough.

Reaching down, she takes his manhood in her left hand, gently guiding it to the hungry area between her thighs. Immediately, Horspaw forgets about the lessening scent of his prey, the blood in his veins racing to a boil, while his passion carries him away. He feels the heat of her fervor boiling through her veins as she guides his manhood to her. Their longing for each other is more powerful than anything either of them has ever known.

But another force is making itself known within his being also. It is fighting against the good that has taken root within him. His head begins to spin and his vision blurs. A tremendous pain starts throbbing within his skull, demanding to be noticed. Each beat of his heart sets off an explosion within his ears, deafening him to the sound of Pena's breath.

Suddenly, he can't stand it any longer. Placing his hands roughly beneath her arms, he thrust upwards, his tremendous strength sending her flying backwards through the air in an arc away from him. She lands gracefully and stumbles backwards from the momentum, her feet quickly finding a solid purchase between the vines littering the moss-covered ground.

Stunned by his sudden outburst and shocked to be standing on her feet looking down at him, what little remains of her composure is shattered by the sight of his face, as it slowly registers in her mind. Staring up from what were once strong and handsome features is a rictus of evil. The warm, passionate Horspaw is gone, and in his place an ugly, leering beast of sadistic portent. Its teeth appear overly large and distorted, ending in viciously sharp points that protrude from a narrow, jutting jaw. The skin of the beast is drawn so tightly across its once handsome features that they appear skeletal. And yet, even more disconcerting are the eyes. No longer are they warm and inviting, a quick sense of humor glittering like gems within their depths. Instead, they are burning with hate and sickness, and an overwhelming lust to inflict pain and destruction. They represent the plague of evil still inhabiting the planet. She is seeing the beast that Lord Balzar created. But she is seeing the beast for the first time without its thin disguising cloak of humanity.

Without thinking, she hastily leans forward and retrieves her pack and weapon, being extremely careful not to get too close to the being that only moments before she believed herself to be in love with. Now, she only thinks only of putting as much distance between them as she can, and as quickly as she can!

Horspaw stares after her, afraid to move, not trusting his own limbs to do his bidding. He wants desperately to make her stay, to explain why he had to force her away from him. But the evil that was genetically planted in his genes has taken control, and he is unable to fight the physical demands of his body with the mental knowledge of what he once believed.

Yet, he knows how much he loves her and wants her to stay, even as he lets her run away into the jungle. If he tries to stop her now, he might kill her, and that is a fate he can't live with. It is better that he let her go for now. He is an excellent tracker. When he regains control of his limbs, he will find her.

Covered in sweat, every muscle in his body screaming for release, he lays still for a long time, trying hard to understand what came over him. With a heavy sigh, he slowly relaxes, his body going limp before relinquishing control back to his consciousness. His features relax and once again, he resembles the Horspaw that Pena was about to let herself love.

His body spent and momentarily exhausted by the inner turmoil, it is with a bittersweet nostalgia that he discovers how he craves her presence so badly he can taste it. And yet, his physical body has just rejected the love that he feels for her on such a deep, physical level, it literally made him sick.

But he cannot control the feelings that he has for her. When they first met, it was his intention to simply use her, to control her so that she would willingly do his bidding. It was never his intention to fall in love with her. He is Horspaw! No mortal woman is worthy of him, and yet, he is longing for her. It shouldn't be so; he was created without the benefit of a soul! Although it should be impossible for him to love, he is missing her strength, her beauty and companionship, and the way she makes him feel when she is near. For the moment, however, he is thankful that she is safely away from him because he doesn't trust himself.

"Is this going to happen when I finally find Loté?" he questions himself. "Will I be unable to control my mortal body until my preordained destiny is fulfilled? And then what? Will I be able to love without conditions? Or am I doomed to this life of evil, unable to give myself to anyone for fear of ruining their life, or worse, taking it?"

There aren't any easy answers to the questions confronting him. Long before he was conceived, he was destined to destroy Rod and Loté at any cost, including the expenditure of his own life. Lord Balzar created him to be nothing more than an expendable piece of equipment, a tool of destruction! But then, he knew that all along. It was never kept secret from him that he was born without a soul. The fact that he cannot be recycled was also never kept from him, and until he met Pena, it never held any relevance to him. He is destined to live only one life, and that life was plotted out for him by one of the evilest men the planet has ever known. He is a fool if he lets himself believe that he can change either himself or his destiny.

But he wouldn't be Horspaw if he didn't at least try.

Rising stiffly to his feet, he gathers his pack and weapons to him. Every muscle and fiber of his being aches from the inner battle he has waged with himself. Unfortunately, it was a battle that he cannot help but feel he lost. There was no ground gained; only damages and losses can be accounted.

After strapping his weapon on and subconsciously checking the release from the scabbard before dropping it back into its resting place, he turns in the direction that Pena has gone. It takes substantial conscious effort on his part to simply lift his foot and follow after her, away from the steadily fading traces of Loté's scent.

"Pena!" he calls out, discovering that his voice is behaving just as it should, despite his muscle's resistance to carrying out his will.

Her scent is strong in his nostrils and his highly efficient ears can still discern her frantic movements through the undergrowth. Within minutes, he will overtake her. But then what? If he simply approaches her, she will distrust his motives. And if he captures her, she will never learn to trust him again. Moreover, if she does accept his explanations and apologies, what will happen when they finally find Loté? What then? Even he doesn't know all the intricate details of what has been programmed into him. Until they find Loté, and he proceeds upon fulfilling his destiny, no one will know just how demented Balzar's final plan is, or what he was capable of concocting. But without a doubt, Pena will never sit by idly while he does to Loté what his maker programmed him to do. And if she does, he realizes with newfound pride, he would only be disappointed in her.

Fighting overwhelming depression and resignation, he realizes with profound sadness that their relationship was doomed before it could ever be consummated.

"Damn you Balzar!" he screams at the top of his lungs, his feet unsteadily stumbling forward. Tears are running down his cheeks, the first that he has ever cried in his entire existence. Remorse threatens to drown him, as his situation feels hopeless. Even if Pena can find it in her heart to forgive him, she will feel compelled to try and stop him from carrying out his destiny. For the first time in his short existence, Horspaw fears the very real possibility of defeat. Unless he can find a way to cut out the evil permeating through his every ounce of being and fiber, he is lost.

With a heavy cloud of hopeless desperation looming over him, he suddenly breaks out in a volley of high-pitched laughter. Unable to restrain himself, he demands from the gods that he hasn't believed in, "How can you be so merciless?" Shrieking at the unresponsive jungle, he cries out in anguish, "Please, I beg of you to tell me." Even if Pena will still have him, he realizes that she will live a youthful life for all eternity. While he, on the other hand, is destined to die within a short span of time. He can't even be recycled!

Pushing himself to follow Pena's trail, despite the physical pain brought on by resisting the inner programming to find Loté, he stumbles forward through the low-growing vegetation, slowly losing the battle. When he can't go any farther, he falls to his knees, determined that he won't turn around, away from the woman that he's fallen in love with. Immense stabs of pain are wracking through his body with a physical intensity of a degree that he'd never felt before. His vision is blurred, the surrounding jungle little more than a multitude of green shades all running together. Despite the high heat and humidity, his skin is cold and clammy, his head feverish. It takes every ounce of his will and determination not to rise and give chase to the one thing that can give him relief from all the physical pain, as well as release from the mental anguish.

Gritting his teeth, his breathing shallow and rapid, he clings desperately to the moss and vines beneath his fingers, holding on with white knuckled intensity as if being drawn away from Pena by a supernatural force.

Just when he thinks he can't fight it any longer, he hears a voice over the roaring of his blood in his ears. Soft, sweet, and filled with trepidation, it is like sweet music to his heart.

"Horspaw," she says softly, hesitantly, as she stands back a few feet, just beyond his reach. When he turns his face toward her, her heart goes out to him. Although they've been apart for mere minutes, he looks as if he has aged a lifetime. "Oh my God," she moans involuntarily.

Dropping to her knees beside him, she carefully lifts his head onto her lap and tenderly brushes the sweat-matted hair from his face. Silently, she rocks him like an infant, soothing him, and cradling him to her breasts. With a deep, sighing exhalation, his eyes go shut and he drifts into oblivion.

Yet, oblivion doesn't bring him much needed bliss. Instead, his dreams are wracked by nightmarish scenes with ghouls ravaging Pena, while he is forced to watch. Although he tries to rescue her, he is caught in a battle of wills, his body refusing to do his bidding. Finally, he collapses from exhaustion, and the images fade, as if their purpose is served.

After a while, he sleeps soundly in her arms. She can almost feel him drawing strength from her mere presence. It is a good feeling, and she is happy.

After more than two hours of him sleeping softly in her embrace, she gently lays his head on her pack and slides out from under him, all the while being careful not to disturb his rest. He looks quiet and at peace, his features soft and relaxed. Her heart goes out to him. No man has ever looked so appealing to her before. Without understanding what has happened, she realizes that she loves him more than life itself, and whatever his destiny might hold in store for him, she intends to be there at his side, helping him through all of it.

Slipping quietly into the dense growth of vegetation surrounding them, she goes in search of fresh water. Within a matter of minutes, she finds a shallow puddle and refills her flagon. Returning to the place where she left Horspaw, she is astonished to find him sitting up, his eyes still groggy with sleep, yet studying her intently. It is almost as if he is looking for specific wounds or injuries, as if to dispel an inner notion. Yet, despite the reasons for his scrutinizing interest, she discovers that she likes having his undivided attention.

"Hi," she says lightly, placing herself on the ground next to him while handing him the flagon of water.

"I didn't hear you go," he says almost nervously, clearly bothered by the fact.

"That was my intention," she replies, consciously playing down the fact that he was angry with himself for having let his guard down. To her, it was a tremendous show of faith and trust, and it was suddenly important to her that he didn't regret having done it.

Still, his features grow ever harder before her eyes as he comes fully awake. Within seconds, the chisel-featured Horspaw is back, his eyes glinting like polished obsidian. She has no idea of the controversy boiling within him. Behind his mask of handsome features, he is toiling with whether he should take her into his supreme confidence and tell her more of the destiny that was plotted out for him, or keep her at arm's length from the evil that is sewn intricately into his mortal flesh.

To his amazement, she senses the struggle within him. "Horspaw, there is nothing you can't tell me. You don't have to fear that I will ever leave you. Just don't shut me out. I need to be a part of your life." Her voice is pleading, and it sways the argument in his head.

"Then, I must warn you," he says uncertainly. For the first time in his existence, he is afraid. "I am not what I appear to be."

"I know what and who you are!" she argues vehemently before falling silent again.

He smiles sympathetically, his resolve firmed by her blind allegiance. "You know nothing about me," he says tenderly, cutting off any further argument she might launch. His features visibly soften, and she falls silent, patiently waiting to learn everything there is to know about the man that she has fallen in love with; about the first man that she has ever given her heart to.

His tale doesn't disappoint her. They sit together for several hours, unmoving, each oblivious of the passing time. Pena's joints stiffen, but she can't move for fear he might stop talking. His tale is mesmerizing, while at the same time, scaring the hell out of her. He tells her of Lord Balzar, and the Lord's relationship to Rod and Loté, of whom she has already heard the legends and tales. Regarding the trail of innocent bodies that were left in his wake as he made his way to the surface, he only intimates. To his own surprise, he is not proud of what he has done. Still, he is incapable of feeling any remorse or harboring any regrets, because those feelings remain alien to his makeup. They simply do not exist for him, much the same as love didn't exist for him until he met Pena.

Just when she is certain that his story can't get any more bizarre, he tells her about his preprogrammed destiny to find and destroy the woman that destroyed his maker so long ago. To his amazement, she doesn't jump up and cry out indignantly, protesting his ability to be so cruel. This lack of action only further confirms his belief that she believes him.

It isn't until he tells her of his inability to be recycled that she shows any real concern or emotion, and these are confirmed by the flood of tears that come to her eyes and flow down her smooth, lightly tanned cheeks.

"I don't believe you," she blurts in denial, knowing that he is telling her only truths.

"You will spend eternity with me in my heart," he says, the words sounding lame even to his own ears. "But it is true," he continues, unable to conceal the hatred that suddenly flares up in his heart. "The infamous Lord Balzar, in his unlimited wisdom, neglected to take into account that his prodigy would be nothing more than a clone."

"Don't say that!" she cries out at him. "You are much more than a clone could ever be."

Pena knew very little about clones, aside from the fact that they were soul-less beings with a portent for evil. Like everyone else on Heälf, she'd heard the gruesome tales of the cruel and senseless acts perpetrated against mankind by Jontue's army of clones. The word clone brought forth images of sick and demented creatures with a penchant for committing cruel and sadistic acts against innocent people. She refuses to believe that he can be a soul-less being. Moreover, he has displayed acts of kindness toward her that no clone could be capable of committing. In fact, he has been kinder toward her than any man she'd ever met before was.

"I have changed dramatically since my journey from the secret labs beneath the surface," he starts softly, forcing her to lean closer to him to make out his words. It is almost as though he is speaking for his own benefit and not anyone else's, including hers. "Everyone I happened upon was just fodder for my evilness to exploit. People were little more to me than objects and playthings, something to amuse me, and always at their expense. I was a cruel and uncaring person, very much like the clones you protest to hate and despise." His voice is slowly growing in volume, and she realizes that he is indeed speaking for her benefit. His gaze shifts from the ground directly in front of him and rises to her face. His eyes are desperately pleading with her to have faith in him. "Even I cannot explain the change that is taking place within me, Pena. But you are more beautiful to me every time I look at you. Whatever is going on within this flesh that I am trapped, it hasn't finished with me."

"Isn't that proof enough that you're not a clone," she argues weakly, grasping for hope.

"It is proof of something, I am sure," he states placatingly. "But it doesn't change my destiny, Pena. I have no choice but to continue along this journey that was set out for me, and that is to find Loté. When I do, only then will we know how much I have changed."

They lean together and embrace, each giving strength to the other, an act that Horspaw would never have believed possible just a short time prior.

As they hold each other close, he feels a strong desire rising within him. In many more ways than he believes can all be innocent, he wants her. Yet, just the nearness of her gives him the strength to resist the evil clutches that are clawing at him, trying to pull him back into the dark fold. He feels the soft warmth of her skin against his own, her heart beating ever faster against her chest, audible to his acute sense of hearing. Slowly, he moves his hands down her back, pulling their lower bodies tighter together until he can feel the heat emanating from her womanly place.

Desire fills all of her conscious thought, causing her breath to catch in her throat.

"Oh Horspaw," she moans softly, subconsciously arching her back and forcing her lower body even harder against his blood engorged manhood.

There is no doubt that her desires are every bit as strong as his are. So how is it possible they can be spawned by evil, when she is so good and pure? Or is this lust that causes his manhood to swell and make him forget his destiny? If it isn't, then it can only be something so pure and good that evil fears to show its face in its presence. To believe his lust for Pena is evil would mean that her lust and desire to have him must also be evil, and that is a concept that he refuses to accept.

Pulling her tighter into his embrace, he feels the beating of her heart thumping solidly against his bare chest. Her firm, full breasts are heaving in rhythm to her quick, shallow breaths, her rock-hard nipples pressing firmly against his taught muscles. He wants her more than he has ever imagined wanting anything before in his young life, and yet, he firmly believes that his desire to take her is much more than just a physical union of two animals copulating. If he never releases the torrent of hot fluids from his manhood, he will not be disappointed, for he desires to have her in a much deeper sense than just the mere physical release that can be had by sex. His need goes so much deeper than that! His need goes clear to the core of his very being. If he can only hold her for the rest of his life, he is certain that he will die happy, content for the first time in his existence.

Contentment. It is as foreign to him as discovering love. And yet, he is experiencing it in all of its power and glory. Contentment is not just a simple feeling; it is so much more fulfilling than he ever imagined it could be.

So much is happening to him that he has not been prepared for.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he relaxes his embrace and holds her at arm's length, studying her beautiful eyes and smooth skin. He feels a strong desire to run his fingers over her cheeks, to feel the supple smoothness beneath his fingertips just to confirm that his eyes are not playing tricks on him. But he knows she is real, as she looks longingly back at him, her eyes questioning his motive for drawing away from her.

Before he can explain the flood of emotions flowing through him, she gently places her index finger against his lips and snuggles onto his lap, curling herself protectively against his warm body. Without having to be told, she understands that he isn't after sex, but a comforting closeness that doesn't call for or need an exchange of words. They snuggle together on the moss-covered surface for several hours, neither sleeping nor talking. In the near distance, they can hear the scurrying of small creatures migrating westward, occasionally stopping to chew on a tender growth or lowly leaf, but always continuing westward again within a few short moments.

It is this nonstop activity going on around them that starts Pena to thinking. Everything that ever evolved to survive on the planet's surface learned the necessity of non-stop westward travel. The weak perished while the strong and mobile flourished, or at the least, perpetuated the species. It was only recently that man found an alternative to this westward struggle, and that lay in man's ability to reason. Instead of running from the rising sun, man discovered that he could hide from it by going beneath the surface and waiting for it to pass over, only returning to the surface after the too near sun has moved on and the scorched earth is once again habitable.

So, why do they have to travel eastward? With her assistance, why can't Horspaw follow her into the west, away from the terrible consequences of his proclaimed destiny? She suddenly needed to know.

Very carefully, she moves her left arm so she can plant her left hand on the ground for leverage. Horspaw senses the movement and adjusts his own posture. If he had been sitting on an outcropping of spearheads, he wouldn't have moved before she did for fear of bringing their moment of closeness to a premature end.

"I've been thinking," she softly whispers. Not expecting a reply or receiving one, she continues, "Let's go west, away from Loté." Before he can argue, she adds, "I know, the physical pain will be tremendous. But with my help, I am certain we can overcome it. It is like an addiction that must be cured."

"If only it were that simple, my love," he says placatingly, acutely remembering the debilitating pain brought on just a few short hours ago.

"It is that simple," she argues more forcefully, slightly angered that he isn't even willing to try. And then, in almost a whimper, she says, "It has to be."

"If you really believe it's possible, for you, I will try. But promise me that you will not be too disappointed in me when I fail." He stumbles on the last word, its meaning feeling strange and haunting to him. Lord Balzar had not programmed him to understand the word failure!

Rising to her feet, she subconsciously checks the motion of her long-knife in its sheathe before retrieving her pack. "Come," she demands of him when he hesitates. She also is not familiar with the meaning of failure!

Rising, he likewise checks that his weapon slides easily in its sheathe. She smiles in acknowledgement of the unconscious act; it is the sign of a warrior and a survivor, and she silently believes that he picked up the act from observing her.

Turning her back to him and facing the darker horizon of the western hemisphere, she silently starts off, gingerly placing one foot in front of the next. When she has gone less than a dozen paces, she turns back toward Horspaw, slightly disappointed that he hasn't yet moved from the spot where she's left him.

"Come!" she sternly commands. "Your new destiny awaits you."

He slowly raises his right foot, but he can't bring it forward. It simply refuses his mental command. He has waited too long, given his body time to mount a fresh defense against his thoughts. With his face betraying his determination, his jaw clenches tightly, and his leg begins to quiver. She can hear his breath rushing in and out, the jungle around them suddenly growing quiet. All the creatures within their vicinity are suddenly aware of the tremendous struggle that is taking place in their presence. Every muscle and fiber within his body grows taut, the sweat starting to bleed unabated from his forehead. Yet, no matter how hard he tries, he can't reduce the distance separating them. It's as if a solid wall of impenetrable material has grown up between them. To his dismay, the wall is as solid as it is transparent, and his arsenal of training has not prepared him for anything like it.

"Pena!" he cries out in anguish, his voice sounding like that of an animal caught in a deadly snare.

Though her heart goes out to him, she realizes that he is as helpless to come with her into the west, as she is to leaving him alone to follow the destiny that Lord Balzar laid out for him so many years prior.

Without any further thought, she rushes to the man she loves, throwing herself into his open embrace. "Pena," he cries softly into the thick hair lying along the nape of her neck. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," she says soothingly. "It's alright."

"I tried," he continues, his voice choking with emotion. "I tried so damn hard, but my body resisted me. It was as if I were trying to move wood. And the pain was incredible. The harder I tried to fight it, the greater the pain."

"We'll find another way," she says with conviction, their arms still wrapped around each other.

"No, Pena, there is no other way, not until I find Loté and fulfill my destiny. Only then can we consider a future together."

"I don't believe that."

"It's true, Pena. We are dealing with a force that is much greater than either of us."

"He was only a man, Horspaw. The legends have grown and made him into much more, but he was still only a man. Cruel and evil, yes, but only a man!" she passionately argues. "And he was only capable of human accomplishments. He was not a god. What one man can do, another can undo," she adds with renewed conviction.

Horspaw smiles at her, the rigors of his attempt at changing his destiny having all but passed already. "That may be so, my love. But until I find Loté, I'm afraid that I am destined to a course without change, and that is eastward." When she remains silent, her eyes pleading with his, he quickly turns away, embarrassed by his utter failure. "Come," he suddenly blurts, heading toward the east and the lost scent of his prey. Without looking back, he says over his shoulder, "Until I find Loté, I must do what Lord Balzar intended of me."

Powerless to do anything else, she silently follows after him.

**12**

Alone in Keazar's private chamber, Loté hesitantly lays out her story to him, blindly assuming that he will side with her, and show empathy for the guilt she carries with her. She is careful not to leave out any of the finer details, especially the part when Porg almost begs her to kill him and why. Keazar remains silent during the entire diatribe of the tale, even when she relays her and Porg's conversation regarding a possible glitch in the recycling process that might have triggered his unstable mental condition, causing him to behave the way he had.

When she finishes, he continues to remain silent for a long while, studiously staring at a horrendous piece of artwork hanging solitarily upon the only exterior wall in the room. While she anxiously waits for him to speak, to miraculously absolve her of her mistakes, she recalls in detail when the work of art was originally presented to him. It was created by a group of slaves that were discovered abandoned by their lord when his floating domain was overrun and seized by a vicious band of rogues. After using the poor slaves for entertainment, their abused and dismembered bodies were thrown haphazardly in a heap and left for the rising sun to dispose of. To the slave's good fortune, scouts from Keazar's floating domain arrived before the rising sun, ultimately recycling and setting the slaves free. In their gratitude for all he did for them, they presented him with this atrocious piece of wall decoration. And although there could be no disputing its horrendousness, Keazar immediately fell in love with the piece, and had it conspicuously mounted on the largest wall of his private chamber where it can be a constant reminder to him of his great and wonderful deeds.

His continued silence troubles her, and doubt about his loyalty to her and Rod slowly creeps into her thoughts. They have been through so much together it is difficult for her to imagine him being anything but supportive, even if she knows that she has done wrong.

But before she can ask him what he is thinking, he turns to her and sternly says, "Loté, you had no right."

Stunned, it is now her turn to stand and stare blankly in silence. She is caught completely off guard by his words and his unapproachable attitude. It is almost as though he is distancing himself from her for fear of being implicated by association. Clearly, he is not going to condone or forgive her for what she has done. But she never expected him to literally admonish her actions without some consolation as a friend either.

"Keazar?" she says softly, reeling from the shock and feeling betrayed.

"Think about it, Loté," he says, his voice firm and commanding. "What you did was a grievous act against everything that we have been working so hard to build."

She starts to protest, to try and justify her actions by further describing the situation as it had unfolded, and that it was what Porg had ultimately wanted. But he abruptly cuts her off with a dismissing wave of his hand. It is the first time since meeting him that she has seen him so angry, and it hurts her deeply to realize that his anger and disappointment is directed toward her.

"Loté, please," he says solemnly, his hand secreting away into a fold in his robe where it clasps the other. "What you did was wrong. You, of all people, should have realized what you were doing. After all, it is not as if you are a heathen with no morals."

In a daze, Loté is vaguely aware of the familiar room with its single large bed and one armoire containing an assortment of colorful robes. Her head is spinning and her vision blurring as Keazar continues, his voice hard with the fiery passion and anger that her tale has instilled in him, "Rod is risking his life and the lives of many other good men to encourage acceptance of our new hierarchy. We have sacrificed so much to propagate a sense of equality and justice for all. If there was a problem with Porg, it should have been handled through the proper channels. A group of his peers should have had the opportunity to weigh his actions and determine a fair and just punishment." And then, in a softer tone that emphasizes his disappointment, "You had no right."

He pauses for a moment to catch his breath. Because he is an overly large man that does little to improve his overall wellbeing, with the exception of recycling himself on a regular basis, long speeches tend to leave him short of breath, especially when his passion is fueled, as it is now. "Are you certain that no one else is aware of what you did, because if word of this gets out, all of our hard work and sacrifice will have been for naught?"

"Yes, I am certain," she hesitantly replies.

He abruptly spins to face her, acutely aware of the hesitation in her voice. "What is it? Tell me, Loté, what are you holding back? If you expect me to help you, I have to know everything."

"I did," she stutters. "I told you everything." Though she is a strong woman, her composure is on the verge of breaking; she has never felt so humbled and humiliated before in her life.

Before Keazar can ask her again if she has forgotten anything, she says in a very small voice, "Unless...."

"Unless what?" he demands of her before she can finish, his impatience uncharacteristic of him.

"Jai," she says weakly.

He is familiar with the name and the person associated with it, and immediately wonders what the young woman has to do with Loté killing Porg in the jungle and leaving his remains behind for the rising sun.

"How is Jai tied into this awful mess?"

Speaking slowly, uncertain of what she is feeling, and even more uncertain of what Jai's involvement is, if any, she says, "When I returned to the group without Porg, Jai was among the first to meet me. I couldn't help but feel that she was very disappointed when she didn't see Porg accompanying me. Everyone knew that he had followed me into the south, and had just assumed that he would overtake me and we would return together."

"Go on," he gently urges her, the compassion in his voice making him sound more like the Keazar of old.

"It wasn't anything that she actually said to me, but more in the way she kept watching me. I couldn't help but feel that she didn't believe my story, and yet, she was too intimidated by me to question me."

"When we recycle Porg and bring him back amongst us, she will forget any misgivings about your story that she might have had," he says almost casually, his former composure resurfacing as his anger dissipates.

Feeling lulled by his calm tone of voice, she is momentarily taken aback by his words. "What do you mean?" she stammers. "We can't recycle Porg. His remains are many hours from here, and no one knows of their location but me."

"You are absolutely correct," he calmly agrees. "And unless you have someone in mind besides myself that you are willing to share this little tale with, I think it prudent that you be the one to retrieve his remains for recycling."

"But Keazar," she blurts, the meaning of his words almost too astonishing for her to grasp. "Are you forgetting about Rod and the slavers that he's tracking? He is counting on me to lead Layton back to him posthaste. There isn't time for me to retrieve Porg's remains!"

Turning away from her tormented gaze, he says with a bite in his voice, "I am sorry, Loté, but you should have thought of that when you left the man's remains behind. You should have thought it through and realized that what you were doing was wrong."

"I don't believe you, Keazar!" she almost screams at him, and then, her voice almost pleading, she adds, "You're supposed to be our friend."

Turning to meet her gaze, he indignantly says, "I am your friend."

Now it's her turn to feel anger and disappointment. But before she can form the words to mete out the frustration and hurt at the forefront of her thoughts, he continues, "Rod will expect the same conduct from you that I do." He pauses, their gazes once again locked together. "Did you think that I would just take the false tissue you brought me and make up another story to bolster the first, adding one lie to another? And then, when his so-called remains failed to recycle, tell everyone that I failed him and his DNA is lost forever?"

"Is that what this is all about?" she asks accusingly. "You're more concerned with your reputation as a recycler than you are about your friends!"

"That's not fair!" he quickly denies.

"It may not be fair, but from where I'm standing, that is exactly what it looks like. You're more concerned that people will see you as something less than a god; a mortal that is capable of making a mistake. Well guess what, Keazar, unlike you, I can admit that I'm a mortal, and I can also admit when I make a mistake! I made a mistake, Keazar, and that's why I'm here now, begging you as a friend to help me."

Her words hit their mark, and she sees him visibly wince. "I'm sorry if you feel that it's such a straightforward thing you ask of me," he says, pained and troubled that she hasn't grasped what he is trying so hard to make her understand. "The laws of this land are in place for everyone," he says evenly. "Not just for the rogues that plunder and pillage the less fortunate, but also for the less fortunate that steal from a neighbor. We can't simply make up the laws as we go along, depending on how we feel toward the perpetrator at that particular moment. If we stoop to doing that, in no time at all, we will be right back where we were before, with those that are capable of buying influence using it over those that cannot afford it."

She is on the verge of tears, as she finally understands why he is so upset with her and unwilling to budge on his position. "Please, Keazar," she begs, the first of many tears erupting from the corner of her eye. "You must help me. Rod is depending on me to get help back to him as quickly as possible. If he is right, and the trail they are following does lead them to an enclave of slavers, he will do something stupid and heroic before I can get to him. It was a stupid mistake on my part, and I should have brought back Porg's DNA. But I don't have time to handle it right now. My priority has to be Rod and the men that are following him. They too, are depending on me."

Keazar thinks in silence for a moment. In truth, he is brave, if somewhat outwardly timid, with high morals. Being so hard on Loté is not easy for him; yet, he feels that it is his duty as her friend, as well as a trustee of the people of Heälf, to explain to her the consequences of her actions. Now, as her friend, he must find a way to help her. He cannot simply turn his back on her.

The circumstances in which he first met Rod were life changing for him. Having used his intelligence and expertise as a bio-engineer, he had established himself in the sub-surface as a Lord in his own right. When Lord Thar needed slaves to work his mines and carve out new tunnels, he came to Keazar with many items to trade, not the least of which was iron. Keazar in turn traded the iron with surface rogues that gave him bodies in exchange for the extremely rare metal. Until he met Rod, who at the time was just another body that he'd recycled and had traded to Lord Thar, he ignored the where and how the bodies came into his labs. He convinced himself that it wasn't relevant to him, and made a point of distancing himself from the traders that brought the bodies from the surface as much as he possibly could. That was left to his one-time partner and friend, Jontue. For Keazar's part, he made a point of dealing with the sub-surface Lords, and only seeing his finished product marching off in good health, oblivious of their future.

Only when he traded young women to Lord Balzar did he ever feel any kind of remorse over his transactions. But even though he knew full well what the sadistic Lord Balzar was doing to the young women that he traded for, he was still able to turn a blind eye to it. Because Keazar needed power to fuel his labs, and Balzar was the man that supplied it, Keazar justified the selling of innocent women to him by consoling himself with the fact that he was bringing more life into the world than Balzar was capable of taking or ruining. Without Balzar's energy supplies, Keazar couldn't run a light bulb, much less several recycling labs in different regions of the subsurface. And when the mutilated corpses returned from Lord's Balzar and Thar's domains, his labs charged a fee and recycled them with a business as usual attitude.

And so it went on for a long time that he intentionally turned a blind eye to the human suffering and atrocities that he knew were taking place, and chose ignorance over knowledge of the reality of the situation, subconsciously playing down his role in the overall scheme of things. But when one of his recycled turned the table on the Lords that ruled the subsurface, he was given a choice, or an opportunity, as he prefers to remember it now. Rod forced him to open his eyes to the reality of what he was involved in, the selling of human flesh for profit. Rod was able to make him see the trade for the cruel and evil business that it is.

Once his eyes were opened to the torment and suffering being inflicted upon the innocent men and women that he was hiring rogues to abduct from the surface, it was time to decide whether he was going to allow it to continue, or join Rod and his small band of followers and rise up against the tyranny.

Having met Rod, the decision was easy. Deep down inside, Keazar had been secretly anguishing against his part in the slave trade, but could find no way to change it. In his mind, Rod gave him a chance at redemption. He grasped it whole-heartedly, and never regretted his choice.

But the choice meant a drastic change in his life. From their narrow escape to his labs when Lord Balzar's nuclear reactors overheated due to neglect, to the way he leads his life today. He became a man of piety and compassion, feeling mankind's suffering almost intimately. And although Rod is seen by the masses as the man of intelligence and integrity, fighting diligently for human rights and equality at every turn, it is Keazar that is secretly behind the new hierarchies policies and laws. It is Keazar that monitors almost every aspect of what happens both above and below the planet's surface.

A long time ago, he found the adventures with Rod and Loté a thrilling change from the sedentary confinement of a lab. But that was a long time ago, and complacency mingled with contentment has settled back in. For these reasons, he no longer desires any more excitement in his life, excluding the small discoveries and advances that he continues to make in the field of science and medicine. He sets the tempo for new policies based on much soul searching and thought. He no longer leaves his domain to fight clones or rogues.

Or so he thought.

Now, his friends are in need. But how to help?

"You must get Layton..."

"No, we cannot bring him into this," Loté blurts, mistaking his intentions.

"You're right," he quickly agrees, his mannerisms calming her anxiety. "Let me finish before you misunderstand. I am your friend Loté, even if you don't think I have been acting like one. It is important that you understand why the thing you did is so wrong." Loté starts to protest, explaining that she understands and has already admitted that she made a mistake. But he raises his hands to silence her and continues, "Let me finish, please."

"I'm sorry, Keazar, I know you mean well. I just want you to believe that I truly understand why I shouldn't have done what I did."

"Yes, I believe you do," he says agreeably. "But now, we must figure out a way to remedy the situation without drawing any attention to it. As I was saying, you must fetch Layton and arrange to lead him and his men to Rod. As soon as you are gone, I will take the opportunity to slip from the domain and find Porg's remains. It shouldn't take me but several days at most. But you have to leave a prearranged sign on the trail indicating where I should branch from it and go south. There should still be some sign of his remains that I can get a DNA chain from."

The relief on Loté's face is tremendous. Smiling, tears streaming down her cheeks, she lunges against Keazar's immense form, almost knocking him off balance as she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him to her, her lips finding his pudgy cheeks.

"Oh Keazar," she cries. "Thank you, thank you so much."

"It is the least I can do for my dear friends," he says, suddenly blushing and feeling slightly embarrassed by her show of affection.

"I knew I could count on you," she says, still holding him tight.

Hesitantly, he pushes her away from him, made uncomfortable by her show of affection, and feeling slightly guilty for having put her through the turmoil that he did. But it was important to him that she understands why she shouldn't have done what she did. In his heart of hearts, he knows that Rod would agree with him completely.

"And don't worry about Jai," he says, his old demeanor returning. "When she sees Porg again, she will forget all about any misgivings that she had regarding your story. In the meantime, I will see to it that she is too busy to wonder why Porg is taking so long to recycle." He chuckles suddenly, and then adds, "But then, I won't be here for her to question me, and everyone else will just assume that I put his DNA someplace safe until I return."

"You are too smart, Keazar. I can see now why Rod has so much respect for you."

His face turning even brighter red, he says, "Go now, find Layton and get the arrangements made. Rod is probably already storming the horde with his few men."

Although he meant the comment as a good-natured jest, Loté couldn't help feel that there might be more truth to it than she feels comfortable with, and can feel mounting panic within her chest.

Turning, she hurries from Keazar's private chamber, leaving him standing alone, his thoughts turning inward as he stares at the artwork on the wall. Because he knew that she wouldn't have agreed to it, he purposely didn't tell Loté of his plan to include someone else in his mission to recover Porg's DNA. In fact, he intends on using the entire domain. But if he had told her of his thoughts, she would only have panicked.

Returning to her and Rod's private room aboard the domain, she finds Fane playing with Nava on the huge bed. Fane has Nava's favorite toys arranged on the bed, a set of men and women carved from the bones of a mammoth. Both of their faces light up with smiles at the sight of her return. As Nava screams out unintelligibly for his mother to feed him, Fane rises and heads toward the door saying, "I'll leave you to some private time with your son."

"No," Loté blurts. "I would like you to stay if you will."

"Of course, Loté. I would be glad to."

Loté scoops Nava off the bed and sits down on it, her weight landing heavily as she feels the exhaustion of the journey catching up with her. The eastward journey seems to have taken more out of her than she expected. But she cannot let it slow her, there is still too much to do.

While Nava feeds noisily on her exposed breasts, Fane stands patiently off to the side. Loté suddenly realizes that Fane is probably as tired as she, and it is unfair to keep her from tending to her own needs. "I'm sorry, Fane, but I need to ask a favor of you. If Rod and I didn't trust you as explicitly as we do, I would never be able to ask this of you." She hesitates for a long moment, studying her friend's kind and loving face, and finding the strength there to continue. "As you know, I am leading Layton and his men back to Rod. While I am gone, I will need someone to look after our son."

Even before she can finish, Fane speaks out excitedly, "Of course, my dear friend. I will not only enjoy spending the time with him and looking after him, I am honored by the faith and trust that you put in me."

"Thank you, Fane. If you need to do something before I leave, I'll be packing my supplies just as soon as this little guy is finished. He'll be fine on prepared foods while I am gone," she quickly adds. "It is only at Rod's insistence that he hasn't been completely weaned yet." She chuckles before saying, "I think it is only because Rod wishes it were he, and not Nava that was still feeding on mother's milk."

Fane smiles and laughs, but Loté can see the fatigue etched plainly in her face.

"I won't be long, Loté."

Shortly after Fane leaves, Nava finishes feeding. Loté plays a few of his favorite baby games with him before he dozes off to sleep. Gently, she tucks him into the large bed before proceeding to gather a few items from the room that she intends taking with her. Except for a supply of the orange pills, which she'll have to collect from Keazar's supply room, she won't be required to carry any staples on this journey; Layton's men will be responsible for everything from water to food to medical supplies. Her entire responsibility will be to lead them as directly to Rod as is humanly possible.

With a small pack thrown together that includes a cape woven of reeds from the farther reaches, she sits on the edge of the bed and studies Nava's peaceful face. She is glad to note that he looks more like his father with each passing day. A small part of her is hesitant to leave him behind, and yet, she understands that she doesn't really have a choice.

She is suddenly startled when a shrill voice charges through the doorway, followed by a young woman that she immediately recognizes. Jumping to her feet, she rushes forward to intercept the woman that is running toward her with open arms.

"Elsa!" she joyously cries out. It has been just a short time since they'd seen each other, but so much has happened in their absence.

"Loté, I am so glad to see you again. I came as soon as I heard that you had returned. Is there some problem? Is everything alright?" She releases Loté and continues on toward the bed and the sleeping Nava. "There is my big boy," she says happily, before Loté can cut her off. Reaching down, she scoops up Nava in a huge embrace, startling the sleeping child into a groggy wakefulness. Almost immediately, he lets out a howling wail, and Elsa quickly turns and hands him off to Loté's waiting arms. "I never was that good with kids," she says apologetically.

"It's okay," she says for Nava's benefit, before turning to Elsa. "Maybe it's because you never had children in the subsurface."

Picking up on the excuse as a way of escaping responsibility for making Nava cry, Elsa quickly agrees, "Yes, of coarse." With a plop, Elsa sits down on the edge of the bed. Her eyes notice the small pack that Loté has just finished putting together. "The rumors are true! You are going somewhere!" she cries out excitedly, catching Loté off guard.

At just that moment, Fane returns, instinctively going to Loté and taking the upset and kicking Nava from her. Without thinking, she answers for Loté, her voice beaming with pride, "Yes, she is leading Layton and his men into the southern reaches to assist Rod with the slavers that he is tracking."

The words are out of Fane's mouth before Loté has a chance to speak, and before she can dredge up some form of argument that might discourage her, Elsa cries out excitedly, "Then I must go with you!"

It is not what Loté wants, but it is too late to say anything negative without sounding unkind, as well as risking alienation of a dear and trusted friend. Besides, she thinks silently to herself, it will be good to have a female friend along with so many men.

Before Elsa or Fane suspect that anything is amiss, she puts a smile on her face and imitates Elsa's good mood, "It will be wonderful, having you along."

"I will go right this minute and pack my things," she says excitedly, jumping off the bed and giving Loté a warm embrace before turning and retreating hastily through the door.

"She is a fine and trustworthy friend," Fane says conspiratorially. "It will be good to have someone along that you can confide in."

"Yes, Fane, it will be good." She was distracted for a moment, having been caught off guard by Elsa's declaration of joining her. Now, she suddenly realizes that Fane is being about as jealous of Elsa as she is capable of being, and her words were meant sarcastically. "I'm sorry, Fane," she says sincerely. "If there was anyone else that I could so thoroughly trust with Nava, I would have asked you along in a heartbeat. But there is no one else. If Rod and I didn't trust you so completely, we could not do half the things we do." She pauses for a moment while Fane studies Nava, rather than meet her gaze. "Do you understand what I am saying, Fane?"

Slowly, Fane looks up from Nava and their eyes meet. "I know that this child means more to you and Rod than anything else in the world. For that reason alone, I am honored. It doesn't hurt me that you didn't invite me to join you, because I know and understand the reason why you couldn't. Yet, I would be lying if I said that I am not a little bit disappointed. It will be a lot of excitement, and possibly even a chance to make history. For those reasons, I wish I were going with you."

"One day, Fane, Nava will no longer need a nursemaid. When that day arrives, I promise you that I will make up to you everything that you have done for us."

"I don't worry about such things, my friend, so much as I worry for your safety and that of your mate when I cannot be there to watch over you," she says lightly, a smile coming to her face. "You and Rod are my dearest friends, it is an honor to have such trust placed upon me. Thank you."

With the child held between them, they gently embrace.

"I must get my things together," Loté suddenly blurts, feeling a small pang of guilt for not having entrusted her with the secret of Porg's real fate. But it is too late; there isn't time before she must be going.

"Is not everything already packed?" Fane asks, indicating the small pack lying forgotten on the bed.

"Almost. I must see Keazar before I leave and get more of the direction-sickness pills. There might be many people needing to return here, and I don't want to come up short."

"Of course," Fane agrees, sensing that Loté isn't telling her everything. "You take care and give that man of yours a big hug for me."

"I will," she says, reaching for Nava to give him one last farewell embrace.

It is difficult for her to leave him behind, and she lingers, whispering sweetly into his ear, telling him that she will return as quickly as possible and to be nice to Fane in her absence.

"He will be just fine," Fane says, taking the child away from her and herding her toward the door. "Now quit worrying and get going. We will be here when you return."

"Bye, bye," she whispers, fighting back tears.

She is no sooner through the door and headed toward the main deck that houses the pulley and rope elevator that will carry everything and everyone to the surface, than she runs into Elsa, who is also carrying a small pack. Several large pallets of supplies are being rigged next to the opening in the deck, while the first load is already nearing the surface. Layton is standing by, shouting hurried orders to the men working the apparatus. Loté is instantly surrounded by bustling activity and excitement over the upcoming journey.

Upon seeing the two women looking on, Layton separates himself from the hubbub of the men and moves over to take up a position next to them so that he doesn't have to raise his voice to be heard. Loté speaks first, asking him how large a force he has available. The large amount of supplies being sent to the surface is encouraging to her.

"We'll be escorted by nearly two hundred and fifty of the finest men on the surface," he says with obvious pride. Loté was expecting many more, and the expression on her face indicates as much. Layton, sensing her immediate disappointment, is quick to add, "They are all trained fighting men. Most are ex-patriots of Lord Balzar's that have sworn allegiance to our cause." When she doesn't seem impressed by his words, he quickly continues. "Each one to a man is worth five of those worthless rogues we are most likely going to run up against. That is, if your man Rod has left any of them for us to clean up," he adds with a smirk.

She not only likes Layton, but she trusts and respects his judgment. If he says they are the fighting equivalent of more than one thousand men, then she will be satisfied that they are. Smiling back at him, she says simply, "Then we are ready to go."

"Just as soon as we get the rest of the supplies to the surface, we'll be on our way."

At just that moment, Jai comes striding toward them from the far side of the cargo elevator. Loté was hoping to be gone from the floating domain before having to face her again.

"Sgt. Layton," she pipes up delightfully, completely ignoring her and Elsa. It surprises Loté to see her in such fine tether after the ordeal they'd just come through. She appears completely fresh and rested. "Will you be leaving soon?"

"Yes," he quickly confirms, clearly flattered by her attention and lingering gaze.

Before he can say anything further, however, she turns and faces Loté. "Here," she says firmly, thrusting a folded piece of leather toward her.

Taken by surprise, Loté reflexively reaches out and accepts the proffered item. "What is this?" she asks meekly, humbled by an overwhelming sense of guilt.

"It is your harness. I took the liberty of having a leather-smith clean the blood out of it for you. I thought you might like to have it with you for the journey."

Momentarily taken aback by her display of kindness, Loté stumbles over her words of gratitude, as she drops her small pack to the deck and hurriedly pulls the harness over her head before adjusting it for comfort over her burgeoning breasts. "Thank you, Jai. This was very kind of you," she continues, studying the leather in an effort to avoid making eye contact with her.

"Yes, that was very kind of you, Jai," adds Elsa, trying to understand the abrupt change that came over her dear friend at Jai's arrival.

"It was no trouble," Jai says casually, while clearly studying Loté's expression.

Her scrutiny only adds to Loté's sense of unease, and when Layton says that he must get back to the downloading of supplies, his voice comes to her from what sounds like a far distance. She is only vaguely aware that he has moved off and rejoined the men tying the cords over the stacks to steady them on their downward journey of almost two hundred feet.

The sound of Elsa's voice suddenly steadies her, and she acknowledges that Elsa is giving Jai a brush off. "We still have much to do, and the supplies are almost all down. So, if you'll excuse us." With a firm hand on Loté's arm, she guides her toward the elevator platform where Layton is indicating a place for them to board.

With Jai still looking on, Loté suddenly stops, and turning to Elsa, says, "Go ahead. There really is something that I must do yet."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'll just be a moment. I'll meet you on the surface."

Leaving Elsa confused and standing looking after her, she turns and hurries to Keazar's personal lab. Rushing in, she finds Keazar alone, studying something behind a small plate of glass.

"Keazar!" she blurts, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Loté, what is wrong?" he anxiously asks of her, concern clouding his features.

"What did you tell Jai? She just returned this top. It's the same one that I used to bring back the false remains. She suspects something. I know she does! She will be watching for Porg's recycling progress. We can't hide it from her; she's going to figure it out! I know she is!"

"Calm down, Loté. Calm down," he says soothingly, moving toward her so that he can embrace her and comfort her rattled nerves. "It's all right, my dear, I have everything under control." Feeling his comforting touch and gentle voice, she relaxes, sagging into his soft volume of flesh. "When she came inquiring of Porg's progress, I told her that I had an experiment going that required all of the available power from the solar cells. It was I that gave her your harness to see to its care."

"I will be so glad when this is over with," she says wearily, her voice betraying her fatigue, both mental and physical.

"You are tired, my dear friend," he says warmly, holding her away from him so that he can study the haggard lines etched into her face. "Let me run you through a quick cycle in the recycler. You will feel like a new person within the hour."

"I wish that I could, Keazar, but I don't have the time. Even as I stand here, the last of the supplies are being downloaded to the surface and the men assembled for the journey. If I don't go now, they will be waiting on me."

"Then take this," he says quickly, holding his open hand out to her palm up. In the creases of his fleshy palm lies a small red pill. It is unlike anything she has ever seen him prescribe before.

"What is it?" she asks, eagerly accepting it and innocently tossing it into her mouth and swallowing.

"When I told Jai that I was in the middle of an experiment, I wasn't being completely untruthful. My latest endeavor has been trying to harness the sun's energy and capture it in a pill that we can take orally. It is nothing more than unadulterated energy in its purest form."

"Does it work?"

"When next we meet, you tell me," he says with a mischievous smile before turning her toward the door and giving her a slight push to get her started. "Now go, Rod is waiting for you. I will take care of everything after you are gone. Just don't forget to mark the trail for me. And remember, I am not a very good tracker, so make it obvious enough for an old fool like myself."

Feeling a sudden giddiness, she rushes back to him, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses his cheek. Before he can react, she turns and, scooping up her pack, races from the lab, the door flying shut behind her. He smiles, realizing that his experimental drug isn't a complete bust.

Loté is on the surface before she knows it. Smiling at the men that are organizing the supplies, she searches out Elsa in the crowds. Layton, seeing her moving among the men and supplies, signals her over to where he and Elsa are deep in conversation. As she approaches, they turn serious expressions toward her. Loté understands immediately that Elsa shared her concerns about her wellbeing with Layton.

Before they can question her, she says happily, "Everything is fine. I was just a little distracted before. It is not easy leaving Nava behind, though I trust Fane explicitly. And the fatigue of traveling eastward was more than I had given it credit. But I am alright now."

"Are you sure?" asks Layton, concerned for her as only a dear friend can be, but distracted by all the activity going on around him and knowing that he is ultimately responsible for everything that is transpiring.

"I'm fine, despite what this well-meaning girlfriend of mine has told you. Now go on, take care of the men and supplies. If we don't get moving soon, this old domain will get to Rod before we do."

"Then if you will excuse me," he says, clearly relieved.

"Go, we'll meet up with you down the trail."

Without further hesitation, he turns back to the hustle and bustle of laying out the individual supplies for his men, as well as determining where they will be positioned in the procession.

"Come on Elsa, we'll get a head start on the rest of them." Loté notices for the first time that her friend is sporting a long-knife similar to her own.

Noticing her gaze, Elsa quickly offers, "Layton gave it to me on the way down. He selected it from the extra weapons his men always carry." She pauses for a moment before adding, "It was caring of him, wasn't it?"

Ignoring the hidden meaning in her words, Loté says, "I wasn't aware that you'd trained with a long-knife."

"Oh, I haven't, it's just for show." Rolling her hips in a seductive manner that causes the sheathed blade to swing out and around before coming to rest directly before her groin, she asks, "Don't you agree?"

"Elsa, I don't believe you!"

### **13**

They move steadily eastward, the far horizon slowly growing brighter through the thick jungle canopy high above their heads. But where they walk, between the dense growing shrubs and vegetation, the horizon is little more than an illusion. They are surrounded by deep shadows and a never-ending grayness, little more than a nagging hint of the light reflected from the two equidistant moons.

"How much farther before we stop?" Pena finally asks Horspaw, no longer concerned that she might appear weak before him. Their relationship has moved beyond that to a plain where they believe themselves equal of each other, even if it is in different ways.

He stops without a word, lines of worry etched across his handsome features. Without being aware of how she is capable of reading his thoughts, she realizes that he is worried about losing some of his unique skills. The scent of the woman that had been ingrained into his genes is no longer discernible from all the other scents of the jungle surrounding them. He fears now that it isn't the only one of the many special abilities that had been instilled into his genetic makeup that is fading. All of his wondrous capabilities and unique talents that make him what and who he is might be fading, leaving him as nothing more than a simple man; a mere mortal without a soul!

"You will always be special to me," she says lamely, trying to comfort him.

"I cannot find her scent any longer," he says harshly, surprised that he can be so openly honest with her.

"I know."

"How can I ever fulfill my destiny and move on with my life, if I can't even find her?"

"We will find her. If not with your keen senses, than with more conventional means." When he doesn't say anything, she explains herself. "We will scout the many villages that we come across and we will ask of her whereabouts. She is a very well-known and liked individual, surely we will not be the only ones that have ever asked about her or her famous mate, the legendary Captain Rodick."

Without a word, he draws the long-knife from the sheath draped over his right thigh. Almost fluidly, he takes up a defensive posture and slices the air above his head, the blade swishing loudly in the dense air. Slowly, he turns to face her, his expression torn by anxiety, marring his handsome features.

"Fight me, Pena."

Taken aback by his words and demeanor, she looks back at him unmoving, confused.

"Fight me, Pena," he says again, his words not betraying any emotions. It is as if he is suddenly without feeling or concern. Yet, she can feel the demand within them.

Before she can comprehend what his intentions are, he lunges at her, his blade slicing toward her neck in a move to decapitate her head from her shoulders.

Instinct instantly takes over, and before the thought of what she should do even registers, she is moving gracefully through the air, as his blade whistles toward her. Rolling to her right, her own weapon suddenly appears in her hand, rising up to block his attack. Their weapons meet with a resounding clash of iron striking against iron where her neck was only a fraction of a second before. His strength is vastly superior and the force sends her sprawling to the ground. Her knee strikes a jarring blow against the igneous rock and blood weeps from the gash, momentarily distracting him.

She takes the opportunity to regain her feet and demands of him, "What are you doing?" Her voice is tinged with anger, but more, she is perplexed by what has come over him.

"Prove to me that I am still superior," he hisses at her, his voice loathing with anger and frustration.

Before she can argue any further, he lunges at her, his weapon singing in the air over his head as it comes flashing down to clove her forehead. With her knees locked firmly, she swings up her own blade, barely stopping the downward thrust before his blade finds its mark. Sparks fly from the impact of his weapon against hers; she is vaguely aware of heated metal chips raining down upon her upturned face.

Absorbing the impact with her arms, she barely turns his weapon aside. With extreme skill and agility, instead of pulling back for another strike, he forces his weapon back at her from an off-balance position, cutting in from the side. Fortunately, there is much less force behind this tactic, and she easily rides her own blade along the length of his while stepping around and averting the cutting edge.

"No man is your equal," she gasps, trying to restore the confidence that he feels is lost.

"Then let me prove it to myself," he says with no shortness of breath. "Attack me with everything you have. Do your damnedest to try and kill me, because your life might just depend on it."

Almost before he has even said the words, she rushes at him, measuring her strikes and blows to avoid serious injury. But there is no need. The faster she swings, the quicker he parries. They are trading blow for blow, faster and faster. She can feel the fatigue entering her muscles and joints. Her breath is coming in gasps. A stitch is wrenching her side. Her heart is hammering in her chest, threatening to explode with the continued exertion.

And yet, he doesn't relent. With a smile plastered to his face, displaying a perfect set of teeth, he continues advancing, his breathing not even labored. For the first time, she is suddenly afraid for her life. He is pushing her beyond her limits, forcing her to fight for her life; to take risks and attempt moves that she never would have before.

Sweat is running into her eyes, the salt blurring her vision, but he still doesn't relent. Her arms are beginning to feel leaden, her grip on the hilt of her weapon growing precarious.

"Horspaw, please," she begs, barely able to get the words out between gasps of air.

Suddenly, her weapon flies from her grasp, the long steel blade flying end over end. Without thinking, operating solely on instinct and reflex, she flicks the small-bladed knife from her loincloth and throws it at his heart. It is strictly a survival instinct, and she regrets it even before it has left her fingers. But it is too late, and the deadly little blade is flying at blinding speed toward the heart of the one man that she has come to love like no other before him.

They are separated by less than six feet, and the blade is moving fast. There is no time for him to dodge and even less to react to the sudden death that is screaming toward him.

But he is Horspaw!

Moving faster than she is capable of seeing, Horspaw's long-knife sweeps across the front of his chest, striking the short-bladed weapon with a 'ping', and sending it careening off into a thicket.

"Yes!" he roars happily, holding his weapon mightily above his head in a show of bravado.

Seeing that she is no longer in any danger, Pena drops to her knees, exhausted and weary from the ordeal. A jolt of pain reminds her that she has suffered an injury, eliciting a small cry through clenched teeth and a grimace of pain and anger.

Horspaw, realizing that his love is hurt and in pain, suddenly feels remorse for his previous actions, and rightfully blames himself for the discomfort that has been rained upon her.

Sheathing his weapon, he leaps across the rough surface, coming to his knees beside her. Gently, he eases her into a sitting position and carefully straightens her leg so that he can more closely examine the gash in her knee.

"I am sorry for this pain that I have caused you," he says sincerely, satisfying himself that it is only a scratch and nothing more serious. "But I needed to know if I was losing my edge."

Trying hard to understand, she remains silent, unready to accept his apology. Although the pain quickly subsides, her anger is slower to retreat, and she holds her tongue, fearful of saying something that she might later regret.

"Here," he says, offering her the flagon of water. With her acceptance of the water, he senses a small victory toward regaining her trust. He is ashamed of the way he's just treated her, and wishes he had thought of a different means of proving to himself that he still possesses all of his special survival abilities. "I'm truly sorry, Pena. If I could have thought of some other way to prove myself, I would have." And then, glancing around as if looking for something, he adds with a smirk, "Unfortunately, there doesn't appear to be a handy army around to test my metal against." When she doesn't so much as smile, his expression turns serious, and he humbly adds, "But you are much more of an opponent than any army could hope to be."

Speaking in little more than a whisper, she softly demands of him, "Were you ready to kill me just to prove your manhood is still intact?"

Rocking backwards on his heels, as he is visibly shocked by the fact that she suspects he could actually kill her, he stammers, "I could never!" Fumbling for the right words to assuage her uncertainties of his devotion and loyalty to her, he stutters, unable to believe that she could even think such an outlandish thought.

"Don't lie to me! You almost killed me," she hisses angrily at him. "If I had slipped just once, I would be dead."

"Never!" he vehemently denies.

"How do you know? You just admitted that you were testing the limits of your abilities to see how much if any of your unique talents had diminished!"

She was right, and he was forced to admit it. If indeed, he had been less than one hundred percent, he might have been unable to thwart a blow at the last second if she had slipped.

"But you didn't slip. You held your own right up to the end." He pauses for a second before adding, "Just as I knew that you would."

It was a supreme compliment coming from him, and it weakened her resolve to remain angry long enough to make him pay for what he put her through. "If you ever try such a stunt again, I will kill you," she says, the anger draining from her.

"I promise you, I will never attempt anything so selfish or stupid again."

They sit on the ground in silence, each facing the other. His hand lingers softly on the bare flesh of her leg, while she is acutely aware of his touch. Meeting his gaze, she sees nothing but love and concern in his eyes. The gash in her knee is deep, but only a superficial flesh wound. She is strong and healthy; there is little chance that it might become infected.

After a long while, he breaks the silence. "Wait here, I will be right back."

Before she can question his intentions, he rises and hurries off into the underbrush. Stiff from sitting on the uneven and jagged surface, she slowly rises, shaking off the small annoying aches and pains. Her knee is stiff, but no fresh blood appears after taking several gingerly placed footsteps.

"Here," he says, startling her by his sudden reappearance. Dropping to his knees before her, he places a moist poultice in the open gash followed by a layer of several glossy leaves before tying a vine around her leg to hold the entire assemblage in place.

"Thank you," she says with sincerity.

"It is the least that I can do, considering the circumstances," he says humbly, but with a slight hint of sarcasm.

Picking up on the playful sarcasm, she quickly retorts, "This doesn't even begin to make it right with me."

Flashing an endearing grin in her direction, he quickly retreats into the vegetation, only to return within a few moments bearing several large, bright red fruit. Holding them out to her, he says with a smirk, "Maybe this will help a little."

Selecting from the proffered fruit, she excitedly studies the firm, ripe flesh, anticipating the sweet, rummy flavor. "Where did you," she begins, when he quickly cuts her off.

"They are everywhere, if you know where to look," he says happily, delighted to have brought such innocent joy to her with so little effort. "Enjoy them while I go find us something more substantial to eat."

"These are just fine," she says with difficulty through a mouthful of juicy fruit pulp.

"The human body was not designed to live on fruit alone, trust me," he chuckles, implying the dire consequences that will follow if they try to subsist on a diet composed strictly of fruit. "I will be back shortly."

Before she can thank him, he disappears into the encroaching jungle. Determined that she will not be taken care of as a baby child, she struggles to her feet, surprised that her limbs and joints resist her as defiantly as they do. Putting the small discomforts from her mind, she stands upright and stretches. The leg is stiff from the wound, but quickly succumbs to her will, the stiffness receding from her joints almost immediately.

Looking around the immediate area, she locates her pack and a few other items of importance, the most important being her long-knife and small skinning blade that she threw at Horspaw. While fetching the fruit as a peace offering, he had also retrieved her weapons, leaving them within easy reach for her to find. After returning the small knife to the pocket in her loincloth, she quickly straps on the long-knife and checks that it slides uninhibited in its sheath. Satisfied, she moves around the area, gathering what little dry material she can find with which to build a fire for the fresh meat with which she is certain he will return. The meat from the beast that he carried in his pack has begun to spoil and she discards it for the scavengers that are able to eat anything without ill effects.

When she has a small pile of kindling in reserve and a fire ready for lighting, she reclines against a moss-covered mound that was once a pocket of escaping gas from the subsurface. As it cooled behind the receding sun, it hardened, leaving an opaque bubble behind. Most of the pockets formed while the sun bakes the surface eventually cave in or crumble in upon themselves, as the increasing weight of growing vegetation and penetrating roots become too much for them to resist. But a few bubbles are thick enough to survive the encroaching vegetation, and unless punctured by men with tools for use as safe storage for food while bivouacking in the immediate area, remain intact until the next scorching rise of the sun. This is just such a case. One side of it has been breached so the interior can be used, but the bulk of the mound is intact, and thus offers a perfectly smooth backrest with a thick covering of soft moss, unlike the surrounding surface of rough edged and jagged igneous rock.

Within a few moments, she dozes. The fight with Horspaw has sapped her already exhausted physical resources, and she is extremely tired. As if in a dream, she slowly grows aware of a low rumbling sound. Stirring softly, she mumbles weak protests against the disturbance, her mind continuing to dream pleasant thoughts, and for the first time in a long time, not worrying about danger.

She suddenly bolts awake, recognition of the sound stopping her heart cold. A flush of adrenalin shoots through her veins, and even before her eyes can focus on the immediate danger, her fist grips the hilt of the long-knife, drawing it cleanly from the sheath in one graceful effort.

On her feet, the sharp steel of the blade poised for attack, she quickly realizes that she is in serious trouble. But she refuses to let it show, and instead of cowering or begging for mercy, she grits her teeth and prepares herself for the first charge.

Standing before her, its slavering tongue lolling limply from between a row of sharp canine teeth, stands a vicious, four-legged creature weighing almost double her own weight with a head and eyes on a level as her own. The low rumbling sound is emanating from its cavernous chest, growling a challenge to her. Because it has been domesticated by humans, it is undecided as to what it should do, versus what it wants to do. There is no doubt in Pena's mind that the poor beast is hungry, having had to live off discards and meager scraps thrown its way from a master with little or no compassion to its true needs or wants.

Yet, it waits patiently for this cruel and uncaring man that it gives unquestioning deference and loyalty. Will he order it to attack and kill, or to stand down and wait? It has been a long time since the beast was a wild creature, doing as it pleased for the sole purpose of survival. Domesticity has robbed the poor beast of a free will. It knows nothing beyond pleasing its master, as it stands facing Pena, waiting for its master's instruction.

Alone, the beast is no match for a man skilled with a long-knife. Alone, Pena could easily dispatch of the beast and surprise Horspaw with fresh meat by the time he returns. But the beast is not alone, and it isn't just its master that worries Pena, it is the entire force of roughly fifteen well-armed rogues that currently surround her that worries her. She is not facing a band of tribal elders, or even rough men that make their living taking what they can from the jungle and selling or trading it with the roving tribes.

Instead, she is facing a group of wicked men that make their livelihood by exploiting the sweat and toil of the less fortunate. They are not above kidnapping, raping, or killing without remorse. And they are not above selling flesh on the slave market.

They are leering at her with undisguised lust and desire. The beast, with its sharp teeth and ravenous hunger, is the least of her worries; its master has no intention of letting it damage the merchandise; namely, her!

Moving her head in small increments that are barely discernible, she scans the area surrounding her, locating and remembering each of their positions, as well as their apparent armament and physique. Survival has always been dependent on how well one judged their opponent, and Pena has become a master at it.

Instead of the fifteen that she'd estimated originally, she now realizes there are merely thirteen; not counting the starving beast that continues leering hungrily at her. She feels a brief pang of pity for the poor creature. Not because of what it must have endured in its past, but because she will have to dispatch of it before she can mount a proper offense against the men; they are predictable, the semi-wild beast isn't, and so it must pay the ultimate price for its selfish master.

"She looks to be a handful, Gack," speaks the man restraining the beast. His words are addressing the man to her near right side, which of all the men, appears to be far from the tallest or broadest of shoulder. Yet, now that she studies him closer, she realizes that he carries himself like a leader, a man that has won the position of obeisance by a combination of brutal force and cunning tactics; he will be her most dangerous threat.

"Yes," the man Pena supposes to be their leader responds, his gaze remaining fixedly on her. "But she looks like she'll be worth every penance of it."

Moving ever so slowly so as not to provoke anything unplanned, Pena slowly rotates to face the man that she suspects is their leader. He is visibly flattered by her quick assessment of the situation, and that she pegged him as her most formidable opponent.

"Your statement seems a mite premature, since you have no idea what the cost is just yet," she says in the calmest voice she can manage. Her heart is pounding and her senses are keening from the flood of adrenalin pouring into her system.

A smile brightens his face displaying a fine set of even, white teeth. For the briefest of moments, she finds him almost attractive, in a desperate sort of way. But she never falters in her true assessment of the man. If he captures her, which is clearly his intention, she will see that his looks have little or no bearing on his true character, which is cruel and unforgiving. If that were not his true character, he would not be in the position that he is.

"I like you," he says easily, trying to win her over with charm, a method that seems to come natural to him. "Why don't we put our weapons down and have some food while we exchange news. You probably have much knowledge to share, as I am sure, I have a few things of interest to you."

Hucking a lunger toward his feet, she says contemptuously, "You have nothing that interests me."

This time he laughs, unable to restrain himself, as he finds her conduct brazen and entertaining. But Pena knows that he will quickly tire of the dance. Men like him are not known for their patience. And when he tires, he will attempt to capture her by brute force. When that fails, and she is certain that it will, he will order his men to kill her. If for no other reason than she embarrasses him, he will try his damnedest to make her suffer. This is not the first time she's had to deal with men such as these.

"Why don't we save each other the trouble of this little charade of yours," she says lightly, speaking as though bored of the whole situation and growing anxious to get on with the fight. "And get down to business. What you want of me, and what I am willing to give to you, are not in the same conversation and never will be. In fact, I would rather die first."

His smile quickly fades as the realization that she isn't afraid of him sinks in. But he seems even more angered and humiliated by the fact that she isn't even slightly swayed by his attempt to charm her. It is an insult of the highest order, and he has killed women for being less rude than this.

His eyes flick toward the man restraining the beast. Almost instantly, the creature lunges toward her. But it is only a distraction. Even as the beast starts to move, Pena senses that it is turning aside, feigning an attack that will never come; the man has trained it well.

Moving simultaneously as the beast, Gack rushes forward, his long-knife held almost loosely at his side. He is not expecting the brazen woman with the contemptuous manner to put up much of a fight against him and his men. It is to Pena's good fortune that only several of the men possess long-knives, while the others are carrying weapons that require them to get in close to be effective.

With a silence-shattering ring of metal against metal, Pena meets his charge head on, forcing him to raise his weapon in defense. Then, moving quickly on the balls of her feet, she dances around him, putting his bulk between her and the man approaching from her rear. The move momentarily disorients him, but he quickly recovers, and spins to resume the attack. For the moment, it works to her advantage that they want her alive and uninjured. But the moment she kills one of them, that will all change.

The men to either side have stepped back, forming a rough circle surrounding her. They are not attacking, yet. But Pena knows that he will give them the order to attack the minute he realizes that he is outmatched and in danger of his own life. At that time, he will swallow his pride out of a sense of self-preservation, and step back from the fight to allow his men to bring her down. When that is accomplished, he will step forward for the coup de grace, and the final chance to make her suffer before she dies. And most importantly, to make certain that she knows whom her killer is, as it is of the utmost importance to him that people should learn his name so that it will live in infamy.

But Pena has no intention of letting him step out of his own ring alive. If she is going to die here today, she will not be the first, and he will not leave this improvised ring of his own accord.

"You're good," he says appraisingly. "It seems like such a waste, when we could just sit down together and discuss the matter like two adult people."

In her fighting stance, her senses acute to every sound and nuance, she is surprised that he hasn't completely given up on the charm approach yet.

A vine whispers softly behind her and she realizes almost too late that one of his men is moving in from behind to knock her unconscious, or worse. The metal of her blade whistles in the stillness of the air surrounding them, as she allows the impetus to pull her around. It moves as if of its own will, and she is nothing more than the puppet at the end of its strings.

She is facing Gack, fresh blood dripping from her weapon when the dull thud of a severed head strikes the ground behind her. The first sound is followed closely by the sound of a falling body.

Gack is no longer smiling. In fact, his face is livid. He is not used to losing men. His band of rogues is few by comparison to many others. Because he has little in the way of spoils to offer, it is not easy for him to find new recruits. Small tribes of peaceful people are more to his liking; easy targets that offer little in the way of resistance.

"Kill her!" he commands, not willing to risk the loss of even one more of his men.

Before they can move, another voice rings loudly through the clearing. "I would think twice on that before I took action," it says brazenly.

Pena immediately recognizes the deep, clear voice of the man she has fallen in love with, and her spirits rise immensely. Now, she feels, it is a fair fight!

The men forming the loose circle quickly glance around to where the source of the voice is standing. He is a lone figure, his arms crossed on his chest, while his weapons are still sheathed. There is a dead rogue lying to either side of him. One has clearly suffered a broken neck, while the other has several grotesque wounds to his chest, the bulk of which is caved in and misshapen. Although it is humanly impossible, it appears that the wounds were inflicted by bare-fisted blows. But surely, no man is capable of generating enough force with his bare hands to inflict such devastating injuries.

Attempting bravado, but failing miserably, Gack says with little conviction in his voice, "Give us this woman and we'll let you live."

Horspaw laughs uproariously before saying, "Although I am tempted to let the beautiful woman have her way with you so that she can teach you all a lesson about manners, I'm a selfish man at heart, and I intend to have my own share of the fun."

Pena is almost on the verge of tears she is so happy and relieved to see him. Glancing around at the circle of men, she recognizes a mixture of fear and confusion on their faces. Several of the men, seeing the man standing next to two of their dead comrades have had enough, while several more are looking toward Gack for guidance, nervously still willing to do his bidding. For the first time since joining up with him, they are actually in danger of losing their own lives, and it isn't sitting too well with them.

And yet, they are facing a single man and his woman. Ten of them still remain, and they are all armed. Surely, they can easily overpower the two, or so they are reasoning.

But they are also noticing the change that has come over Pena at the arrival of her man. No longer does she seem intimidated by the overwhelming odds. Instead, she seems almost anxious to get started, as if hungry for the battle.

And then, there is the little matter of the three dead men already, and the battle hasn't even gotten under way, as of yet.

Horspaw suddenly leaps forward, quickly covering the distance between him and Pena until he is standing next to her. Although he covers the distance in less time than it takes for a beat of the heart, his movement appears as if he is slogging through a thick slurry of mud. One moment he is standing between the two dead rogues, and the next he is standing beside the woman. They are taken off guard by this surprising ability of his to move with such astounding grace and speed while appearing slow and cumbersome. Those that are still looking toward Gack for direction are growing more indecisive with each passing moment.

Taking an unconscious step backwards, Gack suddenly trips over a vine, startling several of his men who mistakenly assume that he has been struck down by an invisible force. Screaming like frightened children, several turn and bolt into the undergrowth, fearing for their miserable lives. Those that don't turn and run, mistakenly assume that the attack is started, and charge toward Horspaw and Pena, screaming war cries to bolster their shaken courage.

Calmly, Horspaw steps forward, putting a little space between him and the woman he loves for her safety. He is not a chivalrous man, having no concept of the notion. But for the first time in his life, he is concerned about losing something or someone of importance to him.

Pena, however, is quite content with her man taking the lead in the fight and stepping forward to protect her, even if she cannot admit that she actually needs his help this time.

As the first of the rogues reaches him, he lithely steps to the left, and hooks the man's windpipe between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. With a grip equal to that of ten men, he easily crushes the fragile bones within his throat, cutting off the man's air and causing him to suffocate. In the fraction of an instant, the man has forgotten all about the woman, the fight, and especially Gack. He is concerned only with the fact that he cannot breathe, and that within a matter of long, agonizing moments, he will slip into unconsciousness and die.

But Pena is more merciful than Horspaw, and quickly dispatches with the man, severing his head from his shoulders with a powerful swing of her long-knife, guaranteeing him an immediate and peaceful oblivion.

Without turning to face her, Horspaw chuckles at her vein of innocent and naive kindliness. The men they are fighting would have used her to their own sadistic end, and then, without giving it another thought, killed her, or simply left her to die. They wouldn't waste the time or effort to see to it that she didn't suffer once her usefulness was over, and yet, she is concerned for their final wellbeing. "You will get us both killed, one day," he laughs, moving toward the nearest rogue.

"You are much too good to die," she says back to him, her own voice filled with good humor.

The rogue facing Horspaw suddenly has second thoughts, and contemplates following those that have already turned and run. But upon realizing that Horspaw has no intention of unsheathing his weapon, feels renewed bravado, and foolishly charges forward. The air is filled with the music of his uncommon weapon, an arm-length leather strap tethered to a weighty steel handle with a multitude of small heavy iron blades at the business end, each one sharp enough to dry shave a stiff beard with, and heavy enough to penetrate deeply upon impact with human flesh.

The man draws confidence from his prowess with the weapon, and whirls it around his head at such terrific speed that the blades can only be heard and not seen. To raise an unprotected hand against such a weapon would only mean immediate dismemberment and mutilation of the hand. And yet, Horspaw stands unflinching before the onslaught of the flailing blades of death. With his genetically altered vision, Horspaw can see each of the heavy metal blades clearly, and he takes a fraction of a second to study them in intimate detail before reaching out and plucking one carefully from the air.

His action is enough to throw off the balance of the remaining blades, and they immediately change from the ordered music of a finely tuned and balanced instrument of destruction to a chaotic and uncontrollable buzzing of insects, each blade taking on a uniquely unorthodox life of its own.

Screaming in terror, the rogue attempts to distance himself from the screaming medley of death, but his movements are much too slow, as his own weapon turns its deadly force upon him, his head erupting in a shower of blood and flying bits of flesh. Feeling a mist of human detriment rain against her face and hang limply in the air surrounding them, Pena fights down an irrepressible sense of panic, fearing that her beloved has just lost his hand or worse to the blur of flying steel.

But upon opening her eyes, she sees her man off to the left of where he was standing just a moment prior, already taking up a stance to parley another attack. To her immense relief, both of his hands are intact.

Before she can join the fight, and take on her own opponent in battle, she is overwhelmed with empathy for Horspaw's latest conquest. With blood pouring profusely from a hundred different gashes to his face and head, his hands clawing wildly at the air, it is impossible for her to determine whether his eyes have been slashed also, or merely covered by his outpouring blood. Feeling his suffering as if it were her own, she cannot allow it to continue, and moves forward to finish him off with her long-knife.

Before her blade reaches its mark, however, another assailant moves toward her from the right, a shear glint of moonlight reflecting off polished steel catching her attention. Moving with much less speed than Horspaw, she spins toward the assailant to counter, but is a moment too late, and his blade slices jaggedly through her firm flesh, opening a rent almost twelve inches long down the length of her upper arm.

Stunned, but not yet feeling the pain of severed nerve endings or seeing the flow of blood that is just moments from appearing, she stares at the wound, unable to believe that she is actually injured. Meanwhile, her attacker recoils to strike again, bringing his blade across a plain level with her throat. As it slices toward her, survival instincts kick in and she instantly regains her composure.

Dropping to her knees, she distinctly hears the whisper of death passing mere inches above her head. Immediately, she rises to her full height, bringing the long-knife to bear on the man that wounded her. She is not surprised to see a triumphant expression on Gack's face turn to a look of confusion and hatred as he realizes that her wound is not even debilitating. It is much like wounding a behemoth; all he accomplished was to madden and infuriate her.

Yet, still confident that he can easily defeat a single woman, he rushes into her mounting offense, and quickly realizes that he has sadly underestimated her prowess with a long-knife. In his little band, he was considered the most formidable with the deadly weapon, and the others had conceded the status to him willingly. For this reason, in addition to his mighty ego, he has led himself into believing the hype, and in his mind only, he is much better with the weapon than reality will soon dictate.

With his weapon held high above his head, he charges forward, only to discover too late that his method of attack has left his entire body unprotected. Trying to correct before she can take advantage of his bullish move, he brings his weapon down with all the force he can put behind it. Her forward reaching stab is barely knocked downward, driving her blade below its intended mark at the last moment. He feels the heat of it slicing through the meat of his upper leg, but he doesn't need to look down to know that it is as superficial as the one inflicted upon her arm.

Stepping back, his forehead breaking out in sweat, he reassess the situation and is momentarily bolstered by the fact that the man is busy toying with two of his finest and most experienced men. Although he has seen Horspaw in action, he mistakenly assumes that he has time to decide his next move. Unfortunately, for him, he still hasn't given Pena her deserved acknowledgement, and admitted to himself that he is already outmatched.

When he steps back, Pena sees him glance toward Horspaw, and hesitates for a moment, trying to figure out what her opponent is looking for. She too, glances at her man, and in a fraction of a second, has correctly assessed what he is up to. It doesn't amuse her to realize that her love is toying with armed men that intend to kill him. And yet, she knows that he is quite capable of taking care of himself.

But she lets her glance linger for a second too long, and turns back just in time to see Gack retreating into the densely surrounding undergrowth. Without thinking, she plunges after him, her weapon held out in front of her, both to clear a path through the thick brush, and to protect her from anything or anyone that might be waiting just ahead. It wouldn't surprise her to be following him into a trap, though she doesn't really believe him capable of such forethought.

The ragged branches scratch viciously at her open wound, and the blood starts flowing from it with a renewed frenzy. "Dam it," she swears beneath her breath, and then notices fresh blood on the ground and branches ahead of her. Gack's wound, having been scratched by the same stiff brush, is also bleeding profusely.

Slowing her pace, she continues more cautiously, the trail of her opponent now clearly marked for her, and the need for haste somewhat diminished. Listening intently, she moves forward, wondering in the back of her mind how Horspaw is faring. A smile flits across her face at the memory of him toying with the two rogues just before she gave chase to Gack. There is no need for her to worry, she knows now that Horspaw is not any normal man. He is the equal of ten or more men together. And yet, she thinks distractedly, he has fallen in love with her. He could have his pick of women, and he has chosen her. A giddy sensation thrills through her entire being at the thought of making love with him.

With sudden clarity, she realizes that she is moving through dense undergrowth in pursuit of a vicious killer, and her mind has been wondering. He could have been waiting in ambush for her, and she would have unwittingly walked right into it like a simpleton.

Stopping in her tracks, she briefly scolds herself for her stupidity, and then reassesses her situation. Before moving forward, the fresh traces of blood beaming back at her like little beacons, she studies their relative angle of impact against the foliage, satisfying herself that Gack is still moving away from her.

Unaware that he is leaving a trail of bright red drops for her to follow, Gack is swerving from side to side in a feeble attempt to lose his pursuer. At this point, he still believes that he is being chased by a single woman with a long-knife. If he has to face her, he has a good chance at being victorious, now that the man isn't within sight of them and unable to come to her aid.

The man is his biggest threat, or so he is trying to convince himself. He is not used to dealing with people that aren't afraid to fight back. It is much more to his liking when he invades small villages with only a handful of men capable of putting up any resistance, and overwhelming them before they know what hit them. This situation is completely unacceptable. If he can just get away with his life, he will find other fools to join him later. As he has discovered, there are no shortage of fools in the world, and a few well-chosen words are generally all it takes to convince them to do his bidding. But next time, he thinks to himself, he will be more careful about whom he recruits. It was haste that drove him to accept the current bunch of idiots that he was surrounded with. Not a single one of them is of an acceptable caliber for his band, and he won't miss any of them, even if the man kills them all. With renewed determination, he studies the area ahead of him, more convinced by the minute that he has shaken his pursuit with the simple tactics he employed.

Even as Gack is thinking himself safe, and Pena is reprimanding herself for her momentary lapse of attention to the chase, Horspaw is moving ahead of them, his keen sense of smell and exceptional hearing pointing out both of their exact positions. The two men that he was last seen engaged with were little more than a distraction to him, when he realized what Pena was up to. The scent of her blood, fresh on the air, both alarms and angers him. While Pena is chastising herself for her inattention, so is he. It is unacceptable to him that he allowed harm to come to the woman that means so much to him. His only consolation lay in the fact that she is still giving a vigorous pursuit, so he can safely assume that her injuries are not serious. At least, they aren't serious yet. If she overtakes Gack before he can cut him off and dispatch of him, he might react like a cornered animal and turn vicious on her, even deadly.

Although Horspaw respects Pena's fighting abilities whole-heartedly, and believes her survival instincts to be of the highest he has ever witnessed, he knows her limitations as both a woman, and a normal human being. During the last sparring match with her, he had ample opportunities to study her unique techniques. He also had the opportunity to test her limits of expertise, as well as her stamina, and while they are extremely efficient on both counts, she also has multiple vulnerabilities. And that is why his feelings of concern and worry, both sensations foreign to him such a short while ago.

Moving with a stealth and speed through the dense undergrowth that could only be achieved through genetically altered limbs and sinews, he appears as little more than a silent blur to an innocent bystander. And yet, he can't help but feel that he is moving with a sodden sluggishness, worried that he won't be able to cut off Gack before Pena overtakes him. No need has ever dominated him as much as this one is. If he fails, he will never forgive himself.

Upon returning to find Pena surrounded by the filthy band of rogues, it would have been a simple thing to dispatch of them before they could do any harm. But his arrogance got the better of him. It was suddenly important to him that he show Pena what a great warrior he is, even though he had just proven to her first hand that he was far superior to any normal man or woman. And then, while he is busying showing off, she is forced to defend herself. "Why?" he demands of himself, "Why did he have to prove anything to anyone." Pena loves him irregardless. He has worse faults than not being able to fight, and she still loves him. Is, in fact, willing to follow him into his own personal hell!

Following Gack's progress by his scent, his alarm suddenly grows. Pena's is so close to overtaking Gack that their scents are now mingling together. Screaming out in defiance, Horspaw swings to his right, charging like a rampaging behemoth toward the source of the scent that threatens to stain the sweet aroma of his Pena. Without giving it consideration, he abandons his previous plan of waiting in Gack's path for the man's arrival, and instead, rushes his flank, intending to dispatch him before he can do anymore harm. This time he will not show off, or let his stupid pride get in the way of what he must do.

Bursting through the thick brush, Horspaw collides solidly with Gack, his momentum knocking the rogue off his feet and sending him crashing heavily against a thick trunked, tree-like growth. From a far distance, Horspaw is aware of the sound of leaves rustling against each other, the shock of the impact carrying to the uppermost limbs in the jungle canopy above them.

Pena suddenly breaks through the brush and into Horspaw's vision, his eyes and nostrils drawn anxiously by the trailing blood from the rent in her upper arm. Upon seeing Horspaw, she freezes, the long-knife held defensively in front of her, ready for the unexpected.

Gack is lying unconscious on the ground at her feet, a fresh wound to the side of his head. Only when Horspaw lowers his hands to his sides with the palms facing her, beckoning her to him, does she consider sheathing her weapon. It is the first time ever that she can remember seeing him breathing hard, and she finds it a little disconcerting. In the short time that she has known him, she has come to think of him as invincible, untiring, and almost god-like. Now, because of his great concern for her, he has shown a vulnerable side to his character.

"I was concerned," he whispers, his voice subdued by the unfamiliarity of the words he is speaking. No one has ever elicited such emotions from him before.

Excited, yet anxious, she sheathes her weapon and steps past the unconscious Gack, moving toward the man she loves and the welcoming embrace of his muscular arms. Just as she reaches him and his arms encircle her waist, sensuously pulling her up against his broad chest, Gack stirs, a soft moan escaping his lips. She can feel Horspaw's body grow tense, his muscles preparing for action.

Glancing down, Pena sees Gack's fingers tightening around the hilt of his weapon. But before she can move, Horspaw's foot flicks outward with lightning speed, the movement causing a slight breeze along the side of her right leg. She hears a snapping sound and at almost the same time feels another slight breeze along the backside of her leg. Although Horspaw doesn't appear to have moved, or even taken notice of Gack's attempt to wield his weapon, Gack's head is now cocked at an awkward angle in relation to his body.

As if nothing has happened, Horspaw pulls her tighter against him, his breathing suddenly growing shallower as she feels his quickening pulse hammering through his chest. Her own heart quickly picks up the pace, keeping in rhythm with his. Pressing her thighs against his groin, she finds herself gladdened and further excited by the solid bulge that presses back against her.

Oblivious of the dead body lying on the ground next to them, she is suddenly certain that they are going to share each other's fruit, when Horspaw suddenly says in an almost breathless whisper, "We must get moving. We have wasted enough time here already."

Feeling great disappointment, she sadly acknowledges that he is right. And then it suddenly dawns on her that he was moving westward, away from his predestined quarry. Her disappointment is quickly forgotten, as new hope for his salvation rises in her breast. "You did it, Horspaw! You just traveled away from the eastern horizon without difficulty or distress!" She hesitates, studying his handsome features while her words register in his mind. When he is slow to respond, she blurts out excitedly, "You can do it. When you thought I was in danger, you were able to ignore the genetically altered genes." Blushing because of the implications she has just implied, she demurely continues, "It means that I am ultimately more important to you than your destiny."

Childishly, she tenderly puts her arms around him and snuggles up to his chest, closing her eyes with contentment. She has never been so happy in her life.

"Why couldn't I before?" he says gruffly, wanting to believe her conclusions to his actions as much as he never wants her to be less happy than she currently is. But he knows deep down inside that his destiny hasn't changed, and eventually she will be disappointed by what he must do, whether he wants to or not.

Softly, she says, "I don't know why before was different, except that this time you thought I was injured and in danger. It still proves that what I could only hope for before is indeed possible; you just have to find it within yourself to change. When the time comes, you will have to dig deep down inside and find the strength to resist your destiny." After a moment's hesitation, she adds, "I know now that you can do it, no matter what you say. I believe in you Horspaw."

He wants desperately to believe that she is right, but he can't shake the feeling that when the time comes, he will do what he was programmed to do, no matter how she pleads with him, or how disappointed in him she ultimately is.

"Come," he says gruffly, taking her wrists in his hands and removing them from around his waist. "Now we are only wasting more time."

They head back in the direction from which they've just come. When they come across Pena's pack, Horspaw says something unintelligible, and then hurries off toward the south, not expecting her to follow. While she waits for his return, she inspects her pack, and then drinks from the broken gas bubble that has collected water in its base.

When Horspaw returns, he is carrying a small rodent-like creature; its body is limp in death. His mood seems to have improved, for he is smiling as he tears through its skin with his teeth and pulls the fresh meat from within before handing it to her. "We will eat while we walk," he says almost gaily.

The meat is not only raw, but also heavily marbled with fatty deposits. Pena recognizes the rodent for the foul little creature that it is, and knows to expect an oily, barely palatable meal from it.

As they walk side by side, he works vigorously on the hide while she carefully chews on the small morsels of meat that she is able to scrape out from between the very brittle little bones. At first, he is too busy using his teeth to scrape the greasy deposits from the hide to talk. She suspects that he is doing this intentionally to avoid further conversation with her, when he suddenly says for her to stop. Taking her injured arm in his hands, he tenderly wraps it with the small hide, tying intricate little knots to hold it securely in place so that dirt and other possibly contaminated materials won't get into it and cause an infection.

"You didn't have to do that."

"It is important that we don't get sick from infection," he says matter-of-factly. "You don't want to be recycled, and I can't be."

Although she can barely stomach the meat from the little vermin, she thanks him for it, trying hard not to remember the stories she was taught as a child about the poor and slovenly tribes that actually considered it a delicacy. If she had ever wondered if there was any truth to the stories, she didn't give them much credence any longer.

As if reading her mind, Horspaw suddenly says, "It may not be high on your list of favorite foods, but the fat is highly nourishing, and will sustain the human body with energy much longer than most other forms of meat."

"Only if I can keep it in my stomach long enough to do any good," she says sarcastically, throwing him a sidelong grin.

To her surprise, he smiles back at her. His straight, white teeth underscore his handsome features, and her heart misses a beat. Suddenly, she thinks the vermin is the best tasting meat she has ever experienced, simply because it is an offering from him.

They walk on in silence for a while longer, neither speaking of the dead rogues they left in their wake, when he suddenly says, "Her scent is growing stronger."

Again, her heart misses a beat. Only this time, it doesn't flutter with elation.

### **14**

With Loté leading, Elsa tries staying abreast so they can talk, but quickly gives up when she realizes Loté is preoccupied with her own thoughts, and instead, falls in behind her. After a short while, however, she grows bored following Loté, not having anticipated a long hike in silence. Although she has no delusions about her selfish reasons for having joined Loté on this journey, mainly that she is hungering for some excitement in her life, as well as searching for new and entertaining relationships with the opposite sex, as luck would have it, she isn't getting either at the moment.

Pulling up short, she suddenly demands of Loté, "Wait a minute!" Unless Loté is going to take her into her confidence and include her in those deep thoughts that have drawn her into herself, she has determined that she is going to wait for Layton and the rest of the men to catch up.

Hot, starting to tire, and sexually frustrated from long hours of working with Keazar in the lab, the latter suddenly seems rather appealing to her. But she will give Loté a chance before leaving her to go on alone. As a friend, she feels that she owes her that much. Moreover, she is not too keen on waiting alone in the jungle, even though Layton and his men cannot be that far behind them, for although she is carrying a long-knife, she has very little experience with it, and zero confidence.

Sensing, more than actually seeing the resigned slump of Loté's shoulders, Elsa quickly realizes that her friend is neither ready, nor interested in sharing her thoughts. They are close friends, however, and with a little prodding, Elsa feels confident that she can get Loté to open up to her, eventually divulging what is on her mind. She is equally confident that there is more to Loté's deep concentration than merely the stress of being separated from Rod, or the anxiety of having to leave Nava behind.

"Talk to me, Loté," she says in a conspiratorial tone of voice, trying to get behind her thinly disguised veil of fatigue.

"I'm sorry, Elsa," she says weakly, feigning to be more tired than she actually feels. When she glances at Elsa and sees her friend studying her closely, she quickly averts her eyes, unable to make eye contact with her as she is suddenly overcome with guilt. Elsa would walk through fire and damnation for her. She has proven herself a loyal friend and companion on more than one occasion, and deserves her trust and respect. And yet, she cannot bring herself to confide in her. It is too much already that she has put Keazar in such an awkward position. Because of her, he is risking his reputation as a man and a leader in the political restructuring of Heälf. There is much at stake that he might lose, and he put it all on the line for her; she cannot ask that of Elsa, also.

"We are already far ahead of Layton, Loté, we can afford to walk for a while."

Eager to keep moving, Loté is glad that Elsa didn't demand to wait until the others caught up with them. She must find the place in the trail that leads to where she left Porg's remains before the new growth makes it impossible to distinguish from the rest of the jungle. If she doesn't mark it so that Keazar can find it, her friend will be forced to lie to protect both her and his own reputation. Glumly, she wonders how she could have been so foolish to let things get so far out of hand.

Unslinging the water flagon from her shoulder, she offers it to Elsa. Taking the proffered flagon, Elsa slips the top and takes a quick swallow before handing it back to her with a small word of thanks. After taking a small sip herself, they walk on in silence for a long moment before Loté says, "I am worried about my Rod. He can be a very compulsive individual when I'm not there to restrain or guide him. There is no telling what trouble he will get himself into."

"Didn't you say that Zin was with him?"

"Yes, but he can be just as bad," she says with a guarded chuckle.

"If I know Zin, he will keep Rod out of trouble," Elsa states matter-of-factly.

"I have seen Zin and Rod alone on more than one occasion, Elsa, and believe me, he is nothing more than an overgrown child with all the restraint and discipline of one beneath that gruff and serious exterior." After a long moment of silence, Loté adds on a lighter note, "Of course, they don't have very much distilled fruit juice with them."

"Then you have nothing to worry about."

"I wish I could share in your confidence," Loté says lightly, gladdened by the fact that Elsa isn't probing for more.

They banter back and forth for a short while longer about Rod's poor judgment, and Zin's influence over him, when Elsa suddenly puts her hand on Loté's shoulder and says, "Now tell me what is really troubling you, my dear friend."

Drawing up short, Loté gazes into her friend's eyes and sees only kindness and a desire to help. But can she bare her soul to this woman, and still look her in the eye as an equal. Even if Elsa doesn't think any less of her for what she's done, once she tells Elsa her dreadful secret, she will always see herself as less than Elsa's equal. She cannot allow that to happen; she must not become weak and open up to her dear friend.

"I wish that I could." Before the words have even left her mouth, she regrets having spoken them aloud.

"I knew there was more!" Elsa says triumphantly.

Loté mentally scrambles, trying to cover her blunder, while Elsa waits patiently, confident that Loté will now divulge the secret that is preoccupying her thoughts so thoroughly. When she is unable to come up with anything plausible to tell her friend that might draw the attention away from the truth, she decides to share a small part of the truth with her, but only enough to impart sympathy from her, and not enough for her to guess at anything more.

"It was Porg," she says softly, almost in a hush.

"But Porg is being recycled. Even now as we speak, Keazar is instilling new life into his being so that his spirit may walk upon Heälf again." Her mouth suddenly drops open, and she asks in a conspiratorial tone of voice, "You didn't have anything to do with his death, Loté? Did you?"

"Of course not!" she vehemently denies, the sharp edge of guilt cutting new runnels through her heart.

"Then what? What can possibly be so wrong with Porg that you cannot keep your mind on the task at hand?" she demands of her friend.

"He tried to rape me, Elsa," she blurts, suddenly afraid that she is letting out more than she should. If and when Porg is eventually recycled, he may have a story of his own to cover up the truth, and it will become one's lie against the others lie, and in between, more of the truth is liable to escape. She fears that she is only digging herself in deeper than she can afford, and no good will come of it.

Elsa stares at her in shock, her mouth still agape. For the first time since Loté can remember, her friend is at a loss for words.

But it is short-lived, and though she recovers her senses quickly, she says the next as though she doesn't believe it. "Porg tried to take advantage of you." And then, after a moment's hesitation, she continues in a manner that belies to Loté her friend's intention of not getting too involved in the matter. There is no doubt as to her loyalty, and she will believe whatever Loté tells her. But she senses that there is more than she is being told. "I didn't have much to do with the man, but I never envisioned that he could muster such powerful desires. You are a beautiful woman, Loté, it doesn't surprise me that any man would find you attractive, even irresistible, but rape."

"We need to keep moving, Elsa."

Without waiting for a response, she turns and continues westward, along the trail. Elsa takes only a moment to catch up, and then begins her barrage of questions, wanting desperately to know all the details. She is once again her old self, and Loté feels fresh pangs of guilt at not telling her everything. Not for the first time in the last few days, she feels doubts about the actions she has taken.

"I understand that you're concerned for Rod, and the sooner we meet up with him, the sooner we can return to Keazar's labs and thus, Nava. But can you slow down for just a minute so I can talk?" Elsa pants. When Loté continues charging forward, not even acknowledging her friend's breathless pleas, Elsa reaches out and roughly grabs hold of her shoulder, spinning her around to face her.

"I'm sorry, Loté," she quickly apologizes, not wanting to upset her friend, but at the same time determined to learn what is causing her bizarre behavior. "But you have to talk to me. I've known you for a long time, and I know when something serious is bothering you. So let's have it, what is eating you?" she forcefully demands.

Loté lets out a heavy sigh, and her shoulders visibly slump in defeat and despair. "We'll take a short break, but then when you understand my haste, we must move swiftly, before it's too late."

Elsa's attention is riveted on her friend, hanging on her every word, wanting desperately to ask questions, but deathly afraid to interrupt and possibly miss the smallest detail. Loté tells her everything, including the reasons for her initial subterfuge. When she finishes, she begs her friend not to think any less of her, while apologizing profusely. But more importantly, for their friend Keazar's sake, she has Elsa swear to never tell a soul.

"It was wrong, what I did. But it was even more wrong of me to drag my good friends into my trouble," Loté says on the verge of tears, wishing she could undo both Porg's demise, and the way she handled it afterwards.

"Really, Loté," Elsa declares almost gaily. "Don't be so hard on yourself. I would have done the same, if I had been in your place." She sits in silence for a brief moment, before soberly adding, "I think Keazar was a little hard on you. He didn't need to overreact the way he did." Then her voice turns gay again, and she continues, "But then, if he hadn't overreacted the way he did, he wouldn't be Keazar, would he. At least, in the end, he is doing what is right, and that is helping a friend in need. Now let's get going before the jungle hides any evidence of where you left that bastard Porg's remains."

"You are a true friend, Elsa."

"You would do the same for me. Now forget about it, and let's get this deed done before the boys catch up."

"Yes, Elsa, I can honestly say that I would do the same for you. But you wouldn't let yourself get into such a mess."

"Hah!" she laughs, setting out toward the west with Loté hurrying to keep abreast of her. "You forget, my dear friend, that I was being recycled a long time before you even knew of our civilization in the subsurface. Don't think for an Earthly minute that I haven't gotten myself into a mess or two, also." They walk in silence for a moment before Elsa continues, "But I never had a trustworthy friend to guide me back out of the messes that I managed to get myself into. I always had to find my own way. You have no idea how truly glad I am that we have each other, Loté."

"Me too, Elsa."

They travel on in silence for a while, pushing themselves hard in the growing humidity. What little drop there is in temperature by moving away from the eastern horizon is more than offset by the rising humidity. With sweat streaming profusely from their equally tanned and straining bodies, Loté slowly eases off from the grueling pace until they are moving at a casual stroll and able to catch their collective breaths. Their earlier conversation has taken a tremendous burden off Loté's mind, and she is almost giddy with relief. To her surprise, she feels no regrets at having bared her soul to Elsa. None of the dreadful things that she'd assumed would happen have come to pass. Her friend doesn't think any less of her for her lapse of common sense, and she doesn't think any less of herself, thanks in great part to the way Elsa accepted her explanation of things without recourse.

"We should reach the place within a day or less," she says lightly, none of the former dread and concern weighing her down. "We'll camp there and wait for Layton to overtake us, and then, when the column moves out, I'll leave behind a visible sign for Keazar to find."

"You better make it very visible," Elsa jokes, her own spirits soaring because of her ability to console and help her dear friend.

Laughing, Loté agrees with her, not sure what she's going to do until the time arrives, but confident that she'll come up with something so visible even an inept tracker such as Keazar will have difficulty missing it.

Continuing the journey in high spirits, the time and the distance pass quickly. After several hours, followed by more short rests, and then a long stretch without breaks, they finally reach the area where her small group had set up camp and waited while she and Porg went hunting. Although not much time has transpired since that fateful event, the evidence of a campsite is already disappearing, a heavy layer of rapidly growing vegetation quickly reclaiming it.

"We'll make camp another mile up the trail," Loté casually states, her spirits still high. "Before we continue on with Layton, I'll come back and leave my sign for Keazar."

"Before we continue on, would you mind showing me where you left his body?" Elsa asks of her, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Loté is about to protest, feigning that she is already tired, when she suddenly thinks better of it. Because she doubts that any of Layton's men will be venturing very far from the trail, since their only concerns will be toileting and not hunting or procuring fruit, she decides to use the excursion with Elsa as an opportunity to check the integrity of Porg's remains. As well as marking the corpse for Keazar's sake, and securing it from the wild creatures and vermin that will have been drawn by the scent of decaying flesh, she also plans to retrieve enough of Porg's DNA on the off chance Keazar fails in his search for it.

"Sure. Follow me."

Using her long-knife to hack down the protesting vegetation, they work their way through the heavy growth on a southwest angle away from the trail. She isn't using the circuitous path that she made then, but instead, is moving in the most direct route that the jungle will allow. Within a short time, she finds the familiar terrain where she and Porg battled to the death. The humidity has washed their combined blood from the large glossy leaves, while broken and cut branches barely show their wounds, any longer.

When she sees the desecration done to the burial mound, she feels a mounting panic, suddenly fearful that something has absconded with the corpse, and there won't be any remaining DNA for her or Keazar to retrieve.

Elsa follows her panic stricken gaze and immediately figures out the scenario that is racing through Loté's mind. Moving even faster than Loté, she beats her to the scattered brush and debris, tearing frantically through the hastening humus. Loté falls on her knees beside her, and together, they dig as two madwomen possessed by demons.

But their frantic efforts fail to find any evidence of Porg's remains; the body is simply gone!

"He has to be here!" Loté frantically exclaims. "There isn't even any trace of it having been dragged off." She drops back on her haunches, all the weight of her prior actions returning to her shoulders, forcing her down in defeat. "Now what am I going to do?" she moans.

"Well, unless he just got up and walked away, there must be something left of him around here, somewhere," Elsa says with forced confidence, trying hard to boost her friend's plummeting spirit. "We'll just have to search a little harder, Loté. If you're certain this is where you left him, then we'll just have to start here and work our way outwards in an ever-enlarging circle. Eventually, we'll come across something."

"Of course, this is where I left him!" she angrily cries out, her gaze jumping jerkily from one familiar object to another.

"You can stay with me, Loté, or we can split up and cover twice as much area," Elsa calmly states, trying hard to keep Loté calm.

"I'm sorry," Loté softly murmurs, her eyes now slowly studying the mutilated ground surrounding her. "We'll split up and move in opposite directions. We'll meet up once on the outer edge of our search boundary with each pass. That way there is less chance of doubling over each other," she says with renewed confidence.

"I start my search in this direction," Elsa says, her voice filled with relief at Loté's renewed spirit.

"Keep your weapon ready," Loté says as she rises and starts off in the opposite direction from Elsa.

They work in circles, passing each other with each completed revolution. After five passes, there is still no evidence to indicate what became of Porg's corpse. But neither of the women is losing hope. Something removed his body from where Loté had left it, and it is only a matter of time before they find something, some trace of spoor that will lead them in the right direction.

Upon approaching each other for the tenth time, they stop and take a brief rest, drinking thirstily from their flagons. Neither of them have adjusted to the high humidity levels, and although the temperature is actually a few degrees cooler than Keazar's floating domain, located high above the planet's surface and exposed to direct moon-glow, the humidity inhibits the free evaporation of their sweat, leaving them feeling sticky and uncomfortable. They've been searching for several hours and have moved several hundred meters from the original point of origin. And yet, neither has found anything out of the ordinary, no blood, no scraps of flesh, nothing to indicate that a body has been dragged away.

"How much farther out do you want to look," Elsa sheepishly asks of her friend, noisily swallowing down large gulps of tepid water. Though she is tired and not having any fun, she is determined to continue searching for as long as Loté is willing.

Loté looks at her friend with a critical eye, and notices the deep runnels of sweat pouring down her body for the first time. She realizes that her friend is deeply fatigued from the efforts being put into discovering what became of Porg's remains. Guilt over what she is putting her friend through makes her want to call a halt. But desperation and the ultimate consequences of not finding Porg's remains, or at least enough viable DNA for Keazar to recycle, spur her on.

"I'm sorry, Elsa," she says sincerely, not wanting to put her friend through any more hardship. "Why don't you return to the trail and continue west until you find the pond where we'll put up Layton and his men. It shouldn't be much farther."

"No," she flatly replies, crossing her arms in front of her chest in determination. "Until you're ready to give it up, I'm with you."

"You've already done more than I could ever ask of you, Elsa. As much as I appreciate your loyalty, this is my problem, not yours."

With her jaw set in determination and anger, Elsa fires back at her, "As your friend, Loté, we are in this together. I don't ever want to hear you say otherwise, or expect any less of me than you expect of yourself. Now let's get back to the search."

With that said, Elsa sets off on the next ring of the ever expanding circle encompassing their search. She goes less than twenty meters, when she suddenly stops and crouches down to her knees, intent on something lying in the weeds.

Loté is still staring after her, when she sees her friend bend over and study something lying on the ground, hidden from her view by a clump of tall standing vegetation. Before she can raise her voice to question her friend as to what she has found, Elsa leaps excitedly to her feet, crying out joyously for her to hurry over.

Without hesitation, Loté scrambles hurriedly to her friend's side, intent on the bloody mound now visible on the ground before her. But the blood is old and crusted, dried to the point that the normal range of insects have already moved on, leaving little behind except for a husk of its former self. Beneath the paper-thin crust of dried blood and skin is a visible skeleton. They are looking at the torso portion of Porg's body. The head, arms, legs, and other extraneous appendages are absent. All internal organs have also been removed or were eaten on sight, accounting for many of the large, gaping holes in the tenuously brittle and fragile skin that remains.

"It must be Porg!" Elsa says excitedly, looking to Loté for confirmation.

Although Loté was the last to see him alive, there is nothing on the ground before her that unquestionably confirms as to whom the remains belong. By a simple process of elimination, she can safely assume that it's Porg's torso. But if she is wrong, and they belong to some poor straggler that was dragged off the trail by scavengers or predators, Keazar will never forgive her for the embarrassment that he'll inevitably suffer.

But then, of course, no one will ever suspect the truth, beyond the readily available assumption that Keazar misplaced Porg's DNA. A thorough search will entail, but eventually it will be dropped, and life will return to normal. The important thing is that Jai won't be looking at her with those suspicious and accusing eyes.

When Loté doesn't answer her immediately, or share in her elation, her expression grows concerned. "Is it not Porg?" she demands of her friend.

Hesitantly, Loté says, "It must be. Who else could it be?"

"Then it is Porg, and that is that!" Elsa declares triumphantly, eager to shed the doubt. "We must return it to the place where we started the search," she continues, anxious to be done with the whole business.

"Yes," Loté agrees half-heartedly. She cannot understand why she is feeling plagued with doubts. It is much too coincidental for them to have found another body where only Porg's should have been. It has to be his!

Shedding her doubts with a shrug of the shoulders, she says more for her friend's peace of mind than her own, "It is Porg's torso. But before we move it, I must collect a tissue sample for safekeeping."

Elsa, misreading her motives, openly laughs, saying, "Yes, that is probably wise, considering Keazar's great tracking abilities."

Loté doesn't feel any compelling reason to correct her, and tell her that she is taking the sample for her own reasons. In some loosely connected way, she feels that by taking the sample, and thereby guaranteeing Porg's chance to be recycled, she is correcting the mistake in judgment that she made earlier. It was a grievous error on her part to leave his remains behind, but she also made the conscious decision to conceal them. For that reason, she must be certain that his future is not left to chance.

"Before we move it, though, let's continue the search farther out."

"But Loté, there is more than enough tissue left on it for recycling. Why waste more time looking for what we don't need?"

The reason for her nagging doubt suddenly springs forth, and she realizes why it might not be Porg's remains.

"The long-knife, Elsa. I left his long-knife with his body. No animal would bother dragging off a heavy piece of useless iron, and yet, we didn't find it where I left the body!"

Now Elsa shares in the concern that Loté is feeling. Her joyful mood vanishes like a wisp of smoke in the jungle canopy. Without further coaxing from her friend, Elsa turns her attention to the surrounding area, again intent on the search. This time Loté doesn't stare after her, but instead, turns and renews her own search.

After passing each other several times on the intersection of their ever-expanding circumference search, Loté is about to suggest they give up and return to the trail before Layton and his men overtake them, when Elsa suddenly cries out. She is a long distance from Loté, invisible to her because of the dense jungle growth separating them. And although her voice is faint with the distance and terrain, Loté can sense the anxiety in it, and subconsciously draws her long-knife as she turns to hurry to her friend.

Moving as swiftly as the jungle terrain will allow, she again hears her friend crying out, but now is much closer, and senses that it is excitement in her voice, not fear. With renewed hope, she breaks through the underbrush to find Elsa standing over a dead scavenger, her bloodied blade held at the ready. But the scavenger is dead, its nine-foot frame lying prostrate on the ground, a ghostly white, human femur still clutched in its right hand.

Loté glances around the area cautiously, her own weapon held high at the ready as she moves forward, closing the distance between her and Elsa.

"What happened?" she says softly, barely audible to Elsa's ears.

"Over there," Elsa replies, indicating a small hut fabricated from local vegetation. It is so well concealed against the regular growth of the underbrush, that Loté hadn't noticed it before Elsa pointed it out to her.

"That must be where it lived," Loté replies, not sensing anything significant in the fact.

"Look again," her friend urges, barely able to contain her excitement.

Not certain exactly what Elsa is expecting of her, she cautiously advances toward the roughly constructed dwelling. As she nears the opening, prepared for almost anything to happen, it suddenly dawns on her as to what she is looking at. Unable to control her own excitement, she rushes through the makeshift doorway, searching frantically for the long-knife that she knows is somewhere near. The minute she recognized the cleanly cut-off ends of several branches used in the construction of the hut, she knew.

The scavenger that Elsa just recently killed must have come across Porg's remains almost immediately after his demise. Since then, it had figured out how to use the sharp edge of the weapon for cutting branches and limbs, and hence, worked to improve its habitat! It was only a matter of time before the creature learned how to use the weapon for its original intent!

As far as her knowledge of the creatures extends, the scavenger is a timid breed, rarely attacking living people, while generally preferring to wait for their eventual demise. There are reported cases where the creatures have banded together and attacked small bands of old and decrepit men and women that were left behind by their respective tribes. But the incidences are few and far between, and most people never give them any credence. If indeed the cases are true, the victims are rarely able to pass their stories on.

Her senses are immediately overcome by the scent of decaying flesh; the putrid smells trapped within the cloying confines of the small dwelling. Yet, she rushes forward, determined to find proof of Porg's existence here; proof that the torso they found indeed belonged to the man she killed.

She is not disappointed. Even in the dim light of the dwelling, she catches a glint of moon glow off metal, and hastily retrieves the long-knife. Before retreating, however, she looks around the small, tightly confined space, holding her breath against the stifling stench of rotting flesh. The meticulous order of things momentarily fascinates her, if not the actual items involved. There is a macabre air in the dwelling, unlike anything she has ever experienced. It is not sadistic or cruel, because the creature didn't possess such base feelings or drives. But rather, it is more like the food lockers that a hunter might keep, only to be happened upon by the innocent game that is also being stored within. This is where the scavenger stored his food, impervious to the scent that man finds revolting.

Stacked in a neat row along the back wall are human limbs, both arms and legs, now barely clad in flesh of varying degrees of decay. Keeping the row confined is a pair of human heads, or rather, skulls. The flesh has been removed from them making identification impossible.

When she found the long-knife, Loté hastily assumed the torso they'd found earlier had to belong to Porg. But now, finding a second skull in the same vicinity, she can't be sure.

Gingerly, she pokes a finger into the empty eye socket of each skull and retreats from the makeshift hut to where Elsa is eagerly waiting for her. As Elsa realizes what her friend is bringing out with her, a small gasp escapes her lips. And then, just as quickly, she realizes the dilemma that the second skull presents.

Elsa voices the question that is forefront in her mind. "How do we know which is Porg's and which isn't?"

The skulls are slimy to the touch, but she continues holding them, now at arm's length, one in each hand. After a moment, she determines that there aren't any distinguishing features to help her with her new dilemma; either could belong to Porg. Or, for that matter, neither could belong to Porg.

"I can't see anything about these that can tell me if either of them is Porg's, so we'll have to drag all the remains out and look them over. Maybe we'll find something definitive, some small detail that will clearly show us it belonged to him," she says without any conviction.

Setting the skulls down, she returns to the dark interior of the hut. Hesitant to start the grim task of moving the body parts outside where the moon glow will make it easier to see, she studies the row of limbs, hoping to see something that might save her from the ordeal she is about to embark on. Meanwhile, Elsa waits patiently outside, unwilling to venture into the dark and foul smelling space, even with Loté already inside.

The torso was too mutilated by scavenging animals and decomposed for her to identify the wound she inflicted upon Porg in their battle. However, there is enough remaining flesh on one of the arms lying before her, that she is almost certain the wound is the same that she inflicted upon it with her long-knife during the battle. It is unlike any of the other visible wounds to the limbs in that it appears to have been made with purpose. No flesh has been removed from this arm; it is not a filleting cut. Instead, the wound is of a puncture type; the exact type of wound she clearly remembered inflicting upon Porg. This has to be his arm! She is suddenly certain of it.

Forgetting her revulsion, she grasps the arm in her right hand and quickly retreats to the fresher air outside. Elsa looks relieved to see her, though they have been standing less than a meter apart. The arm is swollen and discolored, the wound looking larger and more horrific than the superficial thing it really was.

Holding the arm so she can study the wound, Loté says excitedly, "This is Porg's left arm."

"How can you be sure?" Elsa tentatively asks, the bile climbing up the back of her throat and threatening to close off her air supply.

Seeing the color drain from her friend's face, Loté carefully sets the arm down on the ground before the opening of the hut so that the wound is lit by the moon's glow. Then, speaking with confidence, she says, "I made that wound to his arm during the fight. It was much smaller and less significant then, but it was made by my hand, and that's proof enough."

The color is returning to her friend's face, and she appears to be getting over her initial revulsion, as she says, "What do we do now?"

"I'll take a sample of tissue from this, and then we'll leave this just the way we found it. Keazar can sort out the limbs and recycle what he deems necessary. If all else fails, I'll have Porg's necessary DNA with me and he can be recycled when we get back to Keazar's labs. If he has to, Porg can wait until then."

"Let's hurry, please," Elsa begs of her, eager to be away from the stench of rotting flesh.

Loté removes the necessary tissue and secures it in a leather pouch in her pack before returning the arm to its place among the other limbs. She briefly considers retrieving the torso and adding it to the collection of body parts, but then decides against it. They have what she came here for, and that is good enough. It's time to return to the trail and get a camp set up before Layton and his men arrive.

### **15**

"Zin, my friend," Rod says breathlessly, continuing to study the effects of the journey on the other men. "What can you tell me that I don't already know?" Although he is trying to sound light-hearted, because his voice is dry and his spirit fading, he sounds every bit as serious as he feels.

"I am afraid that if we cannot push ourselves harder, the spoor will continue to grow staler."

"How is it possible for a man to move with such speed, as well as go without periods of rest? His progress is almost too steady to be human."

"Yes, I have been thinking the same thoughts, even though I know that what we are pursuing is definitely a lone man. He must be in very excellent physical condition, and he cannot possibly be carrying any supplies, beyond the water he needs until he reaches his destination," Zin states rather matter-of-factly. Rod has never known him to be an excitable man, and he isn't now.

Just as Rod is about to ask him another question, Parco approaches them, his demeanor and appearance looking better than Rod would have expected. He smiles first at Zin, and then nervously turns his attention to Rod before speaking. "I have been keeping my eyes on the horizon, like you suggested," he starts, his voice betraying the awe he feels toward Rod. Before continuing, he glances quickly toward the others, his confidence bolstered by the fact that he is the center of their attention for the moment. All eyes are upon him, and it makes him feel important. But then he looks back at Rod and remembers to whom he is speaking, and his confidence falters.

"It's okay, Parco." Rod quickly reassures him, having sensed the man's unease in his presence. At first, he is mildly flattered by the man's reaction, but then becomes irritated when he takes too long to continue. Already, they are losing ground on the man whose spoor they are tracking, and time is wasting.

"I have been watching the horizon closely," he hesitantly continues.

"Yes, so you have already told us," Rod says, trying not to let his impatience show.

The man glances nervously at Zin again, and then the group of men sitting together watching him, before he turns back to Rod and says, "It is changing."

"Yes," Rod says, unable to hide his growing impatience with the man. "We are heading toward the south, away from the jungle and the green vegetation. What you are seeing Parco, is a lack of color being reflected back at the sky."

"I understand that," he says nervously, fearful of contradicting Rod. "But there is more."

Rod looks toward Zin, and notices that his friend is already studying the horizon, trying to decipher what Parco is having such a difficult time telling.

"He is right, Rod," Zin says softly, an underlying concern in his voice.

"What is it?" Rod asks of no one in particular, but rather, to whichever of the two standing before him will answer his question first. Looking toward the southwestern horizon, Rod notes only the dull brown color nearer the ground turning to a lighter shade of gray as the eyes move skyward.

Now Zin points with his hand, and the men formerly sitting in the shade of the small group of trees slowly get to their feet and follow his lead, their eyes turning questioningly toward the southwest. "There," Zin says, his voice hinting at the excitement that is beginning to boil within his breast.

His eyes following along the length of his friend's arm, soars out over the ground like an arrow in flight, and then sees what has captured Parco's interest. It is barely visible, and even then, when stared at directly, impossible to see. Only when you look away slightly are you able to distinguish something. What they see appears as little more than a dot above the fabric of the landscape.

Recognizing it for what it is, Rod whistles under his breath before saying, "You have done well, Parco. You have done well, indeed."

Parco is beaming with pride, his chest now swelled out with importance, as he returns to stand with the other men.

Zin is the first to speak. "I think we can slow our pace, Rod."

"Yes, I believe we can. Already, the man we follow has returned to his lair."

Now they both understood why the man could risk pushing himself to the limits of his endurance. He knew how far he had to go, even after calculating in the distance that the floating domain must have traveled in his absence. But what they don't know is what concerns them yet. Although the man is returned to his lair, what news he carried with him still remains a mystery. Except that it is of such great importance, he never rested in his haste to overtake it.

"We should have sent two of our best runners on ahead to overtake him," Rod grumbles to Zin, mad at himself because they'd lost the opportunity to obtain knowledge that might have been of value to them.

"It would have been a fruitless chase, my friend. Even if you had gone on ahead without us to slow you down, you would not have been able to overtake him. He was a man possessed. There was no sign of hesitation or caution in his spoor. No one could have pushed themselves hard enough to overtake such a quarry." Zin spoke without inflection or feeling, he was simply stating the facts to Rod as he saw and interpreted them, and that is what makes him such a valuable friend and ally.

Rod momentarily slumps his shoulders as if in defeat, and then he straightens his back and calmly says, "We'll let the men have a little extra time to rest up. Already, the shade is growing scarcer, and the dryer air will sap their strength before they know it."

"Yes," Zin agrees, satisfied that Rod is again thinking clearly and already laying plans for their advance on the domain that is still little more than a darker speck against the dark gray sky.

After sitting in silence for a while, their personal thirsts slaked with the tepid water from their individual flagons, Zin casually states, "We can do little more than leave a trail for others to follow while we remain invisible to the eyes of the sentries aboard the floating domain. There are very few of us, and even fewer that are trained or experienced in the ways of fighting. It will be a massacre if they discover us following them. And yet, Layton will expect us to inform him of all the details regarding their strengths and weaknesses. He will wonder what we've been doing if we cannot at least tell him of their numbers, both aboard the domain and on the surface, as well as the number of prisoners and slaves they have in their immediate possession."

"You are absolutely correct, my good and trusted friend. We should be ashamed of ourselves if we cannot at least gather information regarding the enemy." His eyes narrow for the briefest of moments as he delves into deep thought, and then quickly refocus on the speck near the far horizon. "We will find out everything there is to know about the people aboard that domain before Layton arrives with his army, even if we have to climb aboard to do it."

They sit in silence for a while longer before Zin changes the subject with a smile and says, "Loté will be with Layton and his men when they arrive."

Rod's face lights up at the thought of seeing his woman again. He misses her fiercely, but realizes their separation is entirely his fault. "Yes," he thinks aloud. "Yes, it will be good to see her."

After a short rest, Rod and Zin find themselves sitting apart from the others. It is Rod's intention to discuss his plans with Zin before asking the men to do his bidding. If anything is going to call for special skills or abilities, Zin will know which of the men is more capable. Because they cannot risk building a fire and being seen, they are chewing on dried meat and washing it down with small sips of water. The meat has a high percentage of salt in it to prohibit spoilage. The salt makes their bodies retain the water, rather than urinate it out and waste it.

"Parco has exceptional eyesight, Zin," Rod says between mouthfuls. "With an experienced scout, we can get him close enough to the domain to see how many lookouts they have posted, and whether or not they have visible armament on the perimeter. Once we are familiar with their security defenses, we can move in closer and familiarize ourselves with their ground forces. We need to know what their strengths and weaknesses are."

"I will take Parco as close to the domain as we dare," Zin states matter-of-factly, never giving thought to the possibility that Rod might want to take him. In Zin's mind, Rod is the general, and therefore, must remain safe behind their lines so that he can issue orders and lead the men. He is also concerned for Rod's safety because he is familiar with Rod's reckless regard for his own life, and his penchant to deviate from formed plans, preferring to improvise in the field. With no way to communicate without risking being spotted from the domain, the scouting party will be cut off from the others, and that is a situation that Zin can't allow Rod to become a part of.

"Why you?" Rod asks of his friend, casually assuming that it was just a manner of speaking, and not that Zin really intended to be the lead scout. Rod has just naturally assumed that he would take the lead, and then after they are away from the others, he will get Parco within hundreds of feet of the domain, and not thousands of feet like Zin is expecting.

"Because you are not expendable, my friend. If something should happen to you, Loté will never forgive me."

Stunned by his friend's serious tone of voice, Rod looks across at him. He is about to tell him that as a younger man, he is in better physical condition for the grueling hike of overtaking the domain while doing so with the utmost stealth. But he quickly thinks better of it. Zin only sounds like an elderly individual until you see his strong, athletic physique. Zin's mind is old in years and experience, but his body has recently been recycled, for more times than even Zin can keep track.

"But I've done this type of thing before," Rod argues, more determined than ever that he should be the one to take Parco within seeing distance of the floating domain. "Moreover, I am one of the most experienced among us in this dry and forbidding terrain."

"Don't waste your breath arguing with me," Zin flatly states.

"Then you and I should go alone," Rod suddenly throws out, hoping to get Zin into a bargaining position. "We can get close enough to see everything, including their ground forces. If they have a lot of slaves tethered below that damn thing, we might even be able to get their attention and recruit them into the fight for their freedom, instead of standing on the sidelines being useless."

"What can a bunch of demoralized slaves tethered to a floating domain do to assist in the fight for their freedom?" he asks of Rod, his interest in Rod's intentions slowly growing.

Rod is quick to pick up on his friend's change of attitude, only because he knows him so intimately. To the casual observer, his change of stance was unnoticeable; he still appears casually obstinate and dead set against Rod leading them into danger.

"But that is the key, Zin, they won't be demoralized once they realize we have come to free them, and to extract justice against those that have enslaved them." He pauses for a moment before adding, "If we can free them, they will fight against long-knives with their bare hands. And if we cannot free them from the cables that tether them to the domain, we will have them move the domain in the direction that we choose, and not the direction that the slavers wish to go."

His voice betrays the excitement that he is feeling, and Zin is slowly being drawn in, quickly finding himself in need of hearing more. It is for this very reason that he has come to like and respect Rod. The man isn't only among the bravest of men that he knows, but he is also a thinker, a man that isn't afraid to make a plan of action and then see it through.

Leaning forward, he asks, "And where would you have the slaves take the thing. Back to the equatorial trail in the north, or try to turn it around completely, and hand deliver it to Layton?"

Rod hadn't even considered the possibility that he could get the slaves to turn the domain around and move it toward the east. At the time he thought of getting the slaves to work with them, he was only thinking of getting them to stop the domain and hold it at bay until Layton arrives. Now his mind is going full speed ahead, and he is thinking of the possibilities. Even if they simply cut the slaves loose and leave the domain to drift free, they will have scored a tremendous victory against the slavers.

But he is getting ahead of himself, and he has to remember that the ground forces might be too substantial to penetrate, and they will have to be satisfied with simply garnering information that Layton will be able to use. Furthermore, the domain will have enough supplies on board to maintain a small army for many months, and to believe that they can score a quick and decisive victory over the slavers might be little more than wishful thinking.

"It would do to simply hold the domain at bay until Layton can get here," Rod says without much conviction, his mind still working around the idea of literally moving the domain to a place that will be beneficial to their cause.

In addition, he has not forgotten what it feels like to be a hero, and to take the domain to Layton would be news that would sweep the surface like wildfire. It is the stuff that makes men into legends. And although he cannot divulge such thoughts to even his closest friends, he cannot resist thinking them.

As if reading his innermost thoughts, Zin says, "We must not get ahead of ourselves. First, we must garner pertinent information for Layton. If we can use some of that information before Layton arrives to ease their burden, we would be amiss not to. But only then, and not at the risk of losing lives," he sternly adds.

"Then it's settled," Rod quickly acknowledges. "You and I will go on ahead and leave the others to follow along at a safe distance while continuing to mark the trail."

Zin quickly realizes that Rod has sucked him into the excitement and gotten his way by doing so. It would be useless to argue with him now. "Just as soon as we explain to the others what will be expected of them, we will head out. We won't take any more supplies than we will need for two day's earth time, and enough water for three."

"What of Loté's purple pills?" he asks of Zin, wondering if they should take enough for a full complement of tethered slaves, or just enough for them to return, and leave the remainder with the others. Their supply of the purple pills is very limited, because they gave most of them to the women and children when they parted ways.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," is all he says, as he turns and heads toward the small group of men lounging lazily under the sparse shade of a wilted and gnarled tree. Yet, Rod knows exactly what he means.

It takes them just a few moments to explain their plan, such as it is, to the men, all of who appear genuinely relieved to be left out of it for the most part. Within a short time, Rod and Zin are heading toward the speck in the sky, constantly on the alert for hidden traps, though neither truly expects to stumble across any. Each is carrying a flagon of water and rations of food to last two days in a small pack on their respective backs. They are also carrying long-knives in addition to some basic essentials, including several purple pills for the return trip. What Rod didn't share with Zin is that he secretly packed an extra-large amount of the purple pills, almost their entire supply. Zin would not have approved, and hence, Rod didn't tell him.

It doesn't take long for the dark speck on the horizon to grow, and the shade to completely disappear. They are moving through a sea of tenacious reeds, completely exposed to the glow from the twin moons, and it is important for them to protect themselves against burning. Rod wishes they could stop long enough to harvest enough reeds to weave themselves sufficient fabric to make full body shields to protect them from the twin moon's reflections, as well as the warriors they will eventually have to face.

They push themselves harder than they could expect from any of the others, but that is what sets them apart. Neither will complain to the other with regard to the discomfort they are inflicting upon themselves, because it would be interpreted as a weakness, and they are, above all else, strong men.

Because the domain is moving steadily away from them, even though its course is now parallel to the equator, it is taking them longer to overtake then Rod had first anticipated. He begins to worry that he didn't instruct Parco and the others to maintain a fast enough pace, and that without either Zin or himself to continually goad them forward, they will slowly fall behind. Without a leader, they are apt to spend more time working on leaving a trail for Layton to follow than pursuing the floating domain.

When he is certain that he can't push himself any farther without a rest, he slowly draws to a halt. Zin, who is following close behind, quickly draws abreast of him. Rod is immediately relieved to see the haggard look around his friend's eyes, as well as the thick layer of dust clinging to his sweat-laden body. The sunken eyes prove to him that Zin is also exhausted, and their dust-laden bodies make them virtually invisible from even a short distance away.

Feigning more stamina than he really possesses, Zin asks of him, his voice rasping and dry from eating the fine particles of dust that Rod's feet are kicking up, "Why are we stopping?"

Before answering, he straightens up, leaving a handprint in the layer of dust above each knee. "Because I am tired and we have barely closed the distance by one half," he says truthfully, his own voice dry and tight from the dust.

Pulling Zin's flagon from the pack on his friend's back, he turns around to make his own pack more accessible to Zin, who in turn retrieves Rod's flagon. They exchange flagons and take small sips, allowing the tepid water to roll around in their mouths before swallowing. Both are aware that they have a long way to go, and precious little water with which to do it.

Having relieved their thirsts to a small degree, they exchange flagons and return them to their respective packs. Sounding more like his old self, Zin says, "It is moving much faster than I had first calculated. They must be pushing their toters to the limits of their endurance to move at such a pace."

"It has gained speed since the man we were first following overtook it. They were either holding back and waiting for him, or they suspect that they're being followed and are making a run for it."

"Where could they run to?" Zin snorts, thinking the statement unfounded and foolish to be coming from him. "They are not a timid race of people, Rod. If they thought they were being followed, we would already have discovered traps and ambushes. Or worse, they would have launched a full scale attack on us." He pauses to clear his throat before continuing. "My guess is they have more slaves than they need and are simply running the weaker ones to death for their sadistic entertainment. Soon, we will start coming across the bodies."

Reflexively, Rod almost spits out the disgust he feels rising in his craw, but quickly checks himself; moisture is much too valuable a commodity this far into the southern reaches to waste.

"If that is true, we must not allow their sacrifices to be a complete waste. With all the attention on the slaves, we should be able to draw within hundreds of feet of the domain without being spotted."

"That will be very risky, my friend," Zin slowly responds, carefully weighing his words. "Is it not enough that we gather small portions of tissue from the corpses we come across for recycling later?"

Rod smiles coyly at his friend, as the wheels of his mind begin to spin madly at the prospect of impending danger. "The men coming up behind us can take care of the tissue samples for recycling. We have much more important work to do."

"I promised Loté that I would look after you, my friend," Zin solemnly replies, concern beginning to etch worry lines across his formerly smooth brow.

Before he can continue, Rod says, "And I would expect nothing less of you. Have you not already deduced the reason that you are here now, and not Parco?"

"It is you that are here and not Parco, not I," Zin firmly states. "It was because I gave in and allowed you to take Parco's place that you are here."

"Funny," Rod jokingly replies. "That isn't how I remember it."

Rod is about to say more, but senses that his humor is lost on Zin, and that Zin is growing agitated by his light-heartedness. Instead, he listens to Zin out of respect for the man's knowledge and friendship. "I will dictate how close we go to the domain. If I give the signal to break off and retreat, you will do so without question." His voice stresses the importance and seriousness of the situation so that even Rod cannot doubt as to whom is in charge for the time being.

Although Rod is not one to take orders from anyone, and Zin is well aware of this, Rod gives him the impression that he is aligned with him, and will obediently follow his lead. But in his heart, Rod is only willing to follow his friend as long as he is in agreement with his friend's actions.

"We are losing ground sitting here, my friend," Rod says, rising to his feet and looking to the west.

Zin makes eye contact with him, and Rod senses that he wants to say something more, but then simply nods and turns to lead. What Rod doesn't know is that his friend is secretly hoping within his own heart that Rod won't do anything stupid to jeopardize the mission. There is much more at stake than just his and Rod's lives. There are also the lives of the men coming up behind them, as well as those of the slaves already in the slaver's custody to consider.

But Zin knows his friend well enough to believe that he won't try anything too brash or reckless with so much at stake. Ultimately, Rod's intentions are always for the good of the less fortunate, and not just to make a reputation.

With no trees or tall growing vegetation to impede them, they move swiftly across the desolate terrain, quickly gaining on the moving domain. The first of the bodies they come across are gruesomely disfigured, portraying open gashes across their bare backs and thighs from the whips and chains the slavers are flailing them with in an attempt to please their leaders and to drive them to faster speeds. Among the first of the bodies is that of a young boy with blond locks of hair. His face is contorted with the pain he experienced as he collapsed in his death throes.

Rod stops for a moment to inspect the young lad, and thinks of his own son. He is immediately gripped by a cold fury, suddenly wanting to attack the domain single-handedly, and drive the life from the sadistic bastards that harbor such little respect for human life. He is startled by the strong grip of Zin's hand on his shoulder. So absorbed with anger, he didn't sense Zin's approach, and this lack of diligence angers him even more.

"Don't let the anger rule you," his friend says softly, succoring the love within Rod's breast for his own son to calm him.

Forcefully, Rod calms himself, but he doesn't let the anger go, he just hides it from Zin's caring gaze. Slowly, Rod gets to his feet and nods for Zin to continue. More than ever, he is anxious to see the faces of the evil beings that disguise themselves as men, just so he can witness the pain in their eyes when he dishes out their due rewards.

With a quick glance back, Zin sets out, barely acknowledging the next bodies they come across, until he abruptly halts and drops down on his knees. Rod pulls up behind him and quietly studies the scene playing out before him. Zin, his weapon back in his scabbard, carefully and gently repositions the corpse to a more natural pose. Rod has never seen his friend behave in this manner before, even when close friends and allies have been cut down in battle next to him. He is uncertain of what to say, and he feels ashamed for being so unhelpful to a friend in pain.

Speaking softly, he asks of Zin, "Do you know this girl?"

After a long moment, Zin quietly cries, "Is it not enough for them to rape their slaves? Why do they have to be so cruel? She is such a young girl, and yet, they have cut her to shreds, the knives never going deep enough to end her life quickly. But instead, they continued raping her while her life's blood flowed slowly from her delicate body." He pauses, involuntarily buckling over with grief, before he continues, "They will pay for this inhumanity!"

Rising to his feet and drawing his weapon, he orders Rod, "Come!"

Although Rod feels empathy for the girl and the treatment she must have suffered at the slaver's hands, a cruel grin shapes his lips at the thought of following Zin into battle with the barbaric animals.

Zin moves toward the floating domain with renewed vigor. It takes all of Rod's fortitude to keep pace with him. Slowly, almost too slowly, the domain draws nearer as they gain ground on it. They are close enough now that they can see a low hovering cloud of dust from the multitude of slaves tethered to the bottom of the domain. They are still too far to make out shapes or human figures, which means the slavers probably can't see them either. The number of corpses tapers off and then increases in number again. It is almost as if the slavers took a brief pause from their entertainment while they rested, and then resumed with increased intensity.

To Rod's relief, they don't come across any more female corpses. This sets his mind to wonder what events led to the poor girl being singled out for such extreme punishment and abuse. Was it something as simple as mouthing off and defying their rule, or did she do something more serious, such as injuring or even killing one of them. In his heart, he hopes she killed one of them.

Zin suddenly drops to the ground. Without hesitation, Rod drops behind him. They are both carrying their respective weapons in their right hands, and now Rod slowly raises his head and looks forward, above the prone body of his friend. Unable to see anything but gray sky above the tips of the reeds, he slowly and carefully crawls forward until he is lying next to Zin.

Meanwhile, Zin has raised his head and is studying the terrain farther out. Carefully, Rod drags himself up next to him and then rolls onto his side to face him so they can speak silently and read each other's lips and expressions.

Zin sinks back to the ground and looks at Rod, his anxiety clearly expressed in his features. "Stragglers," he mouths, barely audible to Rod's ears.

But the one word is all Rod needs to hear to understand what is happening. They are so close to the protectorate of the domain, they are overtaking its camp followers, the scavengers that live off the scraps and discards of the main colony. Because of the rise and fall of the terrain, he hadn't seen them, but trusted completely that Zin either had, or otherwise knew of their presence.

A new thought dawns on Rod, and he doesn't like the implications that come with it. Until this moment, they had both assumed that the slavers were the ones to mutilate the young woman whose corpse they had come across. Now Rod wasn't so sure. He couldn't rule out the possibility that it was the scavengers, the camp followers that had done the horrible things to her. Coming across the mutilated corpses of the slaves might have set off a bloodthirsty frenzy, and she had the unfortunate status of being the camp misfit. She quickly became their focus of attention, and the slavers were never even aware of her existence.

As much as Rod disliked thinking it, he couldn't disregard the condition or the pose in which they came across the remains. Even if there aren't any actual murderers or rapists amongst the camp followers, there also isn't a single decent person among them with enough compassion toward the dead to show the deceased a spite of respect.

Moreover, it means they can't count on getting any assistance from the camp followers. In fact, from now until they are proven otherwise, they will have to treat the scavenger crowd as the enemy.

Slowly, Rod raises himself to his knees, his head just below the tops of the reeds. He is confident that if he is as heavily covered in the tawny dust as Zin, he will be virtually invisible to all but the sharpest of eyes. Carefully, he rises up until he can see forward, and is immediately surprised at how near to the domain they are. For the first time, he can make out individual forms moving about on the domain's main floor.

Zin, sensing by Rod's actions that it must be safe to look, also rises to his knees and slowly raises his head above the reeds. Unlike Rod, he knows how close the domain is to them, and he is not taken aback when he again takes sight of it. Moreover, as they were gaining on the domain, he was constantly studying the rear rails of all the decks for a sentry that might be watching their back trail. But the only people he ever saw were always moving around as if preoccupied with other matters. Not once did he see anyone so much as take a casual glance over their back trail.

Although it might have been nothing more than an optical illusion, there were several times when he thought he could see the domain pitch forward, almost as if a large weight were being rolled around on one of the decks. But he knows from firsthand experience that it might be caused by large groups of people shifting together as they follow something of interest on the surface below. He suspects that this might be the case, as he feels certain that almost everyone on board is probably interested in the slave run-off. Without a doubt, they are a sadistic bunch that derives much pleasure from watching someone else's pain and misfortune.

### **16**

Pena suddenly feels a knot tightening in the pit of her stomach, and the exuberance she was feeling just moments earlier quickly evaporates, and all because of a few simple words. It was inevitable that he would pick up the scent of her again, but she was hoping to share some time of intimacy with him before it had to happen. Deep down inside, she is certain the more time she can spend alone with him on a close, intimate level, the stronger their bond will become, and the easier it will ultimately be for him to resist his destiny.

Standing tall, he faces toward the east, his nostrils flaring widely as he draws in another huge lungful of air. His eyes are intense, staring unblinking toward a solid green wall of vegetation as though he is seeing through it to the other side, all the way to where Loté is innocently going about her business. For the moment, he has forgotten all else, even the woman he professes to love. His mind is once again on the hunt, his thoughts being consumed with anticipation of the capturing and dominating of his prey. He is once again standing on the lip of the gate to the underworld, the subsurface where he was created for one purpose and one purpose only. Her scent is in his nostrils, filling his lungs and permeating through his being, realigning all the cells of his physical structure toward a single intention. It is all consuming. Although he is strong of will, he cannot resist the pull.

Sensing, more than actually seeing what is overcoming the man she loves, Pena vainly begs, whimpering his name, "Horspaw."

But he cannot hear her anymore than he can see the green vegetation growing like a solid wall before him. His senses are all consumed by the drive to find Loté.

Again, Pena begs for his attention, her voice hoarse with emotion, "Horspaw."

Still, he cannot hear her. In a daze, he moves forward, trampling the brush and grasses that stand before him.

More demanding, she cries out for his attention, "Horspaw!"

From a far off distance, he hears a familiar voice, but he is too distracted to pay it any mind. In his present state of mind, it is nothing more than a mild annoyance, a pesky insect that he absently swats away.

"Please, my love, you cannot shut me out," she pleads, tears threatening to burst forth.

For the briefest of moments, he hesitates. The voice is sweet, melodic, and a warm feeling grows within his breast, slowly threatening to tear his chest apart. What started as an annoying buzz has grown, but it no longer annoys. Instead, he finds it reassuring, pleasing, and is drawn toward the voice. In his mind, he is acknowledging her voice with kind thoughts and memories. Yet, his physical being, the cells that are genetically altered and engineered for the single purpose of fulfilling Lord Balzar's destiny, continue forward, unwilling to bend or veer from their ultimate destination.

There is a battle raging within his heart. As much as Horspaw wants and desires to concede to Pena's pleadings, his body refuses to obey. Like a zombie, he continues forward through the jungle, Pena reluctantly following him, unwilling to give up.

With all her heart, she believes that he can hear her, but is physically unable to respond. If all else fails, she will use physical measures against his physical being to garner the attention of the mind trapped within.

But she hopes it won't come to that, and continues pleading with him, trying desperately to use her voice to break down the wall that the rediscovery of Loté's scent has created. "Horspaw, if you can hear me, please, stop! You can fight it. You're stronger than it is. I'll help you. Together, we can overcome anything."

Unable to hold them back any longer, tears suddenly stream unabated down her cheeks. She is certain that if she can just get him to hear her, he can beat back and overcome the force that is driving him away from her.

He abruptly stops, and hope springs anew in her heart. His face is contorted from the battle raging within, but for the moment, he is standing still. Then, moving as if his muscles are made of malleable steel that is resisting his will, he draws his long-knife and slowly raises it high above his head, the point aimed at the ground before him. With tremendous will and determination, he drives it toward the ground, striking the igneous rock with a shower of sparks, the blade chattering loudly from the impact with the unforgiving surface. Small fragments of rock rain down upon them, and then, to Pena's shocking surprise, the blade shatters, and Horspaw stumbles forward, landing hard on his knees, the hilt of his broken weapon still in his grasp.

Blood flows freely from the gashes in his knees, quickly forming a puddle around him, and draining into the void in the surface where his weapon wreaked havoc just a moment before. Awed by the spectacle, Pena hesitantly approaches him from the front, deeply concerned by the amount of blood.

When she is within inches of his face, she softly whispers, "Horspaw, please, let me help you."

Hearing her words, the hilt of his weapon falls from his grasp, and his face slowly turns up to gaze into her eyes. From deep within his tortured being, his voice barely audible, he whimpers in desperation, "Please."

Overcome with relief, she throws her arms around him, and pulls him hard against her breasts, as uncontrolled sobs wrack through her. They remain in this position for a long time, each too numbed by their turbulent emotions to move. The ground is hard on her knees, and after a time the pain can no longer be ignored, as it becomes too much to bear. Trying hard not to separate from him for fear of breaking the contact that is guaranteeing his presence and nearness to her, she carefully leans back, putting more of her weight on her toes and ankles. She can taste the sweat from his body in her mouth, and it is the sweetest taste she can ever remember tasting.

Her movement causes him to stir, and he lowers his arms to the side to push up from the surface in an effort to rise. Not ready for him to leave her, she simpers for him to stay. But instead of remaining on his knees, he raises himself to his full height and then bends down and takes hold of her beneath her armpits, gently lifting her to her feet. Ignoring his own damaged knees, he studies the shallow dimples that the surface has pressed into her flesh as if it is his fault.

"I am so sorry, my love," he says sadly, clearly disturbed with himself for being the cause of her pain.

Holding him around the waist as if she is afraid of losing him, she dismisses his apology and instead turns her attention to the blood flowing freely down the front of his shins. "Horspaw, you're hurt."

"It is nothing compared to the pain I've caused you."

"We must stem the bleeding," she says with concern, torn between going into the jungle and retrieving the necessary plants and leaves to make a poultice, or staying close to him. What if she returns to find him gone, unable to resist the pull of his destiny without her presence?

Turning her face up to his, he says again, but more firmly, "It is nothing. The pain and worry that I have caused you is much more distressful to me than a little cut and some blood."

"Will you sit down and raise your legs so that the blood will not flow so fast while I go get what I need for a poultice?" she begs of him, suddenly determined that she must take care of him, even at the risk of losing him.

Smiling at her concern for him, he playfully lowers himself to a sitting position. "All the way down," she instructs him, gently pressing against his shoulders until he lies back. When he is flat on his back, she hurriedly glances about her until she sees a rotting log protruding from beneath a nearby shrub. Without wasting any movements, she drags the mostly pulpy log next to his feet. And then, while lifting his feet with one hand, she positions the log beneath them with the other. "Now don't move until I return," she orders him.

No one has ever given him commands before, and he finds her dominating personality slightly humorous and endearing. From anyone else, he would have found any command a different matter entirely.

For the moment, he is content to simply lie back and enjoy the tranquility of the area. Small animals are scurrying about, constantly on the search for food. Something larger is moving through the jungle canopy almost two hundred feet above his head. It is moving westward and hesitates for only a moment to investigate the strange being lying on the jungle floor below. But it is not interested in anything human and quickly moves on. Its experiences with man have not been pleasant ones.

Horspaw's eyelids are getting heavy and he is about to doze off when he hears her moving swiftly toward him, almost carelessly knocking aside obstructing vegetation. Concern grips him like a cold hand. He senses immediately that something is wrong. She is moving much too swiftly for the terrain. He is about to get to his feet, when she bursts through the surrounding stand of tall shrubs. Breathless, her face lights up when she sees him looking at her, his concern for her evident in his face.

"I came back as quickly as I could," she says between gasps for air. "I brought everything that I thought I might need." Then she notices that his feet are no longer on the log, and her voice turns stern. "I thought I told you not to move."

Unaccustomed to being scolded, he blurts, "I was worried for you. Why were you moving so recklessly? I was not in any danger of dying in your absence."

Flattered by his open expressions of affection for her, she is momentarily speechless. To cover the awkward moment, she says, "We must get your feet back up to stem the flow of blood." Without waiting on him, she lifts his feet and places them back on the decaying log, which crumbles under the weight.

Frustrated by the situation, she glances around for something else to replace the log, but is interrupted by Horspaw's calming voice, "It is alright, my love, already the blood has congealed." Leaning forward, he rubs the palms of his hands over the wounds to his knees and then holds them up for her to see. "See, no more blood." Not wanting to discourage her attentions, however, he quickly adds, "We just need to clean the wounds to prevent infection."

"Then hold still," she commands him. "While I rehydrate the blood in the gashes so I can clean them."

Using a small amount of water, she cleanses the wounds and sluices out small bits of debris that got lodged in the flesh from the impact. When she is finally satisfied that they are as clean as they're going to get, she puts poultices of medicinal roots that she has mashed into a course pulp over the open gashes. Over these poultices of roots that contain varying medicinal qualities, she places several layers of leaves from the top part of the plant that the roots came from. This is more out of superstitious belief that the entire plant will complete the circle of good health and keep the wounds clean, while also holding the poultices in place, than providing any actual healing properties.

When she glances around for her pack, Horspaw produces a small length of cord, which he holds out for her. "Is this what you're looking for?" he asks, a smile of contentment on his face.

Taking the cord, she secures the entire bandage to each knee, being careful not to over tighten the bonds. When she is done, she rises to her feet and extends a hand down to him. Laughing, enjoying the moment, he takes her hand and pulls himself to his feet. Looking down at the bandages, his laugh grows in volume. He is quite smitten with her handiwork, and doesn't know how to express himself properly.

Misreading his laughter as ridicule, Pena almost kicks him in the shin before checking herself. Instead, she hurriedly retrieves her pack from where it is lying on the ground and with her shoulders thrown back and stiff with pride, turns to the east and sets off at a brisk march. Or so she intends.

Horspaw, not understanding the reason for her anger, reaches out and grabs her by the shoulder, spinning her around to face him. Before she can protest, he plants his lips over hers, and pulls her in close, pressing his body against hers. Immediately, he can sense the resistance melting from her lithe frame, and he knows that he has done something right.

Their kiss lingers, neither wanting to separate, and bring an end to the moment. But alas, Horspaw is reminded of his mission by the unseen reach of his creator, as he again feels the pull of Loté's scent in his nostrils.

Anger rises within him, and he pulls away from Pena and says below his breath, "It is not fair."

Immediately understanding what he is referring to, she searches for the right words to comfort him and quell his growing anger. Hoping to use his anger as an ally in the fight against his pre-ordained destiny, she says, "No man has the right to dictate another man's destiny. You are entitled to free will, the same as everyone else. Together we can overcome this. But you must keep an open mind and not give up, no matter the pain."

"I want to believe you," he says through clenched teeth, fighting the urge that is growing within him. "But no matter how hard I try, the flesh refuses the commands that I will it." He pauses for a moment, his breathing growing rapid and shallow, as he physically resists the mounting urge to continue the pursuit of his quarry.

Pena empathizes with his inner turmoil, and yet, she is helpless to do anything about it. The pain in his eyes brings physical pain to her own flesh, and she cringes away from him, almost as if he is willing her out of his way so he can continue. "You must not get in my way," he pleads with her, fearing what he is physically capable of doing in order to fulfill his destiny, while being mentally unable to control it.

His words renew her will to resist the pain within and to stand her ground before him. "We can fight this," she argues with him, her voice sounding distant and weak even to her own ears.

"No," is all he can say before he viciously shoves her aside and heads toward the east.

Emotionally exhausted and physically weakened from the showdown with him, it is all she can do to keep up with him. Despite the brush and vines that block his path, he moves forcefully forward, unchecked and undaunted.

Several hours later, faint from fatigue, Pena stumbles and falls for the last time. Too weak to get up, she cries out with a parched and barely audible voice, "Horspaw, please."

But he is much too far ahead to hear and continues unabated. Whimpering with frustration and defeat, she lies on her side, hugging her knees to her chest. Her pack, containing her few belongings, is still strapped to her back, but her flagon is empty and long gone. Somewhere along their back trail, she dropped it and was too weak to stop and retrieve it. For the moment, she will rest. The trail that her love is leaving will be easy to follow. Despite the pain in her heart, she dozes, too tired to fear the predators that sniff along their back trail, uninhibited by their human scents. Her shins are bleeding lightly from the cuts and scrapes inflicted with each fall to the ground. It is an almost inconsequential amount of blood, and yet, the predators have picked up on it; it is strong in their nostrils, whetting their appetites.

Under the influence of fatigue, Pena sleeps soundly, oblivious of the approaching scavengers. They are almost on top of her, when a vicious cry rings out from the surrounding jungle. Pausing to listen, the small group of scavengers wait, their already anxious nature increasing tenfold. Although their instincts tell them to run and hide, they are hungry, not having eaten for several days. Since the advent of recycling and the opening of the gates to the subsurface, fewer and fewer human bodies are available for their consumption. As a group, they are unwilling to be scared off when the scent of blood is so near, even if it is human blood.

Slowly, with much trepidation, they advance on the still form of Pena where she lays sleeping on the thick jungle vegetation. The smell of blood is thin on the dense air, indicating only a minor wound. The human is not dead. Nor is the body seriously injured, but simply at rest. Under normal circumstances, this would be enough to send them fleeing. Yet, their hunger pushes them closer, driving back their instinctual fear of man.

They see her lying on the ground, sound asleep. An impatient one throws caution aside and advances on her, planning to tear out her throat before she can wake and use the flashing iron against them. If they have learned one thing with the advance of declining food sources, it's that almost all humans carry long iron blades that can slice through their thin hides with ease.

This female before them now has just such a blade, but it is concealed in its holder and as such is useless to her. Brazened by this discovery, the impatient one breaks from cover, lunging viciously toward the sleeping female, her long hair hiding her face and neck. But he knows where to strike, and he will not miss his mark, despite the flowing mane of hair.

The others are more timid, though they share in his hunger and anxiety. They remain concealed, waiting to see how the first to attack fares against the sleeping human.

Before the desperate scavenger can rip the flesh and throat from the sleeping human with his taloned fingers, a second anguished cry erupts from the surrounding jungle, only closer, much closer.

But he is committed to the act, the anticipation of fresh blood and warm flesh overwhelming his other, more reasonable senses. His lunge brings him within inches of her, and he hovers over her for the briefest of moments before dropping down on all fours. Another second and he will taste the salty, bittersweet flavor of her warm blood, as it spurts freely from her torn throat. Wildly, he pounces on top of her, his talons sinking into her warm flesh. Frenzied by the excitement of the kill, he raises back and viciously slashes across her, his talons slicing through the air toward her throat.

Hot blood spurts wildly about, spraying the female's face and hair. She screams at him, her eyes wide and frightened. Only then does he notice another form. This one is also human, a male, and he is standing over both of them, sweat glistening off his naked body. His face is stricken with pain, and in his hand, he is holding what appears to be a bloody stump covered in short, bristly hair.

The scavenger suddenly realizes that his arm is no longer connected to his torso, and that the blood spraying the woman is his own warm liquid. Only then, does he also realize that it is his appendage that the second human is holding in his grasp.

But the thought is fleeting, as the man strikes again, his hands moving faster than the scavenger can follow them with his eyes. Slowly, the world grows dark and fuzzy. The first thing that he is aware of is that he is no longer hungry. And then, he doesn't feel anything anymore.

Pena opens her eyes to find a scavenger atop her, its lower talons stuck in the soft flesh of her thighs as it rears back to strike at her face, or so it seems to her. Blindly, she tries to pull the hilt of her weapon clear, but she cannot move fast enough. It is as if she is moving in slow motion, and then it swings its paw at her, the long, dangerously pointed talons cutting through the air toward her throat. She cringes away, her eyes involuntarily closing against the pain that is imminent.

The sound of its talons slicing through the air is too loud, and she subconsciously believes it is because of her heightened senses. During battles to the death, this is not uncommon. Battle tales have been known to discuss the final moments of life, and how it is typical to feel more alive in this moment before the end than you ever have before in your entire life. She assumes this is what she is experiencing, when she feels the spray of warm blood in her face.

Opening her eyes, she sees Horspaw standing over them, a hairy arm in his left hand, and the head in the other. His arms and chest are red with the blood of the scavenger. In that moment, she is so proud of him, a tear forms in the corner of her eye as she looks up at him.

But the moment is fleeting. Seeing the pain and torment in his face, she realizes what it has cost him to return to her. As the scavenger's headless corpse falls to the side, its hind talons tear free of her flesh, ripping the puncture wounds open and sending sharp bolts of pain to her temples.

Yet, she is hardly aware of the pain or the blood, as she rises to her feet and throws her arms around the man she loves more than life itself.

Reaching under her, he easily lifts her into the cradle of his powerful arms, securing her from the maladies of the world. She can't remember ever having felt so safe, and so special. Without a word, they head toward the east, toward his destination. The other scavengers will soon eat and drink, but it won't be human flesh or blood that they partake of to slake their thirst and hunger.

Pena dozes in his arms. After an indeterminable time, Horspaw stops and sets her down next to a small pond of water. Studying his face, she is relieved to see the pain has eased. "Here," he says, forming a cup with his hands for her to drink from.

She sips gingerly from his cupped hands, the water trickling down her parched throat bringing on euphoric feelings. Quicker than she thought possible, the strength returns to her body. It is almost as if his strength is flowing from his fingertips to her lips.

With her thirst quenched for the moment, she sits up and slides the pack from her back. Setting it on her lap, she undoes the ties and rummages within, finding what she seeks almost immediately.

Setting the tin of lard aside, she re-ties the bindings and says, her voice still rough from dehydration, "If you can find us some food, I'll get the fire going."

"I'm not sure that I want to leave you alone," he says to her with a kind voice, putting her off guard.

"I'm flattered by your concern, but hurt that you should feel it necessary to worry after me. I have been taking care of myself for a long time before I met you. Now go, I'll be fine." Waving her hands as if they were a corn-broom, she says, "Shoo." And then quickly adds, "But don't be too long."

He stands over her for a minute, torn between staying with her and finding them food. After a long minute of silence, he smiles down at her and says, "Keep the fire small and void of smoke."

"Go!" she yells at him, feigning anger at being treated like a child.

Pretending to be afraid of her wrath, he turns and hurries away, quickly disappearing from sight. Feeling secure that he won't go any farther than he can hear her scream, she sets to work gathering the driest fodder she can find. In a matter of minutes, she has a small fire burning hot and clean. Because they are on the bank of a pond of water sporting much evidence of being used as a drinking hole, thanks in large part to its close proximity to the equatorial trail, she is confident that Horspaw will return shortly with fresh game for them to eat.

Her confidence is not misplaced. No sooner, than she has her fire burning hot, he returns with a skinned jacklet and fresh blood in evidence at the corners of his mouth. Pouting, she says, "You started without me."

Grinning sheepishly, he hands her the gutted carcass, and she quickly notes that only the organs and entrails are missing. "You ate the heart and liver," she states accusingly. "Did you consider that I might enjoy the tender morsels also?"

From behind his back, he produces the animal's hide. It is shaped into a loose bundle that he opens before her to display the organs in question. Her eyes light up at the sight, and then she suddenly feels foolish for having chided him about being selfish.

"I only ate what I was certain you would not be interested in or need for your strength," he proudly states, ignoring her embarrassment. When she doesn't readily accept the offering, he pushes it toward her, saying, "Take them."

"After accusing you the way I did, I cannot take them now," she defiantly replies.

Kneeling down before her, he pleads with her to take the heart. "I will eat the liver, but you must accept the heart. It will give you strength and the stamina to face the journey that lies before us." When she still hesitates, he says, "Pretend that it is my heart that I am offering to you, will you let silly pride prevent you from accepting it?"

Taking the heart gingerly in her left hand, she says apologetically, "It was wrong of me to think that you are anything but generous."

He grows silent, thinking of the man that he was before meeting her, and the ways in which he would kill anything and anyone just for the pleasure of it. Remorse is a powerful conscience, and he realizes that he will have to make amends in the future.

But he quickly regains his spirit as he watches her put the little heart in her mouth and chew through the thick outer membrane. There is still a small amount of blood within that is released and it outlines her teeth. Wanting to give her the liver also, but realizing that she won't take it from him now that they have made a bargain, he slips it into his mouth and quickly swallows it.

The meat is fresh and tender, and it takes little time to cook. In a very short time, they have eaten and Horspaw is ready to resume their eastward trek. He is delighted to note that Loté's scent grows stronger all the time.

"She is coming west," he says, hiding his emotions from her so that she doesn't misinterpret them. He is excited that she is apparently coming toward them so he can fulfill his destiny and they can get on with their lives, not because he is anxious to actually meet Loté.

"How do you know?" Pena asks him, her voice calm despite the turmoil within.

"Her scent is growing stronger all the time. More so than I would expect just from our eastward travel."

"Can you tell how much longer before we meet up?" she asks, trepidation building within her breast.

"No." he states flatly, wishing that he could. "Not until we are closer, anyway," he adds. And then, after a moment of silence, softly adds, "Much closer."

Although she wishes they could turn around and just go somewhere else, anywhere else but where they're going, she has come to grips with the reality of his destiny, and resigns herself to continue. Still, fighting the urge to plead otherwise with him, she says simply, "We must be going, time is wasting."

They set off abreast, but Pena quickly gives the lead to Horspaw, who is being drawn forward as if on a tight string. Only dense thickets and stout trees divert his otherwise straight and narrow path.

While they stride forward, Pena thinks about the time beyond their inevitable meeting with Loté, and quite possibly her mate, Rod. Even if he is not with her when they find Loté, Pena has heard enough of the legends to believe that he will not rest until he has exacted his revenge. With recycling as readily available as it is, she is confident that Loté will be recycled when the man she loves is finished with her. But she is equally confident that the pain, humiliation, and degradation Loté suffers at Horspaw's hands will remain with her for all eternity. She is sorry for that even though she is not responsible for what Lord Balzar has done in the past. But nonetheless, she will not stop trying to divert or change her lover's destiny at every turn.

Yet, what happens then? What do they do once his destiny is fulfilled or diverted, whichever the case happens to be? If Rod isn't with Loté when they meet up, will he leave them to live out their short existence in peace? More than likely not! Rod is a man born of legends with a reputation to uphold; it is ignorant of her to even hope that he will leave them be.

Without the benefit of recycling, Horspaw is destined to only one life upon this planet. Although she is a good candidate for recycling, she never had any desire to live beyond her one life. And now that she has met and fallen in love with a man that cannot be recycled because he has no soul, she has even less desire to live beyond her normal span of years.

Even though their likelihood of a future together is questionable at best, she suddenly grows nervous thinking about the feelings she and Horspaw share. Will he change? Will he return to the vicious, soul-less being that he was before he met her? Or can she continue to bring out the human side of his nature, to nurture and be nurtured until they pass from this world?

Just thinking about their future makes her nervous. Can she dare hope that it is a happy one? Or will she just be disappointed?

And then she thinks to herself, how can she ever be unhappy so long as she is with the man she loves. No one has ever come close to making her feel the way he has, and yet, there is so much more to come. They have so much more yet to share. Just anticipating the intimacy that is promised makes her feel giddy.

Horspaw is quick to note the sudden lightness in her step, and smiles back at her. It pleases him immensely when her face lights up in return. In his eye, she is the most beautiful creature that any god could ever have dreamed up, and she is in love with him, and only him. What did he do to deserve her, he asks himself.

They continue on for several hours. He no longer tries pushing them to their limits. Yet, Pena notes that his pace is steady and unswerving. She realizes that he is maintaining a pace that keeps the physical pain at bay, and her heart goes out to him. When he slowly pulls up and waits for her to draw abreast, she is surprised. At the pace he'd set, they could easily have continued for many more hours, thanks in large part to their great physical conditions.

"What is it?" she apprehensively inquires, her voice betraying her nervousness as she glances around for something she might have missed.

"Time to drink," he casually remarks, studying her sweat-slick body and liking what he sees.

After taking a quick sip from the flagon, she hands it to him. Distractedly, he drinks sparingly, his eyes flitting nervously from the easterly direction they are traveling to a southeasterly direction. Studying his face, Pena senses something wrong.

"We can move faster," she says gingerly, a bit apprehensive about what his reply might be.

He doesn't move or answer her, but instead, continues glancing nervously from one direction to another, his nostrils flaring as he sucks in deep breaths. Growing more apprehensive about the way he is acting, she suddenly has to know what is making him act the way he is acting. "What is it?" she demands more forcefully. "What are you sensing?"

This time, he reacts to her voice and acknowledges her with a sidelong glance before turning his attention back to the east. Then slowly, he visibly relaxes, and his eyes quit flitting from side to side while his breathing returns to normal. Before Pena can question him again, he says, "She is moving. She is no longer due east of us, but is now heading into the southern reaches, away from the equatorial trail."

"But why?" Pena blurts, still anxious over his recent behavior, and yet, suddenly realizing the reason for it. "Why would she leave the equatorial trail to go south?"

"It doesn't matter," he replies almost too casually. "We will just adjust our course to intercept her."

To Pena, it did matter. There wasn't any logical reason for someone to venture into the farther reaches, whether they are the northern or the southern. So, what was the motivation behind Loté's heading into the southern reaches? And did this mean she was alone, or with her mate, Rod? Things were complicated enough without a new twist, and this information put her on edge.

Sensing Pena's concern over the information, he says calmly, "Relax, my love. This might be good news for us. Although we don't understand why she left the main trail, it must mean that she is not surrounded by as many people as she would be if still with her friends."

"Yes," she agrees with him, slightly relieved over the possibility that Loté would not have gone into the farther reaches with all of her friends. More than likely, she will only be in the midst of a select few. "Yes, you are probably correct. I hadn't considered that. If we had confronted her on the main trail, she would have been in the midst of many close friends and associates, any of which might be willing to take up arms in her defense."

"Numbers cannot protect her," Horspaw quickly remarks, his pride slighted by the fact that Pena even considered the possibility of his failure.

"I was not thinking of the challenge they might present to you, but that more innocent people will be injured than is necessary."

"Thank you," he says with a smirk. "I accept your apology."

"Wait a minute! I wasn't apologizing for anything. I never implied that you couldn't handle yourself in a fight, regardless of the number of defendants! That isn't what I meant at all."

"It's okay, my love," he ways, moving in close to her and grabbing her around the waist. With a flourish, he plants his lips over hers and kisses her passionately.

With his engorged manhood pressing hard against her firm thigh, she feels a warmth and desire growing within the pit of her stomach, deep down in her groin. Though she knows the time isn't right, she feels her control slipping, her hunger for him growing within.

Then suddenly, he grasps her shoulders firmly, yet ever so gently, and forces her away from him until she is standing at arm's length. Holding her trembling body steady, he studies her intently, his otherwise clear eyes now clouded with a musky lust travel upwards from her feet. She watches as if in a trance as they linger on her thighs for moment before continuing to her waist. He appears fascinated by her naval, though it is not unlike his.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, they continue their sensuous journey upwards, hesitating when they reach her breasts. She senses his breathing change, becoming more pronounced and ragged. This change excites her, though she isn't sure why it should.

The grip on her shoulders relaxes, and his hands slide down until they are each cupping a full breast, her erect nipples protruding between his fingers. From what feels like a distance, she senses her thighs quivering in anticipation. Everything around her excepting Horspaw seems surreal. It is as though she is in a dream, and she doesn't want to wake, or for the dream to ever end.

"Horspaw," she whispers throatily, suddenly aware that it is the sound of her own ragged breathing that she is hearing, and not his slow, steady breaths.

Gradually, her eyes refocus, and she realizes that he is no longer studying her. In fact, he is turning away from her. To her sudden dismay and heartbreak, he is turning back towards the east. His nostrils flaring as he draws in the air, she feels a tremendous loss, suddenly certain that he is again perceiving Loté's scent.

But then, his hand drops to the hilt of his skinning knife and, crouching low, he suddenly bolts forward, intent on something that she cannot see. Her own reflexes slightly slowed by the embers of her passion, she clutches at the hilt of her weapon and hurries after him. Compared to her own sluggish, noisy advance, Horspaw is invisible and silent; she is acutely aware that this is when he is the most dangerous and deadly. Even when confronting the band of rogues, he had remained lighthearted and boyish. Now, for whatever reason, he has turned deadly serious, and it worries her.

With the long-knife free of its sheath, she follows as quickly as she can without making any undue noise. The ground beneath her feet is uneven and rough with jagged obsidian protruding through patches of thick lush moss. But even though she is moving as fast as she can, it is easy for her to avoid the dry patches of dead vines and limbs that have fallen from the jungle canopy above, and thus limit the noise of her passing.

Yet, no matter how hard she pushes herself, Horspaw is nowhere to be seen. Pausing for a moment to catch her breath and listen, she hears nothing over the hammering of her heart and the rush of air blowing in and out through her open mouth.

"Damn you, Horspaw," she hisses beneath her breath. "What did you sense and where did you go?"

Although she asks the question of where he went, she knows beyond reason that he is moving toward the east, and wouldn't have changed direction.

She is about to start off again, when she hears a cry. It is human, but she cannot be certain as to whether it was a man, woman, or child that made it. With her ears pricked up and alert, she impatiently waits for another sound. When none is forthcoming, she sets off again to the east, confident that the cry has come from somewhere ahead of her.

When she has gone only a few steps, another cry shatters the stillness of the jungle. Immediately, she pulls up, listening intently for the source. This time, she is certain that it is of female origin, and not too far ahead.

But what of Horspaw?

For the first time since they met, she feels a genuine pang of concern, even though she knows he is more than capable of taking care of himself in any situation. Throwing caution aside, she rushes forward, suddenly concerned for the safety of a woman that she has never met.

Crashing through the brush, she is aware of voices, men's voices. They are speaking loudly and cursing. And then suddenly, she crashes through a thicket of foliage and breaks out into a small clearing next to a pond. But she is only dimly aware of the pond and the rest of her surroundings as she takes in the scene before her.

Two men are arguing heatedly over the fate of a young woman that is lying on the ground between them. Her head and body are covered in bruises, and blood is running freely down both sides of her face. She is barely conscious, but when the men stop talking and look toward Pena, her dazed eyes turn also. It is then that Pena sees the baby, only partially protruding from the woman's birth canal.

The first man draws a short-bladed knife from a sheath over his far hip and turns toward Pena, a look of hatred and annoyance distorting his otherwise normal features. The other man, feeling that he won the argument, drops to his knees and before Pena can move, raises the woman's head by pulling up on her hair and slits her throat.

A deadly rage suddenly roils within her, and she remembers that she is still holding the long-knife. Unable to restrain herself and wait for the approaching man to reach her, she rushes forward, startling him by her brazen action.

Over confident, however, he doesn't check himself and assess the situation; in his prejudiced mind, he sees her as little more than a means of gratifying himself when the urge makes itself known. Swinging the short-bladed knife from side to side, he runs into Pena's angry rage, and the knife falls to the ground, his fingers still grasping the hilt.

Before he even gets close enough to be a threat to her, she swings the long-knife downward, severing his left hand at the wrist. But he is only momentarily stunned by the spurting blood, before he reaches over his right shoulder with his remaining good hand and produces a short, broad-bladed throwing knife.

But before he can release the weapon at her, Pena brings up the lengthy blade of her weapon, slicing deeply into his groin. It isn't immediately lethal, but it causes him to buck up and back, and the poorly thrown weapon flies harmlessly past her head before falling to the ground behind her.

Yet, her rage is far from sated, and she pulls her weapon back and to the side, slicing cleanly through his femoral artery, creating a new fountain of blood that catches her across the chest. Only dimly aware of the heat of his life's blood, she draws the weapon back and swings wickedly from her right to her left, severing the normal featured head from its torso.

Slightly winded, she turns toward where the woman is lying dead on the ground, the last of her life having just left her. But she cannot succor the poor girl because the second man is directly in front of her and too close to bring the long-knife to bear.

Cursing herself for getting caught up by her rage and not staying focused, she tries vainly to step back and give herself room to use her weapon. But the second man is quicker than the first, and much more calculating. He moves in closer and jabs her under the rib cage with a smallish-bladed weapon, the likes of which Pena has never seen before. Under any other circumstances, the weapon would have been virtually useless, but under these circumstances, it is the most deadly thing he could have used.

Pena feels the blade slice cleanly through her flesh and strike with a thud against her lower rib cage. Using the momentum of the long-knife in her right hand, she backhands him across the face, and he falters back, her strength catching him by surprise. Yet, he wisely checks himself, not giving her enough room to use her weapon's edge against him. Moving as if his life depended on it, he jabs at her for a second time with the sharp little weapon. Pena sees his hand moving toward her, the bloodied blade on a tangent toward her heart. Desperately, she tries to escape its deadly trajectory, but she knows she cannot move fast enough, and prepares for the second searing cut.

At the last moment, she closes her eyes against the inevitable pain, but it never comes. There is the sensation of moving air followed by a dull thud. Opening her eyes, she is overcome with relief to see Horspaw standing before her, the second man lying beheaded on the ground between them.

Though she feels immense relief and wants to rush into his arms, his demeanor is neither welcoming nor jubilant. Looking down, she sees he has a bloodied long-knife in his grasp, and scratches running the length of each arm. There are more deep scratches on his chest and thighs.

Suddenly overcome with concern, she quickly forgets about the single wound to her chest. It is shallow and insignificant compared to the wounds covering her lover.

"Horspaw!" she cries out. Without thinking, she sheathes her bloody weapon, an act that she will regret later when she goes to remove it, and rushes to him.

"I will be fine," he says almost breathlessly. "Look after the woman first."

"I'm afraid there isn't anything I can do for her," she says sadly, remembering how callously the man slit her throat before coming after her. Removing her pack from her back, she reaches in and finds the fire starting tin of lard. "Let's go to the water and get those scratches cleaned before I put some of this on them."

"No," he says firmly. "First, you must look after the woman."

"I saw him kill her, Horspaw, there is nothing I can do for her!" she shouts defiantly, frustrated that he doesn't seem to understand. "Are you mocking me for not being able to save her?" she demands, her anger fueled.

"Then save the baby," he firmly commands, ignoring her outburst.

"Baby?"

Moving toward the woman, Pena becomes aware for the first time that something is moving amongst the bloodied carnage that was once a young woman. Suddenly frantic, she rushes forward to find a newborn child covered in blood, the umbilical cord still attached. Without thinking, but acting strictly on instinct, she hurriedly severs the cord and ties it off, fearful that poisonous toxins might already be flowing into the babies bloodstream.

"Bring it over here," Horspaw calls from near the water's edge where he is busy cleansing his many cuts and scratches. They are not deep and already the blood has coagulated in most of them.

Carrying it as though it might break, she brings the baby to Horspaw as instructed.

"Is it still breathing?" he asks, barely glancing at it.

"Yes, I think so," she nervously replies before timidly asking, "What am I to do with it?"

"If it's still breathing, I suggest you clean it up and get it dried off." After a long pause, he says, "I'll see if the mother has any milk. It will need whatever she has."

Not waiting for her to answer, he rises and goes to the dead woman's side. With his short-bladed skinning knife, he carefully removes her breasts and returns to the pond where Pena is busy bathing the baby. The water has an invigorating effect on the newborn child and it begins to scream and cry out loudly in protest.

"Here," Horspaw says, handing her one of the milk-laden breasts.

After inserting the nipple into the child's mouth, it instinctively starts suckling, and Pena squeezes it to assist the child. When there is nothing left for the child to suckle, Horspaw hands her the second breast, and advises her to let the child eat as much as it can. "Unless we can find a pregnant woman to take this child, it will die," he says almost nonchalantly.

"It cannot die," she says defiantly, yet unable to keep the defeat from her voice. She is acutely aware of the fact that they have nothing more to offer the child.

### **17**

A cold chill creeps up her spine bringing goose bumps to her flesh. Crossing her arms across the front of her chest, she self-consciously glances around, suddenly aware that Elsa is studying her closely.

Elsa, seeing her friend turn pale and clutch herself across the bosom as if she has taken sickly, asks of her, "Loté, are you all right? You look as if you have just seen Lord Balzar materialize out of thin air."

She flinches at the sound of hearing her nemesis's name spoken aloud, and a small gasp escapes her lips, as she involuntarily sucks in a mouthful of warm air. Yet, there isn't enough warmth in the air to dispel the chill that has taken hold of her. And though distracted by the cold creeping into her flesh, she is still aware enough to find it strange that Elsa should mention Balzar's name, when the frigid sensation she is feeling made her think of the sadistic Lord also. It is almost as if she is in his presence once again.

"Why did you mention that name?" she loudly demands of her friend. For no reason that she can think of, she is suddenly irritable and anxious. And then she realizes that this is the exact same way she felt when she was waiting for Rod to return from a scouting mission not so long ago. Just as quickly as the outburst starts, it is over, and she is sorry for having raised her voice to her friend. "Forgive me Elsa. I didn't mean to sound angry with you." Hoping to change the subject, she asks of her friend, "How are things between you and Layton going?"

Elsa's face immediately lights up, and she almost dances as she glances around to be certain no one is standing too close to hear. "He is a busy man since becoming Commander in Chief of Heälf's Armed Forces." Her face beams every time she says those words. She is so proud of him and yet, though she professes to love him, Loté knows she is continually having affairs with other men in his absence. But she is not one to judge, having shown weaknesses of her own with regard to the flesh and all the desires and temptations that it raises.

"Yes, it is an important position that requires a lot of him," she agrees, glad to have shifted the attention from herself and onto her friend. Loté almost suspects that Elsa's feelings toward Layton are only physical, and that she derives great pleasure just from the association of being near someone of great power. "But he still finds time for you, does he not?" Loté coyly continues, keeping Elsa's attention focused away from her.

"Oh, he always makes time for me," her friend remarks, swirling her hips in a seductive manner to indicate why Layton finds her irresistible.

Elsa giggles and continues talking about Layton, but Loté can't shake the chill that grips her and has a hard time following the conversation. The cold continues creeping into her bones, feeling much like the grip of evil incarnate wrapping its fingers around her heart.

But why should she feel as if evil is touching her? Is it because Elsa mentioned the name of Lord Balzar? Could it be that innocent, simply the power of suggestion working overtime on her because of the stress she's been experiencing due to her guilty conscious? Or is it something that she doesn't understand and can't even begin to comprehend, much like when she first learned of recycling. Until it happened to her and Rod, they'd never heard of it. And if they had, they wouldn't have believed it was possible. And yet, it is as commonplace to them now as is the subsurface and the surface.

Although she has always believed that there were good and evil spirits, she never realized the reality of souls, or their importance to the living flesh. She wonders now if maybe an errant soul is trying to reach her, to make her aware of its presence, thus explaining the chill that is growing within her flesh, permeating through her pores as it pumps through her veins.

The thought only makes her that much more aware of the frigid fingers slowly tightening around her heart.

"Oh look, here he comes," Elsa suddenly cries out, bringing Loté back into the conversation.

Glancing around, she sees Layton coming toward them. They have been camped in this place for only a few hours, and already she is anxious to get moving again. Soon, however, she must slip away and make her way back up the trail to the east so that she can mark the spot where Porg's remains can be found for Keazar's benefit.

But the opportunity hasn't arisen yet. Since their arrival here, they've been too busy helping set up camp. Much brush needed clearing and cook fires had to be built. The men have had nothing but cured meat and raw roots to eat since leaving Keazar's domain, and they are anxious for a freshly cooked meal. Moreover, they are a force of almost three hundred men, and many otherwise insignificant considerations cannot be ignored. In addition to providing cooked food for such a large group, the removal of waste and where to set up latrines has to be given consideration. It is quite the logistics concern, but Layton is a natural at it.

Still slightly distracted by the chill in her soul, Loté smiles and greets Layton cheerily, pretending as though nothing is wrong. But deep in her heart, she can't shake the feeling that there is more wrong than anyone knows.

"We will be eating soon," he says cheerily, only briefly acknowledging Loté before turning his full attention to Elsa. "Would you beautiful ladies care to join me with my officers?" Before Loté can excuse herself and retreat, he adds for her benefit, "We will be discussing strategy and logistics for the remainder of the journey, as well as our estimated time table for overtaking Rod and the others."

At the mention of Rod's name, she suddenly realizes that he wants her there. She is a smart woman with a natural knack for strategizing and he desires her input, as well as Elsa's company. If she doesn't jump at the opportunity to discuss the details of their march with respect to how it will impact the length of time before she sees Rod again, he will suspect that something is wrong, and she isn't in a position to explain herself. "Yes, I would be delighted to join you and your officers at meal."

"We'll be right along," Elsa suddenly pipes up, clearly wanting to speak privately with Loté for a moment before joining the others.

Momentarily taken aback by Elsa's offhanded dismissal of him, he hesitantly says, "Then I'll see you in a bit."

It sounds more like a question than a statement, and Elsa smiles at him while saying, "Yes." As soon as he is out of earshot of them, she turns on Loté and says, "Now tell me what has come over you. You look as if you have just seen a spirit. There is no color in your cheeks and you're literally shivering. Are you sick?"

"No," Loté says determinedly, trying hard to calm her shaking limbs. "It'll pass in a moment and I'll be just fine."

The small hairs are standing upright at the nape of her neck when she finally figures out what she is feeling. It is a premonition of evil. Something bad is coming her way, and there isn't anything she can do to prevent it.

Almost as quickly as the thought crosses her mind, the chill leaves her flesh and she feels the surrounding warmth of the jungle creeping back into her bones. Her breathing stabilizes and her heart calms back to a relaxed rhythm. "I think I know what's going on, Elsa," she says almost too calmly.

"Then you must tell me," her friend quickly demands.

Not sure where to begin, she finally determines to start at the beginning, back to the time when she was waiting on Rod's return shortly after leaving Keazar's domain and she felt the first uneasy premonition. It takes her very little time to tell Elsa everything, and when she finishes, she feels a great weight has been lifted off her. Elsa is a considerate and attentive listener, rarely interrupting until she is finished, and then she is bursting with questions.

"Not so fast," Loté stops her, raising her hands in a gesture of warding off the questions. "I have told you everything I know. It is mostly speculation on my part, but I am confident that I'm close to the truth."

"But how is it possible for a dead man, even one as notorious as Lord Balzar, to reach from the other side and touch you?" Elsa asks incredulously.

"I can't explain it, Elsa. But somehow, I know it's true. I can feel it in my bones. He is out there, and he is drawing closer every day."

"Well," Elsa sighs resignedly. "If you believe it to be so, then it must be so. Whatever I can do to help, you have just to ask."

"I know that, and it means a great deal to me that you feel that way." After a moment of silence, Loté says, "Come, let's go eat with Layton and his leaders. He will suspect something is wrong if we keep him waiting much longer. And there is still something I have to do before we break camp."

"They will sleep after eating," Elsa says with a conspiring tone of voice. "We can slip off then."

"No," Loté says determinedly, abruptly reaching out and stopping Elsa before they can get any nearer to the others. "It is more important for you to stay here with Layton. If he comes looking for you, and can't find either of us, he will get suspicious, and we will have to take him into our confidence or lie to him. We cannot afford to do either."

Pouting, Elsa begrudgingly agrees. And then, her face lights up as she says coyly, "I will keep him busy while you are gone."

Laughing, giving her friend a gentle shove in the direction of the cook fires, Loté says light-heartedly, "I have no doubts that you will."

### **18**

After a long moment of studying the domain, Rod rubs his burning, dry eyes. Although he is experienced with the terrain, his body is not acclimated to the dry, dusty conditions, and his eyes are burning and blurry from being dried out by the dust and squinting from the bright light of the twin moons. He squeezes them shut against the scorching air for several long seconds before reopening them and looking back up at the domain. But it is no good; his eyes are still too blurry to make out the figures moving about.

Squinting only helps temporarily, but gives him a chance to focus on the rear deck of the domain. Suddenly, he realizes that it's not just his eyes that are blurry; it's also the figures standing upon the deck!

"Zin," he gasps.

"Yes," Zin softly replies in a voice shaking with emotion. The stoic man and solid friend that Rod has come to trust in completely for his steadiness of character and unshakeable demeanor, sounds deeply incredulous and disturbed by the sight before them, as he too realizes what they are seeing. There isn't any doubt in his mind as to why Rod wants his attention. The tremor still in his voice, he adds softly, "I have seen a lot in my days, Rod, but humanity has just sunk to a new low. I can hardly believe what I am seeing."

"They're wearing body suits similar to what I wore when I was a pilot in the Heälf Air Services," Rod says disbelieving his eyes. "But they appear to be made of something transparent. It almost looks like..."

"Yes," Zin says again, his voice having grown distant with disgust. "They are wearing suits made of human skin!"

At this distance, they can see no seams, no visible lines of stitching to show how the suits of human skin have been made. Some of them appear darker and slightly coarser in texture, and yet, all are equally transparent. Although it doesn't seem possible, there doesn't appear to be any other explanation for the rogues' appearances.

"My god!" Rod groans under his breath. "I pray the victims were dead before they did that to them." He is unable to voice the words describing the actions of the rogues, almost as if he doesn't, he can pretend it didn't happen. But, he has only to glance back at the top deck of the floating domain and realize the atrocity is real.

"We must make them pay, and stop them before they can hurt many more innocent people!"

Rod's gaze turns toward his friend. This is the most forcefully passionate he can ever remember Zin being about anything. And because his friend is usually a man of action and not words, this uncharacteristic speech of his deeply inspires Rod. He is suddenly filled with a blinding desire to attack the rogues aboard the floating domain. To tear into their overwhelming numbers and exact a fitting justice for the poor men and women that they have tortured and abused in the name of entertainment.

But he controls himself, and instead studies Zin, waiting for his friend to suggest their next move. Even in his heated state of mind, he is calm enough to realize the futility of his desire. If they attack the floating domain now, they will be cut down and hacked to shreds before they even get close enough to the men responsible for the innocent's pain and tormented suffering to introduce themselves.

Back in his characteristic self, Zin simply states, "Follow me."

It isn't necessary for him to add, "And stay low," because Rod has no intentions of letting the barbarians aboard the domain see him.

Moving with extreme stealth and caution, Rod follows his friend at a close distance, never letting him out of his sight. When Zin stops, so does he. When Zin moves, he moves, keeping the small distance between them constant and unchanging.

Because he is afraid to glance up above the dry, endless stretch of reeds, it comes as a surprise to him when Zin abruptly stops and signals for him to draw abreast so they can communicate. With his index finger, Zin points skyward. Following the direction indicated, Rod is startled at the close proximity of the domain. For a moment, he wonders how they can be so close and yet, not be surrounded by camp followers, when he suddenly realizes that the domain is no longer moving.

There is movement off to their right, and he quickly ducks back below the height of the reeds. It is then that he also realizes Zin has led them farther to the south to avoid coming up directly behind the domain. The movement to their right is the camp followers setting up their temporary shelters and such.

Using hand signals, Zin points out the sentries that he has observed in relation to the domain. He also makes a point of letting Rod know that there doesn't appear to be any lookouts aboard the actual domain. It is almost as if they don't believe anyone would be stupid enough to follow them into the farther reaches. Zin also makes a point of explaining that the sentries are not for their protection, but to prevent any slaves from escaping, which Rod foolishly hadn't even considered. But it is important to be aware of this fact for the simple reason that it means the sentries are looking in toward the domain, and not outward, toward them.

What Zin suggests next catches Rod completely off guard, and he doesn't risk hand signs to convey his idea. His voice barely audible next to Rod's ear, he says, "We must segregate one of the slaves and move him to a safe distance where we can question him."

Rod is both stunned and excited. This is the exact type of thing he would normally suggest, and why Loté had felt relief that it was Zin accompanying him, and not someone less solid or less experienced. She will never believe that it was Zin who made the suggestion for them to initiate contact.

It never occurs to him that maybe they shouldn't attempt such a brazen act.

"There is a gap in the sentries over there," he says, pointing toward the southeast. "We should be able to slip unnoticed between them."

Rod doesn't argue, though he briefly considers suggesting they take them out. But he keeps the foolhardy thought to himself for fear Zin might begin to question his intelligence. It is much more likely that a guard missing from his post will draw attention quicker than a missing slave will.

There is a great amount of risk associated with Zin's idea. At any moment, a casual downward glance from the domain above might trigger a signal that sets the rogues into motion. And once they're discovered, even if they escape unharmed, they'll have lost the element of surprise for Layton. Upon seeing such a large force approaching, they might push the tethered slaves deeper into the far reaches, going where only a well-supplied floating domain can go, while Layton will be forced into retreating back to the sanctity of the jungle with his army so they can re-supply.

Yet, in both his and Zin's mind, the rewards far outweigh the risks. If they can liberate a single slave and learn everything he knows, they will garner a large amount of valuable information for Layton and his army to use against the rogues. With intricate knowledge of their weapons, as well as the number of armed men both on the ground and in the air, they can devise a plan of action that minimizes their losses.

Indeed, there was never any reason not to, as far as Rod is concerned.

Without another word, they set off, their individual glances above the reeds limited to the bare necessity. Although they have a mental image in their minds regarding the positions of the two sentries, they are only guessing at the location of the slaves with regard to the domain, which is hovering more than two hundred feet above their heads. At any moment, someone might look over the railing and see them crouching in the reeds. Rod's adrenaline is flowing freely through his veins, as he feels vulnerable and exposed.

When they are almost mid-way between the two sentries, someone approaches directly toward them, coming from their right, the rear of the domain. Rod's breath freezes in his lungs, and he grips his long-knife with such force his hand cramps on the hilt. Just ahead of him, he notices a relaxed Zin silently re-sheathing his long-knife and drawing a short-bladed skinning knife.

The rustling in the reeds draws steadily nearer. At any moment, whoever is approaching will be right on top of them. Slowly, the air eases from his lungs, and his body tenses for the attack. Having fought together in battles and skirmishes before, Rod automatically leaves the approaching individual for Zin, and concentrates on their flanks, confident and poised.

At the last second, Zin's figure tenses, his thigh muscles flex, and he is about to spring into action, when the rustling stops just short of their position.

Rod is startled when the sentry to their left calls out a warning to the individual just ahead of them, warning him to return to the others before he has to make an example of him. There is a brief period of rustling and movement coming from the individual that is combined with the unmistakable sound of expelling gas.

Zin, the closer of the two is the first to be hit with the stench of human feces. Rod, seeing his friend twinge at the insult to his nostrils, almost breaks out laughing. And then, the odor reaches him, and he lowers his face to the dry ground, seeking fresher air. Still on the verge of laughing, he is caught off guard when Zin suddenly darts forward, forcing the reeds aside. Rod is unaware that his friend has returned his short-bladed dagger to its sheath, and is charging ahead bare fisted.

Only as he starts to rise, does he realize Zin's intentions. Before the suspected slave that's relieving himself can rise and be seen by either of the sentries, Zin is upon him, quickly clasping a hand firmly over his mouth to prevent him from crying out with surprise.

Just a mere fraction of a second before rising above the cover of the reeds, he drops back to the ground, and waits silently. With his ears straining to discern between the surrounding sounds and any noise that might come from Zin, he continues to wait. He doesn't need to be told that Zin will quickly and permanently silence the man if he doesn't immediately co-operate with him. After all, it is much more likely that the man is one of the rogues taking a stroll to stretch his legs and relieve himself, and not a slave. In retrospect, it would seem that the slaves would be under much tighter control, and not allowed to simply wander around the area.

Still tensed, and ready for anything that might happen, he is surprised when a strange face suddenly breaks through the standing reeds in front of him. The man smiles at him and continues moving along, Zin close on his heels.

Not taking time to explain, he nods for Rod to stay with the man and keep him moving in the right direction. He, meanwhile, will remain there for a few minutes in case either of the sentries comes looking for the missing individual.

Although Rod wants to argue with him, he is aware that this is neither the time nor the place. If there is to be any blood drawn on this mission, Zin will make it their enemy's blood, and not him.

Momentarily put out, Rod continues after the man, guiding him with quick taps on the rump to indicate left or right. While they move toward the northeast, he studies the man as best he can from behind. He appears to be young, but because of his dust-colored hue and scraggly beard and hair, it is extremely difficult to be certain. Moreover, not everyone believes in recycling. Since Keazar perfected recycling to the stage that it doesn't affect virility, it is becoming much more commonplace to encounter both older individuals, and younger children, neither of which having ever been recycled.

Although the man is thin, he is not emaciated. Nor does he show any evidence of having been beaten or tortured. Having seen the bodies strewn along the back-trail of the domain while pursuing it, there is little doubt that the man he is guiding away from the domain is not a slave.

So, who is he? Where did he come from, and why were the sentries giving him orders if he's one of them?

These are the first questions Rod intends asking him the minute they are safely away from the domain. And while he asks these questions, he intends keeping his weapon handy.

When the man begins to slow from fatigue, Rod prods him to pick up the pace. Only after they have scurried through the reeds for nearly an hour, does Rod softly order him to halt. The man is covered in a mixture of dust and sweat from the strenuous exertion. The minute they stop, he immediately rolls over onto his back and collapses, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Rod isn't much better off, and decides to wait until they've had a moment to rest before beginning questioning the man.

Within a matter of moments, Rod's breathing has stabilized, and he rises to a sitting position to better study the winded man. Upon closer inspection, he reaffirms his earlier conviction that the man is not a slave. Although underweight and thin, he is not emaciated. Yet, he doesn't appear to be conditioned with either tools or weapons. What Rod can see of the palms of his hands leads him to believe the man does little in the way of physical labor. They appear soft and un-calloused, a stranger to any type of physical activity.

Sensing Rod's scrutiny, the scraggly man lifts his head and gazes back at him. To Rod's surprise, the man smiles at him, his wide smile revealing a strong set of straight white teeth, all intact. If the man had been abused at some time in the past, he would surely be missing at least one or more teeth. Studying the display of orthodontics, Rod quickly makes a mental adjustment to his former estimate of the individual's age. Although the man is not in very good physical condition, for he appears much too thin and too lightly muscled, he is much younger than the scraggly hair and beard suggests at first glance.

They are far enough from the domain that there is little chance of their voices carrying to the sentries. But they must still remain low and avoid making a profile against the gray horizon. In addition, despite the ululating terrain, there is always a chance of being seen from the great height of the domain.

"Who are you?" Rod asks of him, his voice firm and demanding.

"I am Lofa, at your service, sir," he says respectfully, his voice lacking any hint of sarcasm.

"You do not appear as a slave, Lofa. Nor do you have the strength or bearing to be a warrior. So tell me, Lofa, what is your connection to the floating domain and the rogues that live aboard it?" His strategy is to start slow by asking him easy questions, and then trip him up later after Zin catches up with them. If the man is fabricating a story, he will not remember answers to simple questions when they're asked again later. If he is telling the truth, his story will not change, no matter how many times they ask the questions.

"I am just a poor peasant, my friend. My family and I follow the camp in the sky and scavenge for the little scraps they leave behind. We mean no harm to anyone. It is just our way," he says obligingly, his voice dripping with sincerity.

When Rod simply stares at him, contemplating his next question, Lofa misunderstands his silence and jumps to the assumption that he is waiting for more to his question. Speaking hurriedly, he adds, "We also do small tasks and run errands for the slave handlers on the ground." When he sees that Rod is paying close attention, he quickly continues, "Sometimes, my brothers and uncles return to the jungle and hunt the tasty jacklet for the mighty Lords aboard the camp in the sky. They pay us exceedingly well when we bring them such delicacies."

"Did it ever occur to you, they also let you live?" Rod asks sarcastically.

Lofa's smile abruptly vanishes, and his demeanor becomes gravely serious. "Yes, my friend. We have no illusion about the men that live aboard that thing. We have seen first-hand how they treat the men and women prisoners they sometimes bring back with them. They allow us to live because we can do things for them that their slaves can't be trusted to do, or they themselves are too lazy to do." Lofa pauses for a moment, his lips a hard line. "They are an evil bunch of men with no regard for human life. But my family depends on them for their existence, and have for more years than I can remember."

"Then how do I know you and your family haven't become like them?" Rod sternly asks of him, his eyes penetrating into the scraggly man's eyes.

In a heartbeat, Lofa's serious expression turns to one of anger, and his nostrils flare when he loudly denies Rod's accusation. "My family is good people! We would never intentionally harm anyone! We are not like those animals," his voice tapering off as his anger swiftly fades. He is not a violent man, and much prefers laughter and light-heartedness to anything serious. It is this ability to not take one's self very serious that keeps them alive while living so close to such evil.

"How many brothers and uncles are with you?" Rod asks of him, keeping the conversation light and easy. He will get the basics out of him before Zin arrives, and then let Zin question him while he listens for inconsistencies in his answers.

"We are not a very large group..."

"Precisely, how many?" Rod demands, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

"Thirty eight, counting women and infants," he quickly states without further preamble.

"How many rogues on the ground, guarding the slaves and tethered men?"

"I am not sure. They go up and down all the time."

"At any given time, approximately how many warriors are there on the ground, as well as the number of slaves, including the tethered toters?"

Rod's patience is quickly deteriorating and beginning to fray at the edges, and Lofa is quick to pick up on it. His light-hearted demeanor becomes serious, and he spouts the facts and numbers that Rod is looking for. "There are usually between fifteen and twenty handlers on the ground at any given time. With the cooks and the water crew, there are about twenty slaves, and then almost two-hundred tethered men, or toters, as you prefer to call them."

Rod hadn't felt it necessary to ask how many tethered men there were, since he'd seen the floating domain and knew that based on its gross size, it would require at least two hundred strong men to keep its momentum on course once it got started.

"You're doing good, Lofa. Can you tell me how many rogues and slaves there are aboard the domain? If what you say is true, and your family has been following this domain for as long as you claim, then you must have a fairly good idea." Rod's demeanor toward Lofa changes, and he tries to portray himself as a confidant that can be trusted.

Lofa's smile broadens at receiving a compliment, and he appears even more eager to help. "There are almost two hundred of the bastards living aboard the domain. I know this for fact, because almost all of them come down when they go on their raiding parties." He pauses for a moment to swallow saliva in an attempt to wet his throat before continuing, now talking about the slave contingency aboard the domain. "Originally, the domain was owned by a conservative wealthy that kept an entire family indentured for his personal use. Children were born, raised, and served the master of the domain their entire life, never leaving the floating kingdom until the day they died. This went on for centuries, through many families and many Lords. Then the rogues captured it, killing off the wealthy and his entire family. Several of the more loyal slaves were also killed at that time, but most of their family remained, both to serve their new masters, and to teach them how to run the domain so they can keep it afloat and headed in the direction they desire."

"This is a nice history lesson, Lofa, but you still haven't told me how many slaves they have up there," Rod impatiently reminds him.

"Between the remaining heirs of the original family, and the young women that they take up there on a regular basis, there must be at least thirty five men and women under their rule." Then he quickly adds with a knowing wink, "Most of them will be women, of course, since they don't really have much use aboard the domain for male slaves."

"Do many of your brothers or uncles possess weapons? You said that on occasion, you and others from your family go hunting for jacklet in the jungle to the north," he casually reminds him before he can answer.

"We have a few skinning knives and utensils for preparing meat and doing various chores, but we are not warriors, as you pointed out yourself, earlier." Rod didn't miss the dig, but before he can acknowledge it, Lofa continues. "When we return to the jungle, we make use of snares and traps to catch our prey; we never hunt for anything large or dangerous."

Rod didn't expect such honesty or openness regarding his interrogation of the individual, especially since he isn't a slave. With a slave, he would have had to win the individual's trust first. Because most slaves share a deep-seated fear of their captors, they are unwilling to divulge any knowledge regarding them for fear their captors will take offense and punish them. It can take a long time to convince a brainwashed individual that their wellbeing is important. Or that, as their liberator, you will see to it that the individuals responsible for their pain and suffering will not return to recapture them or make them suffer retribution for leaving, even if it wasn't of their own free will.

But this individual holds no allegiance to the rogues aboard the domain, nor does he appear to harbor any fear of them, and this latter enlightenment troubles Rod.

"Does it worry you that they might make your family suffer, if they discover you're absence?" Rod asks, watching his reaction closely.

Almost too casually, Lofa replies, "They do not know one member of my family from another, or even how many of us there are. They will not miss me."

He is about to ask Lofa if he would be willing to return to his camp and enlist the aid of his brothers and uncles to help defeat the slavers aboard the domain, when they both hear a rustling sound drawing nearer. Although Rod suspects it is nothing more than his friend and ally, Zin, he slips his long-knife into its sheath and draws his short-bladed dagger.

Upon seeing Zin, he exhales softly, unaware that he'd been holding his breath in anticipation.

"Any trouble?" he asks of him, as he takes up a position catty corner to him and Lofa.

"No, they have no idea we were there," he says softly, his breathing quickly stabilizing. Rod hands him a nearly empty flagon of water, and waits while he drinks, washing the dust from his lips and carrying it down his throat.

"Can I have a swallow?" Lofa asks, licking his lips with anticipation.

Zin immediately hands it off to him, and then looks at Rod, confident that they haven't been sitting here in silence patiently waiting for him, and wanting to know what has transpired in his absence.

Without preamble, Rod relays the numbers that Lofa quoted him, and then quickly explains Lofa's family situation. It isn't necessary for him to explain what he intends asking Lofa next, because Zin is already thinking it.

If they can convince Lofa and his able-bodied family members to join forces with them, and with their help, liberate the slaves on the ground, they might not have to wait for Layton and his army to arrive. They will have an army of their own to fight the rogues, especially if they're trapped aboard the domain with no way to escape. At worse, they can keep the domain from moving until Layton and his men can join the fight.

Either way, the slaves won't have to endure another day at the hands of their captors.

But Zin's first question takes Rod by surprise. "The suits those animals are wearing on the domain," he starts, studying the darkly bearded Lofa closely. "Are they human skin?"

Lofa blanches, and Rod feels an intense relief. He is finally convinced with full certainty that Lofa is indeed good, and not putting on an act. Lofa's reaction stems from the revulsion he feels in the pit of his stomach; it is indeed genuine and not an act. "Yes," he answers slowly. "Ever since we left the jungle, the leaders on the top deck have been donning the gross suits."

When Rod and Zin look questioningly at him, he continues, explaining as best he can. "Soon after they took control of the domain, they began torturing male slaves that displeased them by slowly removing their skin, being extremely careful not to intentionally kill the subject. The tortured, agonizing screams could be heard for miles along the equatorial trail." His eyes temporarily cloud over with the memories, and Rod suddenly suspects that the man is about to openly weep. But then, he just as quickly bucks himself up, and continues with the gruesome details. "They did the first men on the ground to make examples of them in front of everyone, the other slaves included. To watch their reactions to the tortuous suffering, there could be no doubt that they were enjoying it extremely. The first slaves to turn away were pulled aside, only to be brought forward later, until eventually, all were too afraid to look away."

His head turns to the side, and despite the value of bodily fluids in the farther reaches, he spits into the swirling dust covering the ground, trying vainly to clear the sickening taste of rising bile from his mouth. Rod and Zin remain silent, letting him continue at his own pace. "At first, they simply hung the skins intact from trees, much as a souvenir to remind them of their begotten pleasure. However, conditions in the jungle are such that the raw skin quickly rotted, falling in tatters to the ground. Only later, when their fear of being discovered by the newly forming armies of justice became too great, and they left the equatorial trail in the jungle to travel perpendicular to it in the farther reaches, did they discover that the skins didn't rot so readily. It didn't take them much longer to learn that by applying a thin layer of grease to the skin, they were able to keep the grotesque suits pliable and resilient. So much so, in fact, several started donning the skins as a means of intimidating the rest of the slaves, especially the newly captured prisoners that wouldn't submit easily to their will." He pauses for a long moment before adding, "Not to mention the effect they've had on my own family."

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Rod asks, "We found the domain by following a single man from the equatorial trail. Do you have any idea what that man's mission or purpose was?"

"Yes, of course I do," Lofa replies, his mind still wrapped around the memories of the men being skinned alive. "There are always scouts coming and going from the domain. They work the equatorial trail gathering information and tracking tribe movements. They are spies that befriend the unwary they meet, only to report back so that their vile missions can be planned."

"Is it normal for them to stop the domain's forward progress whenever one of these scouts returns?" Zin asks of Lofa.

His mind is once again on track with Rod's mind, and that is when they become the most powerful and most dangerous; what one doesn't think of, the other one will.

"When it has happened in the past, they have generally set out on a raid within a short time thereafter." Lofa pauses for a moment, his features contorted in thought, and then his face lightens as realization strikes. "They not only stopped the domain this time, but they also brandished the skin suits. Whatever information they received, they are preparing for something out of the ordinary."

"In other words, you're telling us that this is not normal before a raid?" Rod asks, trying to familiarize himself with the rogues' normal routines so he can log the information away for later.

"Oh no," Lofa quickly replies. "The suits have only been used in the past for intimidation, once they have returned with newly captured men and women. This time, they donned the suits shortly after the scout returned, as if trying to intimidate an unseen pursuer." He pauses to catch his breath before continuing, "By this time, there should be a steady down-pouring of men to the ground with weapons and supplies. But instead, they are retreating to the domain, leaving only a skeleton crew to handle the toters and handlers. It doesn't make any sense, or so my family and I thought. But now that you have shown up, it makes much more sense."

"It makes all the sense in the world, Lofa," Zin quickly replies, his expression betraying the realization that he has come to. Although he addressed Lofa, it is toward Rod that he makes knowing eye contact. "The scout we were following knew of our presence behind him all along. But even more importantly, he was carrying news of Layton's newly organizing army. They are expecting an attack. We've never had the element of surprise, my old friend."

Despite this upsetting realization, Zin's face remains bright, a sparkle glinting in his eye.

"If that is so, wouldn't it make more sense for them to run?" Rod asks of his friend and ally.

"That is a gut reaction, Rod," Zin gently lectures. "Running brings you a new set of problems, the main one being, where do you run to. As it stands, they have the high ground, literally. They have shelter, food, and most importantly, water. All they have to do is sit tight and strike down at us when opportunity presents itself. Our forces, on the other hand, will have to deal with the logistics of supplies, mainly water and protection from the moon glow. And all the while, doing what? Throwing rocks at them. Our weapons have long blades, but even they cannot reach that height."

"You're right," Rod begrudgingly agrees. "It is humanly impossible to scale the tethers, even if we wanted to. As long as they have supplies, we cannot touch them."

"That is the key to the whole dilemma, my friend. We must not let them accumulate any new supplies. What they have now is all they will ever have," Zin states with finality.

Now it's Rod's turn to come up with an idea, and his face suddenly beams. "There is one other thing we haven't considered," he says with a smirk.

"What's that?"

They have both forgotten that Lofa is sitting quietly off to the side, listening intently to their excited exchange of words. This time, Rod's gaze includes him, and he shifts nervously, almost as if he can read Rod's thoughts.

"With the help of Lofa's able-bodied brothers and uncles, we take ground control of the domain, and lead it back to the jungle, where supplies are no longer a problem for Layton's army."

"The jungle is a long way from here," Zin opines.

"My family is not armed to fight other men," Lofa protests. "It is as I said before, we have but few knives, and they are not for killing men."

"In answer to you both," Rod starts, his confidence soaring. "Our job will be to get the domain as far as Layton. He can take it from there. As for your brothers and uncles, we will supply them with all the extra weapons we have amongst us." He pauses for a second before finishing, not because he is afraid they won't willingly fight against the rogues, but because of the incentive that he feels pressured into offering. "If your family supports our efforts in every way possible, I will personally guarantee them partial ownership in the domain."

Lofa had never considered such a reward. The thought of his family living aboard a domain is almost inconceivable, and extremely difficult for him to grasp. "I don't know what to say."

"You must understand that the captured family currently aboard the domain will be your partners with equal ownership. With their experience in running a domain, your family should do quite well."

Smiling broadly, every last one of his teeth shining brightly from his dust-encrusted beard, he repeats over and over, "Thank you, oh thank you. My family will be eternally grateful."

"Don't thank him yet," Zin suddenly pipes up. "You haven't any idea what that domain is going to cost you and your family."

"Whatever the cost, we will gladly pay," Lofa excitedly states.

"I hope you still feel that way when this is all said and done," Zin finishes, his tone of voice deadly serious.

### **19**

They remain by the pond for a long time, Pena only slightly aware of the passing of time. The child is snuggled comfortably within her arms, and she continues staring at it as if in a trance. Until this child came along, she had believed that her newfound feelings for Horspaw were the most extreme feelings she was capable of experiencing, and yet, this child made her feel something she never thought possible. If she can get Horspaw to feel even a little of what she is feeling, the possibilities are endless. With the same strength and hope that the child gives her, he is surely going to be able to resist Lord Balzar's evil influence.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Horspaw sneaking peeks at the child, and it makes her feel warm all over. If only time could stand still, she thinks to herself, wishing this moment and what she is feeling would never have to end.

"It's a boy," she says gaily, as if in answer to an unspoken question.

"How can you be sure?" Horspaw asks sarcastically, his own inner feelings confused and foreign to him. He is not sure how he should feel about the child, but he likes the way it makes Pena glow.

Ignoring his sarcasm, she says, "We must find something to feed him."

Not wanting to hurt her feelings or sound defeated, he hesitates before asking, "What if I find a pregnant beast, will the milk be good enough to keep him alive until we can find the right woman?"

"Do we have a choice?" she asks of him, not expecting nor receiving an answer.

Without a word, he rises and sets off into the jungle. She has no idea whether the child will survive on an animal's breast milk or not. But she is certain that with nothing to feed him, he will certainly die.

Holding the child tightly against her chest, she slowly drifts off, the babies breathing a soft rhythm against her bare breasts. There were at least two days' feedings in the severed breasts, which she was careful to keep a small piece of tissue from for future recycling. However, the liquid had to be used for it wouldn't keep for more than an hour or two before spoiling. At least the child ate his fill and hopefully got the necessary colostrum that only mother's milk can provide. Of that ingredient, Pena is fully aware there is no substitute.

When he wakes, he will be hungry, and unless he has digestible food to sustain him, he will gradually grow weaker. Although Pena has never cared for a child so young as this, she is fully aware of the infant's needs and that if she can't fulfill all of them sufficiently, the child will die.

She is startled awake by Horspaw's voice. He has returned, and draped across his shoulders is the carcass of a large jungle beast. Even before she can rise, she sees the engorged titties lining the carcass's belly.

"This is the best I could find," he says proudly, slipping the carcass from his shoulders and laying it on the ground before him.

Pena recognizes the dead beast as a hogas. Several tribes domesticated the wild creature to provide them with a steady supply of meat. The milk from a lactating hogas is also used to make a dry cheese, usually seasoned with a ground root that is first dried, adding a spicy-hot flavor. She has never heard of anyone drinking the milk raw.

"It would be better if we had a live animal," she says hesitantly, studying the dead beast at her feet. "Now we must hurry and work fast to extract the milk before toxins contaminate it, making it useless."

Although she doesn't intend them to, her words visibly deflate Horspaw's enthusiasm, shattering his pride at bringing her what he thought she wanted. His voice a reflection of his sunken mood, he mumbles to her as he turns away, "I will go and find what you need."

Almost too late to stop him, she realizes what she's done by criticizing his attempt to help. "Wait! I didn't mean that we couldn't use this beast." Slowly, he turns back to her, and she sees the hurt in his face. "You did good, my love. What you did will buy us time. But we must extract the milk from its titties before the flesh begins to putrefy and toxins spoil it."

His ego restored, Horspaw says eagerly, "I will make a flagon from the skin to catch the milk in. We can shape it like a breast for him to feed from."

"Thank you," Pena says softly, truly grateful for his efforts. The child's life has become all-important to her and Horspaw's concern and willingness to help her save it is endearing him even closer to her heart.

Horspaw's face glows from her appreciation, and he quickly sets to work on fabricating a skin bag to hold the milk. Within a matter of moments, he has cut out a section of skin from the area behind the head. After scraping the skin clean of fat and blood, he forms a pouch with the fur facing out. Near the teardrop end, he uses his knife to shave the fur, leaving a round area of bare skin showing.

"This should work fine," he says proudly, holding the tear shaped bag up for her approval.

"It looks perfect, if we can get enough liquid."

Almost as if he is signaling his assent, the child lets out a tremendous cry, the motion of being lifted up having wakened him.

"Yes, we hear you," Horspaw says loudly over the child's screams, while Pena rocks him and holds him tightly to her breasts.

Laughing, Horspaw sets to squeezing the individual teats while holding the skin bag against the nipple, careful to catch every precious drop. To their surprise, the bag is almost full by the time he finishes with the last teat. They have accumulated almost a liter of milk, still warm.

Handing her the swollen bag, Horspaw rises to his feet, saying, "I will build us a fire and cut off some flanks. This will feed us for many days, but we must still find food for him."

Using her teeth, Pena bites a pinhole in the shaved area of the bag for the infant to suckle. While Pena holds the apparatus for the child to suckle on, Horspaw stands and looks on, fascinated by the male child.

"He's not the only one that's hungry," she says jokingly, spurring him to his task of preparing the meat.

While he busies himself starting the fire and cutting up the carcass, he thinks deeply about the situation that he now finds himself. It had never occurred to him that he might fall in love and want something more than the destiny that's been laid out for him. He is in love with a beautiful woman that loves him back. The care and survival of another defenseless and innocent being is relying solely on them. Yet, even more startling, is the fact that he cares. His genetic makeup was never intended to feel such emotions.

So, why can't he change his destiny?

Though he asks himself this question, he knows that he cannot. If he tries to resist what has been ingrained into him again, it will literally kill him. He harbors no doubts about this conclusion, but he cannot tell Pena. As long as she thinks he can resist, there is hope for her. He cannot deprive her of that thread of hope, especially now that there is so much more on the line.

"We must give him a name," he says suddenly, startling her.

"Did you have one in mind?" she innocently asks, already having decided what the child's name will be.

"I was thinking that you might," he says with a wink, having read her thoughts.

"If it is alright with you, I would like to call him Kaja."

"Kaja," he says slowly, testing the feel of it on his tongue. "I like that. It is a strong name, a warrior's name. He will prove what a warrior he is by living a long life."

"Yes," she softly agrees, studying the child's face as it continues suckling. "Yes, he will live a long life, a good life."

Having drunk his fill, Kaja quickly loses interest in the fake breast. After emitting a loud burp and bubbling up some of the milk onto Pena's chest, he falls asleep, his stomach full and content with the world for the time being.

"He ate willingly of the milk," Horspaw comments, his hope rising.

"Yes, he ate," Pena concurs, a little more reserved in her excitement. "Now, only time will tell if it is enough to sustain him."

Reaching for the skin bag of remaining milk, Horspaw says, "He is a strong child, he will survive." The tone of his voice clearly states there will be no argument, even if he has to defy the gods in the heavens, should they come for this child.

Using a short cord, he ties off the pricked area of the skin so the remaining milk remains inside. It will not keep long in the heat, before it will sour and make the child sick. But he will keep it available for as long as he can in case Kaja wakes and is hungry.

Setting the bag of milk aside, he turns his attention to the remaining carcass. Using quick, short strokes, he slices the hide at different angles, leaving several long strips intact. With the strange shaped hide lying flat on the ground, he scathes off all the excess fat and meat that is clinging to it. Once satisfied that it's clean enough so as not to turn putrid, he moves over to Pena and asks her to rise.

With the baby held firmly in her hands before her, Horspaw drapes the hide across her front, just beneath the baby, with the soft fur against its naked skin. Then he carefully lays a series of straps over her shoulders and behind her neck. After tying off a few carefully placed knots, Kaja is securely supported against her chest, where she can comfortably carry him while leaving her hands free.

"How does it feel?" he asks, as she studies it in awe.

"It's wonderful," she finally exclaims. "It's just wonderful!" She feels like dancing, but restrains herself for fear of disturbing Kaja and waking him.

Business like, yet clearly pleased with himself, Horspaw says, "I will have to make adjustments to it as the skin dries and shrinks, so let me know if it grows too tight or works itself loose."

"It is the nicest think anyone has ever done for me," she says sincerely, her affectionate gaze bringing a hot flush to his forehead, forcing him to turn away with embarrassment.

The smell of burning meat grabs his attention, and he stabs a large hunk with his knife and offers it to her. "Here, we will eat before we get started."

Without a word, she accepts the meat and sinks her teeth into it. They eat in silence, gazing at each other and the baby. Her thoughts are torn between the future she wants and needs, and the future that some evil lord she never met has inexplicably laid out for her when he created Horspaw.

When they are done eating, and have washed the food down with generous swallows of tepid water, Horspaw wraps the remaining slices of meat in the remaining piece of hide and hands it to her. "Can you put this in your pack?" he asks of her.

Taking the package of meat, she inserts it into her pack, but she makes no move to rise.

Sensing her hesitation, he says, "If you are up to it, we must get started."

Disappointed that the moment is ending, yet determined to keep it alive and stave off the time when they will have to confront his destiny, she asks of him, "Can you hunt for fresh milk while we travel?"

"I will find what the child needs before he needs it. But now, I need to be on my way," he says gently, yet firmly.

For the first time, Pena sees the pain in his eyes, and realizes that he is no more eager to leave the tranquility of this moment behind than she is. She is suddenly overcome with guilt from having been so selfish.

"I am sorry, Horspaw," she says quickly, hurriedly rising to her feet and slinging her pack over her back. "We are all set. We will be right behind you."

"We," he thinks aloud. Suddenly realizing that Pena heard his thoughts, he smiles and adds for her benefit, "I like that."

"Yeah, me too," she softly concurs.

Reaching down, he grabs the skin bag of milk from where he laid it previously, and hands it to her. "Smell it before you let him have it when he wakes. If it doesn't smell right, throw it and I will find more."

"Yes," she replies, wanting to say more, but not sure where to begin. She loves him, and she is certain that he loves her. They both love the child, and yet, he cannot shirk his destiny, even if it is not the destiny of his choosing.

Giving her a last, longing look, he turns to lead the way. They are no longer on the equatorial trail, and their path is slowly leading them to the south and east, ever closer to the southern reaches. Because they have to constantly adjust their heading, Pena has no doubt that Loté is on the move, and heading away from the equator. While she continues following close on Horspaw's heels, she gives this information a lot of thought. The premonitions regarding this knowledge that she suffered earlier, no longer bear any foreboding for her. What she had first interpreted as a bad omen now appears to be a blessing. She wants desperately to get Loté alone before Horspaw can harm her, and there is no better place to be alone than in the farther reaches where few people venture. Loté's reasons for going south are no longer important to Pena, only that she is getting farther and farther from the main trail and the many peoples that populate it.

Her mind constantly wonders, the changing scenery at first fascinating, and then beginning to worry her. As the foliage grows thinner and the air drier, she begins to worry about the lack of game, especially the larger types of beasts that might provide sustenance for Kaja.

She is about to mention this to Horspaw, when he abruptly stops and turns back to face her. "We will rest here and give Kaja the last of the milk."

"But he is still sleeping, and I am not tired," she argues weakly, though she is silently grateful for the break. Although Kaja is a small child, weighing less than ten kilos total with the hide pouch, she is not used to having a weight suspended on her front, constantly forcing her to use muscles in her back that are not accustomed to being used so strenuously.

With a sigh, she slips free of the pouch and gently sets it in one of the few places where the moss is still growing thickly, cushioning the child from the rough obsidian surface. The movement wakes the child, but it doesn't automatically cry out, as she expected it might. Instead, its little head wiggles from side to side, almost as if sniffing the air for strange and unfamiliar scents.

At first, Pena suspects that might be the case, and then she realizes that the infant is suffering from a drying of the nasal passages due to the lack of humidity their already encountering from having traveled away from the equator. Setting her pack next to the infant, she quickly rummages inside until she locates her tin of lard.

"What are you doing?" Horspaw asks of her, studying the child next to her as if seeing him for the first time.

"His nose is dry from this air," she says a bit shortly, though she doesn't intend to.

"Are you blaming me?" he quickly retorts, his own temper suddenly flaring.

Pena realizes immediately that an argument isn't what she's after, and quickly offers an apology. "I'm sorry," she says demurely, opening the tin of lard and dabbing out a little on her fingertip.

"Yes, so am I," Horspaw quickly offers, his demeanor already subdued. "We don't need a fire," he adds, misinterpreting her use of the lard. "We are only going to be here long enough to feed Kaja the last of the milk before it spoils."

"I know," she replies, leaning over Kaja. "Oh look!" she suddenly cries out excitedly. "He sees me!"

Horspaw leaps the short distance separating them, all traces of the looming argument suddenly forgotten. His movement catches the eye of the infant, and the child smiles up at him. Dropping to his knees beside the child, Horspaw whispers, "You are my child."

"He is our child, but only for now," Pena corrects him, though it breaks her heart to do so. "Once we have his mother's DNA recycled, he will have to be returned to her."

But Horspaw isn't listening, his attention completely captured by Kaja. With a tenderness in her touch that surprises even her, she dabs the lard around and under the child's nasal passages, being careful to cover the skin surface with a protective layer.

Because the scent of the lard is overpowering to the child's sensitive olfactory glands, it lets out a wail of despair mixed with anxiety.

"What have you done?" Horspaw anxiously inquires of her.

"He'll be fine once he gets used to the odor," she placatingly responds. "Here, give me the milk."

Handing her the milk, she quickly unties the knotted cord preventing it from leaking, and puts it against Kaja's lips. Almost immediately, the wailing ceases, and Kaja settles in to a fulfilling meal.

Holding the skin sack, she looks into Horspaw's eyes, amazed at the transformation in him since they're first meeting. Meanwhile, his gaze is locked on the infant. "Someday, we will have a child of our own," she says happily.

"We have a child," he says without really hearing her.

"But he is not our child, Horspaw. For now, he is our responsibility, but he can never be our child."

"His mother is lost."

"His mother is in my pack," she says firmly, determined not to lose perspective of the situation. "Soon, we will be free of this destiny that has its hold on us, and then, we can make a child of our own. But only then."

"Then why do I feel the way I do?" he demands of her, confused by the strong emotions flowing through his veins. Even when he first discovered that he could love, he never realized the full strength of it, or the hold that it might come to have over him. "I don't know how to behave," he weakly stutters, baring his soul to the woman he loves in hopes of finding the answers.

"You are behaving like a father," she says with a smile, putting a hand on his muscular shoulder.

When he was working his way through the tunnels and catacombs of the subsurface, he killed quite a number of innocent men and women. He committed some terrible acts with both sexes, and mistakenly thought what he felt was pleasure. Now, he is coming to realize the true meaning of the word, and how his evil creator played a cruel trick on him.

"I am so sorry," he passionately cries, tears running unabated down his cheeks. "Because of me, so many have suffered, and so many more will never realize the joy of family, or such deep love."

"It isn't because of you, Horspaw. It is because of an evil man that was incapable of such stunning feelings as the ones you are feeling now. It was his distorted and sick view of mankind that caused the pain and suffering, not you." And then, softly, she adds, "You were his tool, and you didn't know anything else. Now you do." She wants to say more, to tell him that now he knows there are other ways of viewing life and people, he should be able to fight the primordial urges that force him to do Lord Balzar's bidding.

But she keeps her thoughts to herself, not willing to tempt the gods with wishful thinking. The time will come when she will have to believe in him, or kill him. Of this, she has no doubts.

"Promise me, Pena, if you love me the way I do you, you will kill me before I do his bidding again."

They sit in silence, both intently watching Kaja innocently suckling the captured milk from the dead beast. She is afraid and unwilling to make such a promise to the man she loves. And he is afraid that not all the love in the world will be enough to overcome the genetic engineering performed by Lord Balzar when his destiny comes due.

Kaja finishes the warm milk and drops the skin bag, it no longer holding any interest for him. In fact, nothing except movement and noise hold any interest for him, and his head turns toward first one, and then the other, as they speak and gesticulate with their hands. He is quite happy, completely unaware of the turmoil and battle raging within the people trying so hard to fill his needs. He is also oblivious of the fact that his father and mother are dead, as he is equally oblivious of the need to pee or poop, only that he feels an uneasy discomfort in his belly that is quickly followed by contentment.

"Here," Horspaw says with a wry smile. "I will clean it and return shortly. You take care of him."

"Thank you," she says gratefully, handing him the soiled hide.

"Use the water freely, I will bring back more," Horspaw adds, holding the hide at arm's length as he heads toward the north.

"What have you done, my little Kaja?" she coos to the baby. "He has never experienced anything so profound before in his life, and he is looking to me for answers and explanations, but I am not sure that I can give him the answers he so desperately needs. It will come down to him, in the end, and only he has the answer. We can just give him purpose, my beautiful little boy. Purpose, and a reason to fight, nothing more."

While she talks, busily cleaning his soiled little bottom, the child drools and gurgles. His health doesn't appear any worse for the lack of mother's milk. Yet, Pena is concerned by the color and consistency of his stool. It is too loose, and the color is unlike anything she has ever seen before, even while living in a tribe that had babies on a regular basis.

"We must find you a mother that is able to feed you, and soon. Just because you are eating, it doesn't mean that your little body is capable of absorbing the food." She studies the baby for a minute, noticing the swollen stomach and the lack of fat that should be growing over the bones by now. Or is she simply being paranoid, because she is wrought with worry for the baby's health?

"We will find him a real source of food soon enough," Horspaw says, walking up behind her after having heard the tail end of her one sided conversation with the child. "See if he will drink some water," he adds, handing her the flagon and the cleaned carrier. "The water will not make him grow strong, but it will keep him hydrated," he clarifies.

As she holds the mouth of the flagon against Kaja's lips, the child screams out, pushing at the flagon, not wanting any part of it near him. When she moves the flagon away, he immediately stops his tantrum and relaxes. "I will work with him while we travel," she says calmly. "He will learn to drink when he is ready."

"He will learn to drink when he is thirsty enough, you mean," Horspaw corrects her, the tone of his voice betraying his frustration. Without understanding why, he feels bad at having openly displayed such an emotional shortcoming, and immediately feels compelled to apologize and make it up to her. Meeting her gaze, he says sincerely, "I'm sorry. It is not your fault that we now have a child that we are unable to fend for."

"We will do right by this child, so help me," she says determinedly.

"Yes," he defeatedly acknowledges. "But doing right by him doesn't mean we can save him, Pena."

Because of his defeatist attitude, she feels her own spirits waning, and her anger rises to the surface. She cannot give up on this child, no matter the hopelessness of the situation. Just because the child appears healthy for the time being, they both understand that it is far from being able to feed on solids, and could turn sickly at any moment. In addition, the odds of finding a lactating woman is steadily decreasing the farther they venture from the equatorial trail.

And then, a new idea comes to her. "I could take the child and return to the trail," she tentatively speaks out loud. And then, just as quickly as the words are out of her mouth, wishes she could take them back.

But it is too late, and Horspaw stares at her, stunned by the possibility that she might leave him for the child. As much as he loves Kaja, he realizes without a doubt that he cannot abandon his destiny; not now, after reconnecting with Loté's scent again.

In disbelief, he says rather than asks, "You will leave me to continue on alone."

"You could try to change your course for us."

"You know I cannot do that!" he angrily shouts back at her, feeling the frustration of his own inadequacy.

"Will you try?" she calmly replies, not wanting to anger him, but also feeling his frustration.

"If that is what you must do, then for all of us, I will try again." He hesitates, while she sits in silence, watching the child casually studying everything that moves. "If I cannot, will you really leave me to go on alone?" he finally asks of her, his voice masking the tremendous fear that he is feeling. If she returns to the trail in search of help for Kaja, he will fail not only himself, but also her. They will never see each other again.

Staring into his eyes, she says calmly, "I can never leave you, Horspaw, no matter what."

"Then we must be moving. Kaja has just so much time, and we are wasting it."

"Yes," she says with confidence.

Because he is not willing to confront his demon head on just yet, he sets a course toward the northeast, hoping that he might fool his own genes into thinking that he is just using an alternate route to his final destination. If it works, he will remain on the equatorial trail only until they draw parallel with Loté's scent, and then he will head due south. But in the meantime, if they are fortunate, they will encounter at least one woman currently breastfeeding, and will deliver Kaja into her care so they can get back on course.

At first, they make good time. Horspaw only occasionally rubs his forehead or clenches the back of his neck with an iron grip, trying to squelch the growing throb of pain. But gradually, other symptoms crop up. First, it starts as a sharp pain in his side, which slowly grows into a burning in his groin. His vision blurs, and he stumbles, unable to focus on the ground before him.

An aching pain begins to emanate from his joints, and he feels nauseous. When he drops to his knees and vomits, Pena is right there beside him, the child watching him intently, as she kneads the back of his neck and upper shoulders. Her touch works magic, and he feels stronger, more stable almost immediately. They share a quick sip from the flagon that she is keeping handy for Kaja's sake, and then he sets off again, leading them gradually closer to the main trail, and increasing the odds of finding a foster mother for the infant.

Suddenly, Pena has her doubts as to whether they are doing the right thing or not. Once they find a woman that can feed Kaja the diet that he so desperately needs, she will have to leave the child behind. Can she do it? Or should she beckon to Horspaw now before it is too late and ask him to turn away, to give in to the pain that is wracking through him with such uncaring violence just so she can spend a little more time with Kaja?

And then, how can she be so selfish that she will literally torture the man she loves only to change her mind and risk the very life of the child that they are trying to save, and all because she is afraid of losing Kaja sooner rather than later!

Hating herself for what she is going to do, Pena cries out to Horspaw, pleading with him to stop and turn back toward the source of Loté's scent. The baby senses her anguish and cries out, screaming his own protests to the world.

Slowly stumbling forward, his mind distorted with pain, his body crying out for relief, Horspaw slowly grows aware of their combined cries, but is unable to fathom the meaning behind it. His body is drenched with sweat, but not from the heat surrounding them. He is burning up from a heat generated within, and it's boiling madly through his veins.

Agonizingly slowly, his mind grasps the sounds, and he realizes that Pena is trying to tell him something, while the child screams incessantly. Something is wrong, and he turns toward her, his eyes trying desperately to focus, to see what is troubling them. Although he cares tremendously, he cannot bring himself to understand what their dilemma is.

Pena rushes toward him, aware that he sees her, but not sure whether he recognizes her or not. His eyes are clouded with pain, and he appears completely exhausted; no longer the strong virile Horspaw that she was coming to know so well.

"I cannot let you do this to yourself," she is saying to him, her voice distorted by her anxiety, and her eyes blurring with tears. "Turn toward the scent, Horspaw! It is alright, we will find another way."

He can hear her, but he is not certain what she is saying. It sounds as if she is trying to tell him that he doesn't have to go on this way, that he can turn away from the pain and follow the scent.

Stopping, the ringing in his ears subsides somewhat, and he hears her more clearly. She is asking him to stop this fruitless endeavor that she so foolishly thrust upon him, and to go toward the scent, to escape the pain.

His voice slurring from the confusion in his mind, he says weakly, "The child. What of the child?" Despite the pain and mental confusion that he's suffering, he remembers the child, and that he is suffering this pain on behalf of the child. The child is important, even if he can't remember its name because of the pain.

"We will find another way," she says with determination.

"Yes," he says with more vitality in his voice, his thoughts quickly growing clearer. "Yes, we will find another way." He remembers the child, Kaja, with acute clarity, and his vision is no longer blurry. The scent of Loté is strong in his nostrils. They have lost time, but they can make it up easily, now that his strength is returning.

"I'm so sorry, Horspaw," Pena cries, pressing herself against him with the child between them. "Please forgive my weakness, but I cannot watch you suffer any longer."

Until this moment, she had only vaguely considered the pain and suffering he was putting himself through for Kaja's sake. But now that she spoke it aloud, she feels even guiltier. Just because this man is willing to go through Hell and back for Kaja and her, doesn't give her the right to expect it of him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he says without any anxiety. She is relieved by the calm tone of his voice, and the clearness of his eyes. "It is I that should be apologizing to you and Kaja for my failure to provide."

Unbelieving what she just heard, a laugh escapes her and a smile suddenly lights up her face. Almost miraculously, Kaja senses the change in her, and grows silent; the only sound remaining is that of Pena's continued giggling.

"What is so funny?" he demands of her, his own demeanor growing lighter.

"You," she chuckles.

Suddenly, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him, relishing the salty taste of his lips. Being careful not to crush the child, he encloses her head in his hands, and holds her face against his own, savoring the closeness of both her and Kaja. It is a good feeling, and he is suddenly terrified by the thought of losing them.

Without understanding why, he remembers how simple his life had been before meeting this woman. He especially remembers with sharp acuity that the atrocities he wielded against the innocent men and women encountered on his journey to the surface had no impact on his conscience. In fact, he remembers quite clearly that he didn't believe he possessed a conscience, since he was born without a soul. He should not have the capacity to feel love or the ability to care. And he should definitely not have the capacity to love back, to return the feelings bestowed on him.

But her presence brings a promise of something good, something that he never suspected he might need; she brings him a sense of fulfillment.

The urgency to find his destiny and bring it to a close so that he might start a new life suddenly threatens to overwhelm him. Pena senses the sudden change in him, and sadly realizes that the moment is about to end. But like Horspaw, she too wants the journey over so they can begin a new life together. He in turn senses that she is also feeling the urgency and is ready to get moving.

His senses restored by their brief halt, he rises to his feet and extends a hand to help her and the child rise. "Continue this way," he solemnly states, indicating a path toward the southeast.

"Where are you going?" Pena nervously inquires of him.

"I might not be able to discharge my destiny, but it allows me to vary from my course so that I may hunt with all my senses intact."

Understanding that he is going to find sustenance for Kaja, she says softly, "Good luck." And then, before he can turn away from them, she quickly adds, "Don't be long."

With a wink, he turns and starts off at a trot, his voice barely audible before he vanishes from sight, "Just like a woman, always giving orders."

Before she can retort, all sign of his passing is gone, and she is much too savvy to yell loudly in unfamiliar territory. Ears other than those her words are intended for might be listening.

Looking ahead, in the direction that he instructed her to go, she studies the vegetation. A hint of trepidation creeps up her spine, and she hugs Kaja tighter against her chest. She is not surprised or otherwise concerned by the feelings that she feels, because she fully understands Horspaw's destiny, probably as well as he himself, or so she believes. She harbors no illusions regarding what lies in store for him, or her either, for that matter.

"Come on, Kaja," she says softly, taking that first step.

The ground cover is growing gradually thinner and less welcoming. The air is drier, and the canopy above their heads less dense and lower. While she walks, she takes sips from the flagon, and subconsciously checks the slide of her weapon in its sheath. Game will also grow thinner as they get farther from the equator, and they will have fewer opportunities to bag anything that can provide Kaja with milk. In the farther reaches, only predators and male rogues will be found, not lactating females.

This thought crosses her mind again, and she glances down at the child that she'd assumed was sleeping only to find him gazing skyward toward the canopy. More and more, moonlight is peeking through breaks and thin spots, making it appear much like a kaleidoscope to the child's eyes. She is happy to see him so contented and fascinated by the light. But she knows it won't last. Soon, they will be out beyond the jungle's canopy and it will become necessary to protect themselves from the direct glow of the twin moons. This is especially true for Kaja, since his skin is still new and extremely vulnerable to the reflected sun's rays.

They haven't gone far, when Horspaw suddenly steps out into the trail directly ahead of them. Draped across his shoulders is the carcass of another large hogas, almost identical to the last. He is smiling broadly, extremely proud of his catch. Stopping to catch her breath and throw him a joyous wave in reply, Pena notices that the carcass appears intact, no telltale signs of blood covering either the fur, or the hunter.

Only as they draw nearer does she realize the chest cavity of the beast is rising and falling with a slow but steady rhythm; the poor creature is still alive!

"Horspaw, what have you done?" she cries out, alarmed that such a dangerous beast is still much alive and breathing, and so damn near to his exposed neck. The creature's tongue is hanging loosely from its mouth, exposing two-inch long fangs on either end of a row of long, jagged-yellow, razor-sharp, teeth that could swiftly and with ease tear out his jugular vein. And yet, he appears calm and relaxed, proud to be bringing the beast to her like a trophy on high.

"Kaja appears to be surviving fine on the milk of just such a beast, so I thought I would bring him a continuous supply until we can find the right woman, which you don't appear too anxious to do," he adds with a smirk.

"But what did you do to it?" she asks incredulously, afraid of getting too close to the sleeping animal, and keeping her free hand on the hilt of her weapon.

Seeing her hesitation toward the animal, Horspaw says with confidence, "It's okay, my love, she is absolutely harmless. Only when we need her to, will I allow her any freedom. And then, we will keep her on a short leash."

"What do you mean by 'keep her on a short leash'," Pena demands.

"Well, you can't expect me to carry her all the way," he says, a bit troubled by what he considers a bit excessive concern on her part. "I will hobble her so that she can only walk, as well as put a muzzle around her snout so she can't attack us. If I keep her on a short leash, she shouldn't have any trouble walking with us."

Still concerned, Pena says emphatically, "I have seen many kinds of domesticated animals, but never one with such propensity for killing." After a moment's pause, she continues, her resolve against the situation faltering, "Are you certain it will be safe?"

Horspaw senses the chink in her armor and realizes that she is on the verge of agreeing to go along with his idea. In his mind, the beast presents little danger to them. But then, he is not a normal man with normal instincts and abilities.

"I wouldn't intentionally subject you or Kaja to any danger. If I weren't certain that this plan was perfectly safe, I would kill the beast now and drain it of its milk. But that will only provide us with a few hours' worth of feeding. By keeping the beast alive, we can feed Kaja continuously for as long as we need," he says excitedly, his voice rising. Seeing her visibly waver, he quickly adds, "Game will grow steadily scarcer the farther from the equator we travel. This guarantees us a continual supply of food for the infant."

"You won't take offense if I keep Kaja a safe distance from the wild beast," she says defeatedly, yet glad that the food situation is behind them for the time being.

Smiling, Horspaw humorously replies, "It won't be long before he's riding upon its back."

"No!" Pena blurts explosively. "I will never allow that."

Still lying limply across Horspaw's shoulders, the beast's tongue suddenly recoils into the depths of its mouth, and a wide yawn follows with a licking of its chops. Pena recoils, her right arm protectively encircling Kaja. Horspaw chuckles at her reaction.

"It is nothing to worry about. She is in a stupor similar to that of sleeping. Her senses are much too dulled for her to even realize that we are here. In her mind, she is simply dreaming." He smiles a mischievous grin, and adds, "Of course, you and I might more accurately describe it as a nightmare. But if that is being cruel to the animal, then so be it." His voice turns deadly serious as he finishes. "As long as it provides Kaja with what he needs, she will have to suffer through it."

Without any further words, he lowers the beast to the ground, and produces two lengths of cord. Working deftly, he secures the creature's front paws together and tethers them to one of her rear legs. He carefully adjusts this length of cord so that the animal can walk with a hobble, but not be able to run or lunge. Next, using the second length of cord, he fashions a crude muzzle, preventing it from opening its mouth any more than is necessary to lap up water. He doesn't want to risk it becoming dehydrated and stop producing milk.

When he is almost finished, Pena suddenly asks of him, "Where is the cub that she was feeding?"

He had hoped to spare her the fate of the animal's young, because he knew that she wouldn't approve. But for Kaja's sake, he did what needed doing, and he harbors no regrets, except for Pena's disappointment in him.

He is about to lie and tell her that he couldn't find the cub, but realizes she will see right through him. So instead, he decides to tell her the truth, and not spare her any details. She is, after all, responsible for bringing the child this way. "For our safety, and that of Kaja's, it was too old to bring along, even if it would stay with its mother. But it was also too young to fend for itself. I couldn't just leave it to die alone and hungry, or become prey for another scavenger, so my only choice was to put it down mercifully. It was quick and painless."

If he said it was quick and painless, she knew that it was. No man or woman that she'd ever known before in her life knew as much about human and animal anatomy as Horspaw does. He is familiar with all the arterial and nervous system pressure points, including those that offer an instant and painless death to the victim, as well as those that merely numb the senses. It was left to her imagination that he used the lethal one on the cub, and the sense numbing one on the adult.

"She won't miss her cub, because his scent is in the muzzle, since I drew the cords from its hide." He dispensed this latest bit of information to her in such a way there could be no doubt that he believed he had performed a piece of goodwill toward the cub's mother by doing what he had. And, in some demented way, he might have. Surely, with the scent of her young always in her nostrils, in her numbed state of mind, she won't realize that it isn't near, and thus, she won't fret herself over the loss of her cub.

After testing his knots, he reaches down and jerks up on the muzzle, forcing the animal to its feet. In this upright position on all fours, its head is almost to Horspaw's waist. With his right hand entwined securely in the back of the muzzle, he can walk and guide the beast with ease.

Satisfied, he turns to Pena and instructs her to let him know when Kaja needs his next meal. Until then, he will lead the way. She doesn't answer him, but only looks after the dangerous beast standing docilely beside him. With a grin, he turns and pulls the large predator along with him, its legs quivering and unsteady for the first few steps. But soon, it gets its balance back, and moves along gracefully at his side. Pena and Kaja follow at a safe distance. Although she is much more deadly with her weapon than the stunned beast with all of its faculties intact, its nearness makes her uneasy.

After a short while of following along behind where she can keep an eye on the beast, as well as Horspaw, she comes to the conclusion that the presence of the beast only bothers her because of her concern for Kaja. She has never had anyone or anything that she cared more for, and felt so protective over. It's a new sensation that she'd never experienced before, and she isn't sure how much she really cares for it. And then, it suddenly dawns on her that these strange feelings she's experiencing for the first time in her life must be very similar to the range of emotions and feelings that Horspaw is going through for the first time in his life also.

This epiphany has her looking at the man ahead of her in a whole new light.

### **20**

Having eaten, Loté feigns exhaustion and excuses herself from the group of obliging men that Layton has chosen for his lieutenants and squad leaders. Although his army is still small and young, he has been busy laying a solid foundation for future growth. Each man in the group at his sitting has had to prove himself as loyal to the new hierarchy, as well as to his individual abilities in varying fields ranging from weapons to strategy.

Loté is not surprised by the lack of inquiries placed before her at the meal because they are still far from their destination and there is still too little information to work with. That will change when they finally get to confront the enemy and have an opportunity to exchange information with Rod and his men.

Moving through the lounging groups of men, Loté faintly hears Elsa giggling as she and Layton head off into the jungle to find some privacy. Though she wants to break into a run, she paces herself at a leisurely stroll so as not to draw attention to herself. She will move much faster once she is beyond sight of the encampment, until then, she keeps her patience in check.

Stopping at the spot where she and Elsa set up their private bivouac, she selects a full flagon of water before casually slinging it over her shoulder. She wishes that she could also take her pack of personal supplies, but is afraid that it might draw undue attention. With her weapons strapped on and the flagon slung over her back, she continues moving in a northeasterly direction. Having considered moving directly east and skirting along parallel to the main trail, she quickly discounts it, reasoning that it won't save her any time in the long run since she needs to mark the main trail for Keazar, anyway.

Several of the lounging men nod and smile or shout greetings to her as she passes by. She is flattered by this attention, and not only because of her reputation as a humanitarian, but also because she doesn't see herself as a strikingly beautiful woman. Of course, it also hasn't escaped her notice that more men have been goggling her since her breasts became engorged with milk for Nava.

Almost as quickly as she is clear of the encampment, she reaches the main trail, since they have only recently left it before making camp. Once on the main trail, she breaks into a trot that will have her where she needs to be in less than an hour. By the time she marks the trail for Keazar and returns to the encampment, they will be preparing to head out, and she will be truly exhausted from her trek. Yet, no matter how tired she is, she must look refreshed and rested from the break.

Her trek along the trail is uneventful, and when she reaches the juncture in the trail leading to Porg's supposed remains, she quickly sets to work. From within her pack, she withdraws several lengths of cord. Using her short-bladed dagger, she cuts these into sections approximately twelve inches long each. Next, she withdraws her long-knife and slices off several large bushes at ground level. With quick, skillful movements, she removes all the stems and leaves from the main trunks. Using the pieces of cord, she ties the trunks together to form an upright, fence-like structure, which she secures in a standing position to the trunk of a tall slender tree located just off the main trail.

In the middle of the trail, she plants three tall spikes, arching them to come together just above her head. Feeling hurried, she ties them together and then strips the leaves off another long limb. This limb, she plants half way between the makeshift fence and the tripod in the middle of the trail. Fishing through her pack, she finds a single long length of cord, sufficient to reach from the tripod to the first freestanding limb. Moving as fast as she can, she wipes backhanded at the sweat that continues to run down her face and sting her eyes. With the long cord tied off between the tripod and fence, she uses the last of her cords to tie small branches with their leaves still intact along the length of the cord. And then, just to make certain that Keazar understands the obstruction in the center of the trail is intended for him, she ties her soft leather top across the breadth of the tripod, baring her milk engorged breasts.

Moving swiftly, she travels a short distance along the trail toward the east, the direction Keazar will be coming from, and turns back to assess her work. For the first time since leaving the domain, she is acutely aware of the pressure from not having Nava along to drink her milk. Moreover, jogging along the uneven trail is causing her swollen breasts to bounce uncomfortably, a sensation that is extremely foreign to her.

The tripod and stringer of small branches leading to the homemade fence is exactly what she wants. The only concern she has is if someone else comes along before him. As it stands, he will easily see the tripod blocking the trail and the stand of limbs pointing directly toward the scavenger's hut containing Porg's DNA.

Because Layton keeps a tight control over his men, any that couldn't keep pace with him have already been sent back to Keazar's domain to assist in other duties. There shouldn't be any stragglers still coming this way, not this far to the east. For these reasons, she quickly disregards her initial concern that the wrong person will find it.

Worn out from all the work, she drinks heavily from her sole flagon, and then sets off at a distance eating trot. The chore took her longer than she had anticipated, but she is thoroughly pleased with the results; even Keazar won't be able to miss, or misinterpret, her handiwork.

She is just a short distance from the encampment, when Elsa suddenly steps out into the trail.

"Elsa?" she asks breathlessly, instantly concerned by her friend's sudden appearance. "What's wrong?"

Smiling, Elsa says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to alarm you. Layton is sleeping with the others and I was concerned for you. You have been gone a long time. I thought I would come back to the trail and wait for you."

"It's all right," she says, relieved, and a bit breathless. "Everything is good."

"Here," Elsa says, offering her a full flagon when Loté slips her almost empty one from her shoulder.

"Oh, thank you," she says, eagerly exchanging her empty flagon for the nearly full one. "Let's walk," she suggests, while carefully unstopping the flagon and putting it to her lips.

"But you must rest," her friend says firmly. "You have traveled a long distance, and we will be breaking camp soon."

"It's okay, Elsa," she calmly replies, already acting less tired than her body feels. "I knew that it wouldn't be easy before I chose this course of action. But I made my mistake, and now I must make it right." She pauses for a minute to catch her breath, before adding, "Just don't let me slip up in front of Layton or his men. They cannot know that I have been gone."

"Don't worry, my friend," Elsa coyly replies. "I promise you, I will keep them much too distracted to take notice of you."

"You say that as if I am an old hag," Loté fires back, feigning anger, and then breaking out into laughter. Almost as quickly as the laughter starts, she winces, and her friend notices her pain.

"What is the matter, my beautiful friend?" she asks, immediately concerned.

"Nava," she says through clenched teeth.

"You miss him so much you're in pain?" Elsa asks, not comprehending Loté's meaning.

"No, you silly girl. My breasts are hurting because they are engorged with his milk, and he is not here to drink it." When Elsa looks at her dumbfounded, she continues, "You have never been around children excepting those on Keazar's domain. But when a woman has a child, her breasts develop milk to feed the infant."

Cutting her off, Elsa flatly states, "I know all that."

"Then you should also know that when the infant doesn't suckle the milk, pressure builds up behind the nipple, and it is very painful."

"Someday, Layton and I will have a child of our own. If the pain is as great as you say, then I will never be separated from him." After a moment's hesitation, she asks of Loté, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yes, but even I can't ask that of you."

When Elsa suddenly comprehends the meaning in Loté's words, they both break into light-hearted laughter.

They are almost back to the encampment, and Loté can hear the men busily putting up their gear for the trek ahead. There is joking and laughter which quickly turns ribald and flirtatious as the two women are noticed. But it is all in good fun; none of the men would ever dare act on their words out of respect for Rod and Layton.

"I thought you said they would be too preoccupied by you to take notice of me," Loté says out of the corner of her mouth so only Elsa can hear her.

"They're goggling at your breasts, my dear friend." And then she quickly adds, "Are they really that painful?"

Giving her friend a playful shove, Loté exclaims, "Elsa!"

They find Layton busy putting his bedroll and pack together. Like Loté, he too still looks tired. At first, she simply assumes it's because of all the stress he is under, and then silently scolds herself for being so naïve. Her friend is clearly the cause of his distress and apparent fatigue.

Seeing them approach, his face lights up, and the stress and fatigue that was etched into it a moment before suddenly evaporates. "We'll be heading out soon. If you two don't mind, I would appreciate it if you could march near the head of the column with me." Before Loté can ask why, he continues, "Several issues regarding the southern reaches came up earlier, and I didn't want to disturb your rest." This latter is directed squarely at Loté, and she involuntarily tenses, suddenly fearful that he is aware of her absence during the rest period. And then, he says, "They are not important matters, but it would be best to have them clarified by someone that has actually been into the reaches and knows what to expect."

His apologetic demeanor removes her suspicions, and she visibly relaxes. "I'd be glad to," she says happily. Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "You might suggest that the men fill all available containers with water before we get much farther south. I realize they're going to balk at the extra weight, when it seems so unnecessary, but trust me, soon they will be thanking you."

"That's a great idea," Layton quickly agrees. "Now you understand why I value your knowledge so highly."

Loté smiles at him, grateful for the compliment, but without any doubt that he is just being kind. It is one of the many endearing characteristics he possesses that just naturally draws people to him.

Turning to the man directly to his right, he quickly instructs him of Loté's suggestion. Not surprisingly, the man objects, the disdain in his voice carrying clearly to those around them. But Layton doesn't give in, and she watches with barely concealed embarrassment as the man lowers his head and shuffles off to carry out the orders. When the troops learn of the origin of the order, she will not be very popular with them. However, she is certain that will change, once they reach the farther reaches, and see firsthand what they are in for.

Within a few short minutes, Layton and his squad leaders have conversed and ironed out the final logistics of the march. Turning back to Loté and Elsa, he says with a smile, "If you ladies are ready, we'll be underway."

Adjusting her pack into a more comfortable position, they fall in abreast with Layton, his scouts working their way a mile or more ahead of the column, clarifying Rod's trail and keeping a sharp eye out for dangers. It is their responsibility to report back when anything out of the ordinary draws their attention.

"If the column can stand the strain, I've instructed the squad leaders that I intend to push the men for four hours before we rest again. The scouts were notified of my intentions before I sent them out, so they should find water to refill our supplies at that time," Layton casually remarks, bringing Loté up to speed. "Since we have no idea how far Rod and the others have had to go yet, and may still be going, it's important for us to set a brisk pace. Wouldn't you agree?" he asks of Loté, a smirk on his face belying the facetiousness of the question.

"You know damn well my intentions are to push you and these men to their limits," she retorts, feigning anger with him, but unable to keep a straight face.

"Did I miss something?" Elsa asks of them, her attention having been momentarily focused on one of Layton's young lieutenants. Although Layton doesn't notice because of all that is on his mind, Loté takes note of the tall young leader with the handsome features staring intently back at Elsa with a serious, almost grave expression. There is something familiar about him, and she decides that she must ask Elsa about him later, when they are alone.

"Loté was just telling me that she wants us to hurry, that it's important for us to overtake Rod and the others as quickly as possible," Layton tells her, chuckling all the while.

"Well, of course it's important," she argues for her friend's sake, missing Layton's sarcastic tone and demeanor.

"It's all right, Elsa," Loté quickly cuts in, her attention back on the conversation with her friends. "He is only teasing us."

Elsa, mistakenly thinking that somehow the joke is on her, grows silent and pouts until Layton, seeing how serious she is, apologizes to her. "I'm sorry, my dear," he says, still chuckling. "I was teasing Loté about her impatience to overtake Rod. My men can only travel so long before we have to rest. I'm already sending the stragglers back to Keazar, rather than let them slow us." He is no longer chuckling, but all business, as he continues. "For every extra hour we travel between rest stops, I lose valuable men. The faster the pace I set, the more men that will drop out. It's a mathematical formulae that I've had many marches to experiment with."

"That's quite interesting," Loté states, her interest piqued by the conversation. "Do you have an acceptable rate of falloff?" she asks, surprising Layton with her quick and intuitive nature once again.

Looking square at her, he says with admiration, "I see more about you every time we meet that impresses me. It is no wonder that Rod grabbed you up at first sight. But if he hadn't, he would be competing with me now for your hand."

"I'm not sure I care for the way you two are talking to each other," Elsa says hotly, feigning anger, and suddenly forgetting her sullen mood. Of all the people in the world, she couldn't trust anyone more than she trusts Loté and Layton. There is no jealousy, only an open and honest friendship.

After throwing a quick, patronizing smile at Elsa, Layton continues his conversation with Loté. "My goal is to have at least one hundred fifty able bodied men ready to go into battle when we catch up to Rod. My dilemma is that I don't have any way of knowing how far we will have to travel before we reach that point." It wasn't necessary for him to explain any further; she grasped his problem completely and made a mental note not to mention her haste to him again. For a moment, she felt foolish for not considering the loss in men that must happen when they are pushed hard.

And then, after giving his insight some consideration, she offers him the following formulae to assist with the calculations that are troubling him. "Since you know how many days ago I left Rod and his men, can't you calculate the distance they might have traveled since then, using both extremes and come up with an average to base your acceptable loss rate on?"

It was an easy solution to his dilemma, even if it wasn't one hundred percent accurate. "You are amazing!" he suddenly blurts, turning to look at her and stumbling over his own feet in the process. "It is so simple, I can't believe I didn't think of it myself." He scratches his head and grins from ear to ear. "More and more, you astound and surprise me with your abilities and knowledge," he continues with open admiration toward her.

"If you had asked me, I could have told you that," Elsa pipes up, not liking the fact that she is at a complete loss as to what they are discussing, but understanding enough to know that he is giving Loté an extremely flattering appraisal. If he had been describing anyone else, she would have been extremely jealous. But because it is Loté, she shares in her friend's slightly self-conscious delight.

"So," Loté asks with a grin and a wink toward Elsa. "Will you let me know how much faster we can travel after you've worked the calculations out?"

"You're impossible, Loté! How in the devil has Rod ever managed to keep up with you?" Before she can answer him, he says with a solicitous smile, "I will let you know the minute I've worked it out." Gradually, his face turns serious and he pauses for a minute while he studies the surrounding terrain, not happy about the change that is gradually taking place. "If I can leave the two of you alone for a few minutes, I'll be right back."

"Don't be long, love," Elsa says with a smile as he steps off to the side and looks down along the long line of men for the particular person that he wants to see.

"Where is he going?" Loté innocently asks of Elsa, once Layton is out of earshot.

"He thinks best when he is alone," she says softly, studying the trail ahead of them.

"It appeared to me that he was looking for someone," she urges, not completely satisfied with Elsa's reply, and silently concerned that he hadn't missed the exchange of looks between the lieutenant and Elsa after all.

"He was looking for the next expanse between his squad leaders so he can hike alongside without being drawn into a conversation." Then, before Loté can press her for more, she continues, "The regular troops hold his presence in awe and are too afraid to speak to him without being spoken to first. They will give him a guidance along the trail and safety from predators while he gets lost in his thoughts." She hesitates for a moment while Loté studies the surrounding area. Like Layton, she too doesn't like the change that is gradually taking place, even though she expects it. "I assume that mumble jumble you told him was important and he needs time to figure it out without any interruptions."

"I only hope he can use what I told him and it proves out to be accurate enough," she replies in a serious tone of voice. Believing that Layton is changing his strategy based on her idea suddenly makes her nervous, and she wonders if it was wise of her to say anything.

What if she's wrong!

But she quickly puts the notion out of her mind and instead concentrates on seeing her mate again. "I miss him, Elsa."

"I'm sure you do, my friend. And if Layton can do anything to bring you two together sooner rather than later, I am sure he will." She hesitates a moment before continuing, choosing her words carefully. "I don't understand everything you told him about distances and time, but I'm certain that if there is any way for him to bring the two of you together sooner, without adding losses to his army, he will do so. Yet, he is the commander of the new forces for justice both on the surface of Heälf, as well as the subsurface, and that is a lot of responsibility. As much as he feels ingratiated to both you and Rod, he cannot forget his priorities, or his commitment to the people, all the people," she adds with conviction.

"I understand your concern for him and his obligations, Elsa, but you know me well enough to know that I would never jeopardize anyone for my own selfish needs. And right now, my need to see Rod and be with him again is a very selfish need in comparison with the pain and suffering the slavers are inflicting on innocent people as we speak."

They walk on in silence for a while before Loté speaks again. "I guess, I am just concerned that he might try something stupid before we get there."

"Rod is a smart man, Loté. If he tries anything, it will not be stupid. Brave, maybe. Or even extremely courageous. But never stupid. And besides, he has Zin with him, and Zin is a very levelheaded man. He will keep your Rod safe from himself," she finishes with a snide chuckle.

"I think you understand a lot more than you let on to, Elsa."

In answer, Elsa throws her a wink, and then quickly steps out in front, swinging her firm buttocks and prancing like a young girl up to mischief.

At first, Loté maintains the pace previously set by Layton. But when Elsa draws a goodly distance ahead of her, she quickens her step to catch up, concerned for her friends safety. Although the foliage is growing continually sparser this far into the southern reaches compared with that along the equator, there are moments when Elsa vanishes for several long minutes at a time, and then reappears even farther ahead.

"Elsa!" Loté cries out to her during one of the brief moments when she can see her, trying to get her attention.

But Elsa continues moving forward, oblivious of Loté's cry or concern for her.

As the moments grow ever longer when she cannot see her friend, so does Loté's concern and agitation. And then, almost as if on purpose, Elsa doesn't reappear, and Loté's concern becomes overwhelming, spurring her to charge recklessly forward, her hand on the hilt of her long-knife. The column quickly falls away behind her, as she races after her friend.

"Elsa!" she calls between breaths. "Elsa, this isn't funny." Although Loté realizes that the scouts are ahead of them, it doesn't calm her anxiety, or soften her concern. "Elsa!" she calls again.

Suddenly, her friend appears between two low growing bushes off to her left. Raising her hands, she calls out to Loté, "Quick, come here."

Elsa's demeanor gives no indication of fear or alarm, and Loté quickly rushes toward her. But just before she reaches her, Elsa turns and runs off at a right angle, a high pitched squeal reaching Loté's ears just a fraction of a second before the sound of a loud splash, and then silence.

Loté suspects immediately what drew Elsa off the trail, and her suspicions are quickly realized as she turns beyond the stand of vegetation on her left and discovers Elsa on her back, floating happily in a shallow pool of water.

"Shame on you!" Loté cries out, and then, abandoning all caution, joins her in the tepid water of the pool, her footsteps stirring up little clouds of decaying vegetation and debris. "We shouldn't be doing this," she says mischievously.

"I know," Elsa laughs in response. "But what man will turn down a drink of water, simply because the two most beautiful women around have bathed in it?" she adds with a smirk, shortly followed by an uproarious laugh that sets Loté to laughing uncontrollably.

Fortunately, for Elsa, the water is so shallow that she isn't actually floating; her rear is planted firmly on the bottom. If she had been floating in deep water, she would have sank to the bottom, all the while gulping copious amounts of water, because she couldn't stop laughing so hard.

Relaxing, Loté's tired and aching muscles being softened by the warm water, their uncontrolled laughing finally subsides, and they lay back in the pool, gazing dreamily through the sparse jungle canopy above. Loté is the first to break the silence. "It won't be much farther before we're out of the jungle."

"I've only known the jungle and the subsurface," Elsa replies, her voice betraying a hint of anxiety. "What will it be like?"

"We'll need to protect ourselves from the moon-glow," she says softly, and then glances over at Elsa's creamy white complexion. "Especially you. My skin has been conditioned from occasional exposure to the moon's reflections, but you still look as if you just came out of the ground."

"Most men find my skin alluring," she says defensively, while pouting her lips and holding one of her long, smooth legs above the surface of the water for inspection.

"All men find any woman's skin alluring," Loté responds disdainfully, and then they both break out in peals of loud laughter.

"Do you remember that old hag in charge of Balzar's keep?" Elsa casually remarks, her thoughts not really on her words. "She didn't have alluring skin. In fact, I can't remember one time when a man wanted her."

Loté grows silent, turning her gaze full upon her friend, unable to believe that she could so callously bring up the name of the man that almost ruined her and Rod. Especially, since she just recently shared her concerns regarding the feelings she's been experiencing and how she can't shake the feeling that they have something do with Balzar.

When Elsa continues playfully splashing water on herself and Loté, oblivious of her friend's shock, Loté interrupts her playing with a sharp reprimand. "Don't ever use that name around me! I can't believe you can be so uncaring after the conversation I just shared with you."

Realizing what she's done, she abruptly sits up and meets Loté's stare of anger and shock. "I am so sorry, Loté. I wasn't thinking of him, I was remembering the maiden in charge of us. Oh, please forgive me."

Her sincerity is genuine, and Loté's anger quickly dissipates. But she is determined that Elsa not forget her hurt anytime soon. "In the future, when you are remembering the past, please think before you speak. You just threw his name out there like it had no significance, and it hurt me."

"I am truly sorry, Loté," Elsa continues, feeling sincerely troubled by her insensitivity toward her friend. But when she notices that Loté's anger has dissipated, a mischievous grin erupts on her face and she splashes her friend with muddy water.

Loté retaliates, and a high-spirited water fight quickly erupts between them. The sound of their cries alerts the approaching column, and out of concern, Layton and a small charge of his men break from the rest with weapons at the ready. What they discover beyond the concealment of the vegetation makes several of his stouter lads blush a bright crimson, before he hurriedly orders them to return to the column.

When they are out of earshot, Layton addresses the two women in the water much like a parent addressing misbehaving children. "If you two are about done, my men would appreciate it if the water could settle out before we fill our flagons and casks for the remainder of the journey. As it is, you've stirred it up to the point where I wouldn't want to bathe in it."

At that remark, the formerly humbled women erupt with a barrage of water each, aiming for the young commander's head, but falling short and leaving him looking as if he wet himself. Treating their affront with exaggerated aplomb, he turns as if to order his men to take them prisoner, but instead, suddenly spins around and belly flops onto the water between them. Although the water is shallow, barely more than eight inches deep, it is sufficient to create a small tidal wave that washes over both of them.

Spitting water and coughing, they are unable to contain themselves, and a chorus of shrieks and laughter erupts from the onlookers, almost all two hundred of them as they rush forward and crowd around the small pool of water containing three soaked humans. Some have weapons drawn, while others came forward fully aware of what lay ahead.

Layton is the first to regain his feet, and then stretches his hand out to first Loté and then Elsa, both of which are still shaking with a mixture of laughter and embarrassment. With Layton leading them through the throng of men, they resume the march. As they pass one of his squad leaders, he instructs the man to remain behind with his men and refill all the flagons and other water containers just as soon as the water settles enough.

Loté is acutely aware of the way more than just a few of the men are ogling her engorged breasts, but she isn't sure how she feels about it. She believes their intentions are lascivious toward her, but that they would never act on their urges for more than one reason, the main one being that Rod would hunt them down and kill them. The second one being, Layton only recruits men of strong character and high morals.

Their journey continues in a southwesterly direction for most of another day, while the vegetation continues to change in both color and character. No longer is it lush and green. Instead, it has become a dry, rusty brown and coarse in nature. There is no wildlife or water, and the memory of the small pool seems like a lifetime ago.

Loté understands the direness of Rod's decision to track the rogue slavers into the farther reaches when she recognizes the prized reeds. Since first discovering their unique characteristics, they have become a commercially harvested and traded commodity along the equatorial trail with growing acceptance and demand. The fabric made from the weaving of the reeds has become highly sought after, spurring many new expeditions into the farther reaches on both the north and south side of the equator to retrieve the valuable material. And along with the reed miners, which is what the harvesters have become known as since the reeds are as valuable as iron, so to have come the explorers and adventurers whose main goal is knowledge; learning as much as they can about the unexplored and inhospitable regions of the planet.

In anticipation of the direct rays of moonlight, everyone brought a hooded cape made of something opaque. Some were tanned and smoothed animal hide, while others were as simple as woven grasses. Only a few were made of the woven reeds contiguous to the area they were now in. Although Loté could have had one of the finer reed material capes, she went with a very simple woven grass one, fashioned for her by an admirer and close friend of Rod's named Rose. She wove them each one in matching thread patterns with a unique design emblazoned on the back so that everyone will recognize them when they are out and about, and not because she suspected they might venture into the farther reaches at some point in the future. Their main purpose was to be used for dress aboard Keazar's floating domain, since the high deck is exposed to direct moonlight and a glowing horizon off to the east, which can be just as dangerous as the moonlight. Because neither of them expected to need such apparel on their original journey, Loté took the time to pack Rod's hooded cape in her pack while she was aboard Keazar's domain.

A stark decline in the mood of the men since reaching the reed-covered tundra hasn't escaped Loté's attention. Covered in a heavy layer of reddish-brown dust, their capes hiding most of their features in shadow, no longer is their light banter and lewd jokes being passed along the line. Instead, they march with their shoulders slumped, their steps plodding out a steady, dismal cadence creating a growing cloud of dust hovering threateningly over their heads.

Because the scenery is virtually unchanging, Layton is taking fewer breaks while pushing the men farther, and at a more leisurely pace. Something is niggling at Loté, while she walks in silence beside Elsa, but she is unable to fathom what is bothering her. And then, it strikes her!

"Layton, you must rest the men," she commands suddenly from less than a meter behind him. Not waiting for him to turn and confront her, she spins about and stands in the way of the column, barring them from going any farther. "Listen up," she demands of the first in line, comprised mostly of squad leaders and strategists. "The men are not drinking enough. If they aren't careful, they will dehydrate. The effects will creep up on them, and they will become sick before they know what is wrong with them."

Turning back to face Layton, she is surprised when she sees him a short distance ahead of her, still marching forward, oblivious of the chaos she has created among his men. Elsa is frantically chasing him, herself having stopped and turned back toward the men. Reaching him, she grabs him by the shoulder and jerks him to the side. But instead of turning and wondering what Loté is doing with his men, he throws open his cape, the highly polished steel of his long-knife flashing briefly in the unnatural light.

Loté tries to scream a warning to her friend, but she is too late, and Layton's weapon swings wildly about the sky above his head. In his dehydrated and delusional state, he thinks his beloved Elsa is the enemy that must be vanquished. Fortunately, for Elsa, not all of her time aboard Keazar's domain was spent in the labs or in front of a mirror awaiting Layton's return. Many long hours were also spent among the guards, who took an acute interest in teaching her to use the very same weapon. Though she is caught completely off guard, never expecting the man she loves to try and cleave her head, she reacts instantly and with calm deliberation, bringing her own weapon up and across.

It should have been a simple parley, diverting his weapon harmlessly aside and to the ground. But Layton is not the average warrior with a long-knife. His skill comes from many lifetimes of battles and practice fields. Only one man can match his strength and agility in combat, and that man is Rod, or so common belief would have it.

As their weapons meet at the apex of their respective strokes, a loud clash of iron striking iron rings through the air, bringing immediate silence to the former chaos. Several of his squad leaders rush forward, uncertain as to what is taking place and who to protect. Instinct dictates that they should defend their leader, Layton. But the woman they have come to know and love is the lesser of the two combatants and in more need of assistance.

Loté, however, is ahead of them, her quick feet and nearer position giving her the advantage. Moreover, she understands what is unfolding before her.

Before even Loté can reach them, however, Layton's blade has forced Elsa's aside, and is reversing to make a slice across her mid-section that will open her up like an over-ripe melon. Unable to stop him, Loté watches in horror as Elsa tries vainly to step back from the flashing steel when suddenly, she senses a brush of air on the side of her head.

An object, moving so swiftly that she cannot discern its nature or origin, slices through the dead air with a whooshing sound, striking the side of Layton's head with a dull thud. Under any other circumstances, it would have been a lethal blow. But for the reed cape adorning him, it merely stuns him, and his weapon falls harmlessly to the ground.

While Elsa stares dumbfounded at her fallen man, Loté spins around to see who threw the object. Such force and accuracy requires either a great deal of skill, or a great deal of luck, and she wanted to know which and by whom.

The first candidate is a tall, darkly complexioned individual, his cape of thatch still moving as if caught in a breeze. However, she quickly disregards him when her eyes are drawn to a tall, well-built young man, his cape draped over his left shoulder, a sling hanging loosely in his right hand. His hood is thrown over his back, his head exposed in silhouette exposing a fine mane of thick curly hair. Although he is obviously the one she seeks, she hesitates a moment, her breath trapped in her chest, transfixed by the stern set of his jaw and the intensity of his eyes, as they remain focused on her dear friend, Elsa. This is the same man she saw staring at Elsa earlier.

Following his gaze, she turns back to see Elsa kneeling over Layton's inert form, where he lays sprawled and unmoving on the ground. Layton's men have pushed by her, and are joining Elsa next to Layton. After checking his heartbeat and breathing, they lean back on their haunches, relieved that he is simply unconscious. In a short time, he will come around and they will be able to administer necessary fluids to re-hydrate him.

In the meantime, several of the squad leaders order the troops into temporary bivouac so that water and rations can be dispersed to all. When the numbers are taken, it is discovered that several more of the men are also in shock from dehydration. Unlike Layton, they will be escorted back to the more moderate equator to receive their succor, rather than put a drain on the valuable water supplies with them.

Loté, keeping a close eye on the young man that saved Elsa's life, kneels down next to her friend and puts a comforting arm about her shoulder. "He'll be fine in a little while, Elsa. Can I get you anything?"

"He looked right into my eyes, and he didn't see me," she says absently, unable to accept the fact that Layton would have killed her if he hadn't been stopped.

"He didn't mean you any harm, my dear. In his delusion, he thought he was fighting an enemy, not you. You watch, when he comes around, he'll be so embarrassed by what he did, he'll be trying to make it up to you forever."

"You don't understand, Loté. He tried to kill me."

"It wasn't you he tried to kill, Elsa. He didn't know it was you," she argues again, but her friend isn't hearing her.

Although she is in shock from what just transpired, Loté wants to know more about the individual that saved her life. "Elsa, do you know a young man with thick curly hair, tall, muscular of build, and rather good looking in a rugged kind of way?"

The question distracts her for a moment, and she squints her eyes, trying to envision someone meeting Loté's description. Then, just when Loté fears she is slipping back into her stupor, she meets her gaze and says, "There is someone I know that might look like that. But why do you ask?"

Ignoring Elsa's question, she continues. "Do you know what he uses for a weapon?"

Without hesitation, Elsa says, "Sling." With the word out of her mouth, understanding comes, and she leaves the stupor and shock behind her. "Where is he?" she asks excitedly.

Now it's Loté's turn to be concerned and baffled. "Do you know of whom I speak?" she asks gingerly, suddenly suspecting that Elsa knows exactly of whom she speaks.

Elsa hesitates a long moment, and then says, "Tye."

"I knew I'd seen that face before. But it was so long ago, and he was just a child then. I must go see him."

"Before you do," Elsa says quickly, stopping Loté from rising. "There is something you must know."

"What's that?"

Before answering Loté, she looks around surreptitiously to be sure no one is eavesdropping. "He has professed his love for me, and I told him it wasn't meant to be, that Layton and I were meant for each other." She hesitates a moment before finishing. "He didn't take it very well."

"Little Tye? He was such a sweet child." And then, on a serious note, "Does Layton know about this?"

"Yes, I told him all about Tye."

"And he still allowed him to join his army?" she asks, incredulous.

"Like you, he doesn't see Tye as anything other than a young child. But he has grown up Loté. He is a man now," she says with conviction.

Understanding strikes Loté like a bolt of lightning. "Elsa! You didn't?"

"Layton is gone so much," she says softly. "And he showered me with so much attention. Finally, I gave in. I thought, stupid me, that I was just doing him a favor. But he hasn't moved on. He watches me all the time, though he has never spoken to me again."

"He does more than watch you, Elsa. Fortunately, today, his watching saved your life." She pauses for a moment before she asks, "Do you mind if I talk to him, sort of on your behalf?"

Elsa looks at her, and Loté sees the desperate hurt and longing in her eyes. After a long moment, she finally says, "No. You are a good friend, Loté, and I know you will say what is right, even if I can't agree with you."

Rising to her feet, she says before turning away, "In the future, you might be a bit more judicious with whom you share yourself, my friend."

In reply, Elsa quickly turns away, hiding her embarrassment from her friend.

Moving through the groups of men, Loté doesn't have to search far before finding Tye. He is seated off to himself, the hood now pulled firmly over his head, which is facing the ground as though asleep.

"Tye," she says softly, not wanting to startle the young man. When he stirs, unable to feign sleep any longer, she asks, "Do you remember me?"

"Of course," he answers brusquely.

"Can we talk, it's been a long time, and I think I owe you a debt of thanks."

"You don't owe me anything," he replies, his voice softening a bit.

"Just the same, I remember a brave young boy that saved many lives, Rod's and mine among them," she says with sincerity. "That boy was a hero."

"That boy is long gone," he replies, his voice betraying the extent of his experiences. Like a shot through her heart, Loté realizes that he is no longer a young child; that person died a long time ago. But she is equally determined to believe that although the child is gone, a brave, morally righteous man has taken his place; she hears that in his voice also.

"It's quite obvious to me that you have fallen in love with someone you can't have," she says, uneasy about intruding in other people's affairs.

"We have all eternity ahead of us," he says stoically, belying his true age and the sum of his experiences again. "Eventually, she will come to realize that he is the affair and that I am for real. I can wait."

"And what else, watch over her, protect her from harm, while your own life continues forward and you grow ever more bitter at what you perceive to be an injustice? Well, I'm sorry, but you can't have her, Tye. She wasn't meant to be your mate. You need to let go of her and move on!"

"It was nice of you to stop and see me. But we have nothing more to discuss," he says shortly, bringing their conversation to an abrupt end.

"At least consider what we've discussed," she pleads one last time before turning and leaving him to his silence.

On her way back to rejoin her friends and see how Layton is doing, she is acutely aware of the pain in her breasts again. "Yes, I miss you too," she says silently, her words intended for Nava, while she self-consciously massages her weeping nipples beneath the cover of her grass cape.

As she nears them, she sees that Layton has risen to his feet and is in the act of apologizing to Elsa. Loté assumes that this is just the first of many more apologies to come. For quite a while into the future, Layton will do whatever she asks of him, without question.

### **21**

With the deal settled and agreed upon, it was decided that all three of them would return to the rest of their group to collect the extra weapons. Even before they ran head on into Parco, who was leading the group toward them, Rod had decided that it would be he, Parco, that he would send back with Lofa on the presumption of helping transport all the weapons. But in reality, he intended on getting Parco aside without drawing suspicion and asking him to keep an eye on Lofa. Although he trusts Lofa well enough, and doesn't believe the man will sell them out to the rogues, such a covert mission will do wonders for Parco's moral and self-esteem.

In truthful reality, since he needs to send someone back with Lofa to help transport the load of weapons, he only determined that Parco would be the best choice because he will be the least missed.

"We will rest here," Rod states for everyone's benefit.

Once the flagons have been passed around and everyone has slaked their thirsts, Rod announces that he wants to hold a meeting. Instead of breaking off into their usual small groups, they remain together in the nearer vicinity of Rod and Zin. Under normal circumstances, Rod would have taken Zin aside and discussed his plans ahead of time, but there doesn't appear to be anything more to discuss. They have already decided that Lofa is going to take their extra weapons and arm as many of his able-bodied family as possible. The sheer weight of the weapons is more than a single man can carry, and Zin never inquired as to who was going to assist Lofa, so it obviously wasn't important to him.

Within a few minutes, Rod has relayed everything they learned from Lofa to the rest of their party. Next, he explains their plans to enlist the aid of Lofa's family, and the deal he struck with Lofa to insure their cooperation. At the mention of giving them partial ownership in a domain for their aid in fighting evil, Rod notices more than one frown among his men. Although he is not certain whether this indicates disappointment on their part, or distaste with Lofa and his family for having a price, Rod decides this is neither the place nor time to acknowledge it. If any of them feel slighted, they can bring it up with him later, after the deed is done.

"If you will, we need all the extra weapons from your packs and bodies. Since it will be impossible for Lofa to carry these items on his own, I'd like to ask Parco to join him."

Parco's jaw drops at the mention of his name. It has never occurred to him that he will be playing such a major role in the greatest battle for justice ever to be wagered on the surface in the history of Heälf. Parco rises as if accepting an award, his mind befuddled and overwhelmed. He has never felt such loyalty to any single man before in his life, as he is feeling toward Rod at this minute.

Feeling a moment of embarrassment for the man, Rod is suddenly at a loss for words. But he quickly overcomes his loss, and instructs Parco to see him alone before they leave.

"We'll give you a six hour head-start to get your family prepared," he quickly continues, addressing Lofa. He gives him the details on their planned approach so that he can have someone waiting to meet them and lead them in close without stumbling into a sentry. He doesn't tell them that only a couple of his men will arrive where he says, while the others encircle the domain. This is information that he only feels comfortable sharing with Zin until the last possible moment.

"Once we are in position," he continues for everyone's benefit, "we will overpower the ground forces, eliminating their control of the domain. If what Lofa has told us hasn't changed, they will have very few of their number on the ground."

He finishes by advising them to get as much rest as possible and to consider their water consumption carefully because they may be required to hold a standoff position against the rogues for a lengthy period of time while waiting for Layton and reinforcements to arrive.

Having dismissed the men so they can go through their individual packs, it is only a matter of minutes before the spare weapons have been gathered together for Parco and Lofa. Several lengths of cord are produced and an unused bedroll. The weapons are laid together on the bedroll and tied up with a pole long enough to protrude from each end. This is intended for handles, making it possible for Parco and Lofa to carry the weight evenly between them, and it is a considerable weight. However, instead of taking Zin's advice and adding their water supplies to the bedroll with the weapons, they carry the flagons in the conventional manner of slinging them over their shoulders.

With everything gathered, Parco slips off on his own, hinting casually as he goes that he is off to relieve himself. Since Parco never really melded with the others in the group, and Lofa is a complete stranger, the men quickly disperse into smaller groups, leaving Zin and Rod alone with Lofa. Zin, sensing that Rod wants some time alone with Parco, strikes up a conversation with Lofa. He uses the pretense of verifying all the information that Lofa has given them, and then gets descriptions of his various family members for later recognition. Rod takes the opportunity to slip off and find Parco, who is waiting nervously just beyond the camp's perimeter, behind a low hummock of ground.

"Relax, Parco," Rod says softly, trying to calm Parco's nerves. "Just think of it as an adventure and nothing more. We'll be right along behind you, so if anything goes wrong, we'll be there."

"I know that," he nervously replies. "Why did you want to see me?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you didn't put too much trust in Lofa," Rod says as calmly as he can. He is trying not to say anything that might cause Parco to panic, yet it's important for him to be aware of everything, and trusting Lofa could be a deadly mistake.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Parco says quickly, his nerves calming slightly.

"We need you to keep an eye on him, and the rest of his family as well, Parco," Rod says, watching him closely to monitor his anxiety. "If anything doesn't look right, you turn around and come straight back to us. Don't worry about the weapons, just drop them and retreat the safest possible way." He wants to tell Parco that only two of the men will be joining up with them at the agreed upon spot, but he is afraid of Parco unintentionally giving away their larger plan. Instead, he decides to use a different tact on the young man.

"I don't understand," the young man hesitantly replies. "If something isn't right, shouldn't I stay and fight? Wouldn't that be the right thing to do?"

"Under any other situation, that would be the bravest thing I could ask of a man, and you make me proud for believing that is what you would do. But under these circumstances, there will be many men's lives depending on you, and any early warning or information might prove invaluable." He pauses for a moment, gauging the exact second to continue. "A lot of people, both men and women, will be depending on you, Parco. This is your time to shine and be counted; this could be the battle that puts your name in the book of legends."

The reaction from Parco is exactly what he is hoping for when the young man blushes a crimson shade and lowers his gaze to the ground. The thought of being a hero, a savior of human life, is more important to him than life itself, and Rod knows with certainty that he can count on him to the best of his abilities. If Parco fails for any reason, it won't be from a lack of trying.

"We must get back before Lofa grows suspicious. Good luck to you, and don't forget what I said. If anything looks wrong, you drop and run. Get back to us safely and quickly," Rod reiterates, though he knows Parco hasn't forgotten a syllable of what he told him earlier.

"I'll do you proud, sir."

Rod clasps his hand and shakes it, saying, "I know you will."

The young man's grip is solid and steady, his nerves having dissipated for the moment. They head back to camp from slightly different directions and rejoin Zin and Lofa. After a few last words, Parco and Lofa heft the load of weapons between them, and set off toward the domain. Their intentions are to get as close as they can to the domain without being seen, and then continuing on without the weapons. After making contact with the camp followers, Lofa's family, they will outline the plan to them, and then return in small, inconspicuous groups to gather the weapons.

Although Rod and Zin are fairly certain that the slavers are expecting them, they still intend to keep the exact time of their attack secret until the very last moment. They want to catch as many of the sentries off guard as possible in order to limit their own losses. Moreover, if what Lofa has told them is true, and most of the rogues are joining their comrades aboard the domain, there will be very few sentries remaining on the ground. Taking control should be a quick and straightforward process.

But that is only if what Lofa has told them is truth, and not lies to lead them into a trap. Having just given them the bulk of their weapons, leaving his own small force with just a single weapon each, might not have been a very wise move on his part. Fretting over his misgivings, Rod asks of Zin, "We didn't just surrender most of our weapons to the enemy, did we?"

"We have to believe that all strangers are not our enemy, Rod, or we will grow to become so cynical that eventually we won't trust each other," Zin states without emotion.

"That's ridiculous, Zin. I will never become that cynical," Rod argues, firmly believing his words.

"Keazar might have said the same about Jontue, at one time," Zin states, his eyes meeting Rod's.

Rod quickly looks away as if studying the remaining men. Like most of the men and women that had met Jontue, Keazar's oldest and most loyal friend, the wound was not completely healed, and probably never would be, despite the continual passing of time. Jontue was Keazar's right hand man, an extension of himself, practically. And yet, because of a latent hunger for power, he betrayed Keazar and all of his friends when he attempted to use clones in a bid to take control of the subsurface.

Fortunately, for mankind, his clones were either too selfish or too preoccupied with killing and mayhem to do his bidding, and he was unable to control them. To Rod and his faithful group of followers, those were the saving graces that made it possible for their small numbers to emerge victorious despite the overwhelming numbers of clones.

Yet, Jontue would never achieve the notorious stature of Lord Balzar. While Jontue was basically a misguided individual, Lord Balzar was evil incarnate. His legacy included centuries of slavery and torture, including a complete neglect for humanity. Lord Balzar's reputation for cruelty and the sadistic use of women stretched on for more than a thousand years, while Jontue barely made a blip on the history graph.

"Jontue fostered a desire for power for many years before finally acting on it," Rod finally responds, thinking he is explaining why Jontue is different from himself, when Zin cuts his argument off short.

"You would be lying to me, Rod, if you told me that you didn't savor a small amount of power, yourself."

It was true, and Loté had pointed it out to him many times before. She had even gone so far one time during one of their very infrequent disagreements, as to blame his hunger for power as the main reason he feels so strongly regarding injustices against innocent people.

"You've been talking to Loté again," Rod states defeatedly.

"I don't have to talk to Loté to know what drives you, my friend." Rod feels the color in his cheeks turning as a flush of warmth rises up the back of his neck. It has always made him uncomfortable when people have been able to guess his motives and intentions, even his closest friends. But Zin isn't finished with simply making him feel uncomfortable. "You thrive on being the people's champion. It gives you a rush, makes you feel invincible, all powerful, because you're fighting the righteous cause." He pauses for a second, studying Rod's uneasiness. "Can you deny it?" he finally asks.

Hesitantly, Rod humbly replies, "No."

"I didn't think so." Zin turns away for a moment before opening his flagon and turning back to Rod, the flagon extended to him almost as a peace offering.

"Thanks," Rod says, accepting the proffered flagon and drinking deeply of the tepid liquid. Handing the flagon back, Rod states, "We must get going soon so we can get the men into position before the rogues expect us."

"You speak as if you expect Lofa to inform the rogues of our plans," Zin replies with a heavy sigh. And then, before Rod can argue, he adds with weightiness to his voice, "Yes, it is almost that time, isn't it."

Rod senses the eagerness in his voice and body language despite the sigh of resignation. His friend is anxious for the upcoming battle. It will give him release and fulfillment; both of which, he is currently unaware he needs. Once the battle starts, he will remember, though. Of that, Rod is certain.

Without realizing that he is doing so, Rod checks the movement of his weapon in its sheath. Zin, noticing the reflexive action, nods at him and says with a crooked smile on his face, "You too, huh?"

Self-consciously, rod lets his long-knife drop back into place before moving off toward the resting men. Zin follows close behind him, recapping the flagon and slinging it over his shoulder.

As they stand before the small group of men, Rod has his first serious doubts. They may be the most loyal men on the surface, but it doesn't change the fact that they are not warriors by trade, and they are so few compared to the large number they are being asked to go up against.

But he is committed to his plan, even if he is having second thoughts. Already, Parco and Lofa are arming Lofa's family, preparing them for a battle that can only result in bloodshed. There is no turning back for any of them.

"The plan is quite simple and I don't expect any of you will have a problem with it." He takes a deep breath and glances at Zin, subconsciously looking for support before laying out the generalities of the plan. They will give directions that are more specific to each man once they reach the place where they will separate into two-man squads. "The whole key to survival and ultimate victory lies in stealth," he starts off, making eye contact with each of the men as he continues. "Once we're within proximity of the domain, we'll break into two-man units. Two units will advance west until they are directly in the path of the domain. While one unit remains there, the other will continue to advance to the north side of the domain, where they will keep pace with it if it is still moving. The last information we have is that the rogues were mounting the domain, leaving only a skeletal force on the ground to handle the few slaves responsible for feeding and watering the toters. If this is true, it should not be moving at this time. We won't know for certain until we get closer." Rod pauses to take a breath before continuing. "Lofa and his family will be the main force of our attack, coming in from the rear of the domain and assisting where needed."

"If the domain is still moving," Zin cuts in, wanting to give the men a little moral boost before heading out. "Their numbers on the ground should be few. We shouldn't have any problems overpowering them and freeing the slaves with the help of Lofa and his family."

"If you take prisoners, bring them directly to Zin or myself," Rod quickly adds. "But don't take any chances with them. The men we will be fighting have no morals or empathy, they will just as quickly cut you as look at you." Rod looks from one to the next, and then adds, "If there are any questions, feel free to ask them now. Once we start out, there will be no more talking. And lastly, don't forget to drink often, but restrict yourself to small amounts. Dehydration can creep up on you without warning."

No one has any questions; so, Rod takes the lead and heads off toward the west and south, hoping to come at the domain from its port side, where the rogues will least expect them. In addition, Lofa's family should have the rear covered.

They don't travel far before cresting a small rise in the ground and sighting the domain ahead and to their right. Rod adjusts their course accordingly, and picks up the pace, anticipating the coming battle with a zeal he hasn't felt for many a long year. Glancing back, he is satisfied with their heavy covering of dust, making them almost invisible against the same colored background. His only concern is that their movement against the unmoving terrain will give them away. But it is a concern he must live with.

Shortly, they are parallel to the domain, and Rod is relieved to discover that it is stationary. Crouching low and moving slowly through the reeds, they advance toward the domain, both Rod and Zin constantly studying the upper railing and then dropping their gaze to the ground below, trying desperately to separate the moving figures into foes and friends.

But they are still too far to make out individual characteristics, and so they continue moving cautiously ahead. Of one thing, they are certain, and that is that the small group directly behind the domain is Lofa's family, which Rod now believes to be closer to the domain than when him and Zin last approached it.

Using a universal sign language that all warriors know and understand with ease, he relays this to Zin, who immediately confirms his suspicions. His anxiety level quickly diminishes because of this and he breathes a sigh of relief, for now it means without a doubt that Lofa and his family are indeed going to assist them. Until this moment, Rod was concerned and worried that he had sacrificed Parco, fearing Lofa's family would ally themselves with the rogues instead and turn on them, killing the man before he knew what was happening, despite Rod's advice to watch his back. But now, it appears he worried for naught.

As they draw ever closer to the domain, their progress slows with the extra caution they must use. When they are finally in position, Rod indicates the first two men in line to advance to the far side of the domain by traversing across the stern and north. The next two men in line he instructs to remain in position, while Zin and he advance to the stern, close behind the first two. Once in position, everyone is to remain quiet and wait for Rod's signal. If anyone is discovered prior to Rod giving the signal, all are to jump into action immediately and advance as quickly and viciously as possible.

Moving stealthily behind the first two men, Rod silently draws his long-knife, while carefully lifting his head and studying the surrounding terrain, drawing a mental image in his mind of where the rogues and slaves are in relation to the domain positioned high above their heads. So far, he has only been able to count seven rogues, separated from the slaves by their weapons and armament. He knows there must be more, but he hasn't been able to locate them.

There is also the possibility that several more of the rogues have retreated to the domain, leaving even less on the surface. He hopes this is the case, because he doesn't want any more bloodshed than necessary.

But his hopes are quickly dashed, when a small group of rogues suddenly rise to their feet, just a short distance ahead and to their right. Doing a quick count before dropping down below the top of the reeds, he comes up with another nine, heavily armed men. Not counting the two drivers in amongst the toters, that means there are at least sixteen warriors, all armed and dangerous on the ground. It is more than Rod was expecting, based on Lofa's information. But it is still within their means to overpower them.

Once he and Zin are in position, they wait in silence, giving the first two men again as much time to complete the other half circle that will put them due north of the domain. While they wait, Zin un-slings his flagon and passes it to Rod, who readily accepts and takes a frugal sip before handing it back with a thankful nod. Slipping his buff back from his head, Zin makes quite a vision. The only things not a rusted, dusty color are his eyes; they are clear and anxious. It is almost as if they are already hunting their prey, and in many ways, Rod thinks to himself, they are.

Because of the heavy layer of rust colored dust, he appears to be wearing a clay mask; Rod is confident that his own face mirrors that of his comrade.

Being careful not to rise above the tops of the neighboring reeds, Rod and Zin slowly remove the rags they tied over their bare skin to protect them from the harsh light rays bouncing off the twin moons. All the men were instructed to do this before going into battle so there is little chance of being handicapped by their own devices.

When they are finished, Zin signs Rod, "It will be soon now."

Rod nods back in acknowledgement. It will be up to the team of two men on the northern side of the domain to start the attack, since they had the farthest distance to cover before getting into position.

After a few minutes of silence, Rod grows slowly more impatient until he begins to worry that something might have happened to his men, and while Zin and him sit silently waiting for the signal, rogues are creeping up to ambush them.

He is about to sign his concerns to Zin, when a yell erupts from the northeast. For reasons that he cannot fathom, it appears that Parco has started the charge with Lofa's able-bodied family members. Rising slowly because of his lingering fear of being ambushed, he quickly scouts the area north of them, directly beneath the hovering domain. The first thing he sees is the small group of rogues with their weapons at the ready, rushing toward the east, head on into Parco, who is being followed closely by Lofa and approximately a dozen men of varying ages. While some appear ancient, barely capable of walking, and quickly falling behind, others are charged up like zealots, almost keeping abreast of Parco, who appears to have come into his own.

Parco is definitely leading the rush, and doing a fine job of it, as far as Rod is concerned. As he rushes through the reeds, subconsciously selecting his first opponent, he is stung by a jab of guilt for having judged Parco so lowly. When next they meet face to face, he will tell him how proud he has made him.

Out of Rod's peripheral vision, he sees Zin breaking off to his left, intent on assisting the smaller numbers of his two-man teams coming from the west and north. Rod feels he should be doing the same, and not heading toward their own largest force, despite it being outnumbered as well.

His indecision costs him valuable seconds, and then, out of the mass of tethered bodies, he sees the drivers, each brandishing a short-corded whip capable of severing flesh to the bone, and what appears to be a small axe. This latter is probably standard equipment they carry in case of a death in the tethers and there is the immediate necessity of cutting the body loose. The metal edge is shining brightly, more than capable of hacking through a human thighbone in a matter of seconds.

Seeing Rod directly ahead of them, and feeling confident that their comrades can easily handle the other attackers, they charge toward him, the whips snapping in the hot, dry air, the axes appearing like black steel in the shadow of the domain as they hold them high above their heads. Both men are heavily muscled, selected for their job because of their massive bulk and intimidating size. They might also have been selected because they enjoy inflicting pain and punishment on people incapable of fighting back.

Rod, however, has every inclination of fighting back, and he is determined to give them both a taste of their own medicine before seeing them die!

They close fast and hard, Rod slicing an intentional glancing blow to the man on the right, severing the triceps just above the elbow joint and causing the axe to sail free of his outstretched arm, while ducking beneath the whistling whip of the man to his left.

Without breaking stride, Rod pirouettes and jabs, the point of his long-knife slicing into the un-harmed man's right kidney, even as he's turning away from Rod. But Rod's own momentum carries him even farther away from the two men, and both are far from finished, giving them opportunity to regroup and assess their opponent before attacking again.

This time, instead of charging together, they come at him from slightly different angles, putting just enough distance between themselves to force Rod into having to choose which one he will defend against, while the other can attack unhindered. But Rod isn't a novice, and has many hours of accumulated experience fighting more than one assailant at a time. Instead of waiting for them to reach him, forcing him to take a defensive position, he charges the one coming at his left, effectively putting him between himself and the other opponent, forcing him to work around his own comrade.

Unfortunately, what they lack in teamwork, they more than make up for in drive and determination. Rod suddenly realizes that by wounding them, he has done nothing more than raise their ire toward him, not that they would have cut him any slack, otherwise. But it was an egotistical move on his part, when he should have dispatched with them quickly and moved on to assist elsewhere.

Unable to inflict the blow against the man on his left that he'd intended before the man on the right is clear, Rod slices upward with his long-knife in a move to protect his exposed face from the flailing whip, and is surprised to hear the unmistakable sound of metal slithering along metal. What he had assumed to be nothing more than a leather whip for harassing the toters with, is in reality many ribbons of razor sharp tethering material, bonded together at the hilt. Each individual blade is made of a very tough metal capable of filleting flesh to the bone with ease. Its original intention was for slicing through the jungle canopy with as little resistance as possible. But now, it was being used for a much more deadly intent.

This knowledge gives him new respect for his assailants, and he quickly determines that he has indeed made a grave mistake. Not only does he not have the luxury of time to toy with them and make them suffer for all the suffering they've inflicted, he must get to business and finish them off before they can inflict damage to him, which is now a very real possibility.

Moving lightly on his feet, Rod turns ninety degrees and arches over backwards, bringing the long-knife down in a cleaving blow intended for the top of the whip handler's head. But the man is moving, repositioning for another strike, his right arm flinging almost uselessly away from his body, when Rod's weapon arcs down, severing the flailing arm clean away.

The man lets out a gut-wrenching scream, a fountain of crimson spraying wildly from the stump of his arm. But the fight isn't out of him yet, and before Rod can check the advance of the other opponent, whom only has a small puncture wound in his back, the one-armed assailant lashes out, catching Rod across his left forearm, leaving three deep, nasty gashes. Fortunately, it was only a glancing blow, or they would have flayed the flesh from his arm.

Sidestepping the lesser wounded, Rod ducks and jabs, catching the one-armed man in the back, just below his rib cage. Giving the long-knife a twist, he hears a rush of air escaping from the wound, while blood froths almost immediately from his mouth. And though the man will eventually drown on his own blood, he is still a threat and a danger to Rod. But the other man refuses to be denied, and again charges at Rod, flailing the axe in his left hand, the whip in his right, which is the weapon of favor to him.

Done toying with the men, Rod stands his ground against the charge, feeling secure that the second man is too slowed by his wounds to regroup swiftly enough to catch him off guard. Glancing briefly at the burning pain emanating from his arm, Rod sees the blood rising to the top of the wound inflicted by the whip, and his anger suddenly rises like bile in his throat. The cuts are clean and should heal quickly, but that isn't on his mind at the moment. With all of his strength, his arms bulging and bronzed from the moon glow and dust, he holds the long-knife steadily before him, extending it his full reach, feigning vulnerability. The man is secure in the belief that he will knock Rod's weapon aside with the axe while shredding the flesh from his face and throat with a quick flick of the deadly whip.

The move might have worked many times in the past when fighting simple villagers and family men. But the rogue's experience against true and just warriors is very limited, and he is about to discover a superior force that bites with a more vicious appetite than his steely-ribboned whip.

As he swings the axe at Rod's head, intending to draw the weapon's edge away from his own body, he turns slightly aside, lining up his right arm for the lethal flickering of razor sharp ribbons. But instead of taking the bait and using his weapon to deflect the advancing axe, Rod springs straight up while kicking out the lower half of his body, putting himself beyond the reach of the short handled weapon. Meanwhile, his own blade moves just enough to keep the assailant's face before it, and the rogue runs himself into his own death, as he continues charging forward, the deadly ribbons falling short of their mark as Rod's blade slices cleanly into his throat, coming to a stop only after protruding almost twelve inches from the back of his head.

In the fashion of a true warrior, Rod gives his blade a quick and hard twist to maximize the wound before retracting it and turning to face the other assailant. But he needn't have hurried, for the other man is on the ground and writhing in his own bloody foam, as the last of his life ebbs away. Rod had hastily assumed that the wound was a punctured lung, and it would take a while for the man's strength to ebb. But now he assumes the twist of the blade might have nicked the heart, bringing the man's death about much quicker.

Yet, Rod spares little time contemplating either one's death, before the yells and screams combined with clashing steel draws his attention to the other battles yet raging beyond him. With the skill of an experienced fighter, he quickly assesses the situation while moving forward, almost subconsciously picking his next opponent. Seeing Parco still standing in the midst of several rogues, fighting like a man possessed, Rod is suddenly prouder of him than he ever would have imagined possible. His style is not fancy or very effective, but what he lacks in skill, he is more than making up for with desire and fear.

Grinning, Rod moves toward him, but is suddenly distracted by a commotion off to the north. There is a lot of movement among the toters, mixed with screams and cries, some of jubilation, others of terror. Zin is somewhere off to his left, but he cannot see him among the mass of bodies. A small group of slaves hesitantly shamble out from the toter's area, where they were busily feeding and watering the tethered slaves when the battle broke out. Seeing Rod, they rush toward him, screaming with excitement and hope; to them, he is their savior, their messiah!

But there is no time yet for accolades and adoration. Several of his men are unaccounted for, including Zin, while several others are still fighting valiantly, their lives hanging in the balance.

Without further hesitation, Rod swings to his right and east, both to escape being surrounded by the slaves advancing toward him from the west and to assist Parco. As he nears the battle, he sees Lofa on the ground, a deep bloody gash across his chest. He is still alive and struggling to regain his feet with the help of several elderly men, whom Rod assumes are part of his family. Without giving warning, Rod overtakes the nearest of the rogues. The man's back is turned to him as he tries to taking advantage of Parco's inexperience, and their currently overwhelming numbers. Rod jabs him from behind, catching him between the ribs, his long-knife slicing cleanly between the bones and protruding out his chest. With a twist and jerk, he moves on to the next, who turns at the last moment and sees him coming. Not feeling comfortable about killing men with their backs turned to him, Rod is almost glad the rogue saw him coming.

Close up now, Rod suddenly becomes aware of Parco's wounds which, although appear superficial, are many and bloody. He glances toward Rod and smiles, his spirit soaring with the adrenalin rush of battle. Rod smiles back at him before parrying a jab at his midsection. There is the crash of steel striking steel, followed by a sharp screech of metal sliding brutally along metal before sinking into soft, human flesh. Rod realizes the satisfaction of drawing first blood again.

It turns out to be a superficial wound, most of the impetus of his weapon having dissipated along the steel of his opponent's blade. To Rod's instant dismay, the opponent is faster than expected, and Rod has the sinking realization of knowing he underestimated the man, having assumed he was inexperienced simply because he hadn't killed Parco yet. Before Rod can bring his attack forward and force the rogue in the defensive position, the man is spinning and twisting, his weapon pirouetting over his head and carving a dangerous arc back toward him. It is all he can do to get his own blade between the advancing steel edge and his upper torso.

Yet, the clash of steel never happens, as his opponent was only feigning the move, before twisting back and over the top, the heavy iron of his weapon suddenly slashing downward at the top of Rod's exposed skull.

This time, however, Rod is ready, and expects the counter-move from him. Even before he thinks it through, he is already positioning himself for the opening it will leave him. With the grace of a dancer, Rod side steps mere inches, and turns toward his opponent, the whistling iron moving swiftly through the air just fractions of an inch from his face. Instead of taking advantage of the opening that presents itself, and going for the kill, Rod recklessly brings his own weapon down on top of the rogues, driving it with tremendous force against the ground, the impact so great and the steel so sharp and brittle, it snaps off at the hilt.

His gaze meets his opponent's for the first time, and they stare at each other. There is no fear in the man's eyes, nothing but hatred looking back at him. If Rod had felt any prior compunction toward showing the man mercy, he doesn't any longer.

With a stroke the man can see coming, Rod's blade whistles through the dry air, slicing cleanly through the heavily corded muscles encompassing his opponent's throat. And yet, though the man sees the blow coming, he never flinches.

With a certainty born of experience, Rod understands the man's casualness with death, and the belief that he will be recycled again. Because they have been killed so many times, it has become their way of life, allowing them little to no regard for other human life. To die is no more of an ordeal to them than the daily grind of living. When death no longer holds any significance, eventually the only thing of interest is the infliction of extreme pain and humiliation upon the less fortunate, who they feel have allowed themselves to become the victims, a role they have no intention of ever playing, at any cost.

It is Rod's intention to change that, and make these bastards pay for their indifference towards humanity. Covered in rogue blood, Rod quickly covers the short distance to Parco who glances briefly at him, a lopsided grin of relief on his blood, sweat, and dust-covered face. Thwarting a crossing blow with his long-knife, Rod smiles back and says through clenched teeth, "You're looking good there, my friend."

His words give the inexperienced warrior encouragement, boosting his moral. Rod's experienced eye is quick to note an increase in his speed as the young man pushes himself harder, driving into the overwhelming number of more experienced opponents.

With a grace and style that he's learned over the millennium, Rod picks and chooses his moves, keeping pace with the less experienced Parco so that they appear to be fighting at the same level of skill. Rod is doing this for Parco's benefit, and not his own glory. He is allowing Parco to win the individual battles, while insuring that no serious blows land on the man. Being careful not to be obvious, he is taking little more than the necessary action to divert any strikes that might penetrate his less experienced defense.

Together, they slowly advance against the rogues, gradually dwindling their opponent's numbers. As moments of opportunity present themselves, Rod glances around the area, assessing the overall conflict of forces. Several of Lofa's family members are still on their feet and grouped together, attacking only when the odds appear in their favor, retreating when they aren't. In a time past, Rod would have harbored ill feeling toward them and their less than brave ways. But those days are gone. No longer does he hold others to the same high level of expectations as he does himself. He has learned that not all men are made of the same metal, and that is neither good nor bad. Some men must be there to build homes and raise families, while others must go off to fight wars and conquer injustices, wherever they may find them. Just because Lofa's family is out in the battlefield, and not cowering behind their wives and children, he is proud to be their comrade.

The fighting has carried them into the deeper shadows of the domain where the air is cooler and danker. But being directly beneath the domain brings him into close proximity with the tethered slaves and his nostrils are immediately assaulted by the odor of two hundred or more people that have been tied in one place for an extended period of time with no proper facilities for relieving themselves or adequate access to hygiene. Because they are unable to either assist in the fight for their freedom or to run away from it, they have become confused and frightened, growing more restless by the minute. Rod notices in a distracted way that the domain appears to be heaving with the wild surging of the totes pressing against their bonds.

Glancing across their massed bodies, he searches for Zin and the others, concerned for their safety and to assess their situations. The first men he sees are those coming from the north, already beneath the shadow of the domain and working dangerously through the tangle of toters to reach the position he has taken up with Parco. Briefly, he catches their eye, and instead signs them to the west, to where he should be able to see Zin, but is unable to.

They understand his signals, and adjust their course. Rod notes before losing sight of them amongst the toters that both are suffering their share of cuts and scratches. Yet, neither seems hindered by the superficial wounds, and both are still brandishing their weapons with zeal. He is relieved to see that his small band of men with the help of Lofa's family is taking control of the ground.

He is about to glance up at the looming underbelly of the domain, when Parco trips over a dead body, and the two rogues working him, move swiftly to finish him off. Rod is too far by several feet to intervene, and his heart skips a beat as he witnesses one of the rogues slashing downward with a long-knife.

But the blade strikes metal, not flesh, and he is given a bare moment to engage the rogue before the other can take advantage of Parco's vulnerable position on the ground, with his long-knife pinned against his chest by the rogue's blade.

Lunging blade first, Rod is stunned by the blanched, bloodless white of Parco's face as he squirms and gasps for air. The blow has knocked the wind out of Parco's lungs, but while he struggles for air, the rogue is keeping him pinned to the ground, allowing his comrade the coup d'état.

Rod moves with such speed and grace, the second rogue is caught off balance as he concentrates on Parco's head, and the placement of his weapon. With the familiar thud of hi-tensile steel striking against bone, Rod's weapon stops abruptly in the upper torso of the second rogue, entering just below the armpit and crashing through the ribcage, shattering bone and coming to rest against his sternum. Viciously, Rod jerks his weapon, fearing and realizing the worst; his blade is lodged solidly in the rogue's bones and refuses to break free. While Parco is struggling for his life, Rod suddenly finds himself without a weapon.

However, Rod is not without ingenuity, and before the rogue's body can fall to the ground, Rod gives a mighty jerk on the hilt of his weapon, drawing the corpse to him. And then, relinquishing his own weapon from his grasp, he reaches out for the dead rogue's long-knife before it can fall from his lifeless grasp. In his haste, he misses the dead rogue's hand, grasping the bare steel of the blade in his unprotected hand instead. As his fingers close over the sharp steel, he feels it cutting through the skin and heavy callous material formed from a lifetime of handling weapons. And then, despite the pain and damage he is doing to his hand, his grip tightens, and the blade halts as it comes free of the corpse's death grip.

But time is running out for Parco, and with no other options, Rod flips the blade in the air and catches it with his good hand, bringing it across his chest in an awkward, feeble blow. It catches the rogue across the back and barely breaks the skin, but it gets his attention, and he suddenly jumps back from Parco, turning to confront Rod.

With a move that normally intimidates opponents, Rod flips the long-knife back to his other hand while turning to put himself over the struggling form of Parco. But the blood is flowing freely from his fingers, and the hilt slips through his bloody grasp.

"Ha, ha!" yells the rogue with glee, anticipating an easy kill, as he brandishes his long-knife threateningly. Before Rod can reach down for his fallen weapon and protect himself, the rogue attacks, slicing easily at the unarmed Rod.

Instincts cry out for him to retreat, to put his vulnerable and exposed body beyond the deadly reach of the rogue's weapon, but he refuses to abandon Parco. Crouching low, his bare arms exposed to the deadly weapon, he wishes suddenly that he had retained his throwing knife and not given it to Lofa's family. But it is too late for that, and he is left with his bare hands to defend against the heavy lethal steel of a long-knife.

Using his naturally quick instincts and even quicker reflexes, Rod's eyes follow the movement of the rogue's weapon, unflinching as the blade draws a level slice through the dry, overly heated air. Intently, he watches it come at him, judging the speed and force with a practiced eye. Every nerve is crying out for him to move, to reach safety before the blade can strike him. But he stubbornly refuses to budge, waiting almost patiently as the blade draws swiftly toward him. He knows that if he moves too soon, the rogue will adjust, and he won't get another chance. Only when it appears too late for him to evade the highly honed blade, does he adjust his stance, and without even appearing to move, lowers his head just barely enough for the blade to sail harmlessly over him.

Although he would love nothing better than to witness the rogue's expression of bewilderment at having missed what appeared an almost stationary target, he cannot afford himself the luxury. Even as the realization sinks in and the rogue is moving his feet to adjust for the weight of the weapon, Rod's eyes are following the path of the blade. Rising behind it, his right hand flicks out with blinding speed and grasps it by the trailing edge; the thick, blunt edge that cannot cut his calloused skin.

But the blade is moving with too much force, and he cannot hold on, which was never his intention. It is enough that he disrupts the trajectory of the heavy iron weapon while the rogue is caught off his stance, having to move his feet to compensate missing Rod.

When the rogue stumbles, Rod releases the blade, allowing the kinetic energy to carry it forward, and again catching the rogue unprepared. Yet, even before his hand is clear, his own foot is coming up as he pivots toward the man. With a dull thud, his left heel connects with the rogue's right hip, further driving him off balance.

Stumbling and off balance, the rogue is unable to check Rod's advance, and before he can turn and bring up the heavy weapon, Rod plants another, more solid kick into the side of his left leg, just above the knee. There is a loud crack of breaking bone followed immediately by the sharp inhalation of breath, as the rogue is rocked with the jolt of pain. His left leg buckles at an awkward angle, and he falls writhing with pain to the ground, the long-knife coming free of his grasp as he grabs his shattered knee in both hands.

Fueled by adrenalin, Parco moves with incredible speed and agility, quickly lunging past Rod and scooping up the abandoned long-knife. Almost before Rod can stop him, he is over the injured Rogue, holding the long-knife with the blade pointed straight down at the rogue's exposed heart.

"No!" Rod calls out, his voice instantly freezing the man with his arms raised above his head, the weapon poised to strike. "We need information," Rod quickly adds, when Parco turns a questioning look toward him.

The look on Parco's face stuns Rod, and he is about to argue with Rod, when Zin comes charging over. Seeing Parco poised over the injured rogue, Zin looks beseechingly to Rod for answers. "We need information," Rod repeats. And then, when Zin continues looking at him questioningly, Rod adds, "He can confirm what we already know."

Zin nods at Parco and says softly, but with authority, "Put it down, son."

Hesitantly, Parco lowers the long-knife, and then slumps forward to his knees with fatigue. With the blade of the weapon jammed solidly against the ground, he leans heavily on the hilt for support, all the while keeping an eye on the rogue, still hoping for an excuse to use the weapon on him.

"You're injured!" Zin suddenly declares at the sight of Rod's wounds.

"It's nothing," he argues. But Zin grasps his right hand and turns the arm to inspect the wounds for his self.

"I've sent one the boys to fetch our supplies. We'll have that looked after just as soon as he returns."

"How do we stand?" Rod asks of him, fearing the worse. "I lost track of you for a while, back there."

"Lofa's family lost a few. We suffered only wounds that will heal," Zin says a bit breathlessly. "I got caught up in the tethers. Were you worried about me?" he adds with a smirk.

"What about the slaves?" Rod asks, ignoring the snide remark.

Zin turns away for a moment before answering, and then hesitantly replies, "They killed all but a few of the handlers. They were probably hoping to silence them so they couldn't give us any information."

"Parco!" Rod says suddenly. "Where is Lofa?"

Parco's expression is all the answer he needs. "Can you find the man in charge of his family and bring him here?"

Without a word, Parco rises stiffly to his feet and heads off to the north. Glancing up at the belly of the domain, Rod asks of Zin, "How safe do you think it is here?"

"Would you rather make camp out in the light and heat?"

"No. Make sure we have a sentry watching it at all times. I want to know if anyone tries coming down," Rod stated with finality.

In a short while, the supplies were brought into the shade of the domain and Rod's wounds were treated, as well as those of all the other survivors. Since the handlers had been killed, he ordered his men to rest and then begin preparing food for the almost two hundred men and women tethered to the domain.

When Parco returns with the family elder, Rod reiterates for his benefit all the details of their deal. Then a brief ceremony is held to honor their dead. Rod is asked to say a few words over them, one of the bodies being that of Lofa. Hesitantly, but feeling obligated, Rod states his praise of their selfless contribution to humanity and justice. Then he watches as one of his men collects tissue samples for later recycling. They also collect and label samples of the dead rogues, though it goes against his better judgment. But that is an argument he will fight later, in their newly established court system.

For now, they will eat and rest. Then, with everyone rested and their wounds tended to, they will begin the Herculean task of moving the domain. Because the tethered slaves are locked in their harnesses, and it will take much time to release all of them, possibly destroying the harnesses in the process, it will be less trouble to move them to a new site with the domain in tow. Already, the stench is permeating through the entire area. Yet, even more troubling, the accumulating feces and wastes are creating an unhealthy environment for everyone.

Of course, this is exactly what Rod had intended all along. Soon, they will be on their way to bringing the domain with its deadly cargo of rogues to Layton. Leaning back against the small pile of supplies, Rod glances across at his friend Zin, and a smile of contentment turns up the corners of his mouth. Knowing him as well as he does, Zin smiles back, equally pleased with their conquest and the fame it will bring them. In their minds, this is the stuff legends are made of. Their children will be talking about this for many millenniums to come.

### **22**

They travel for several long hours, the scenery around them changing drastically as they continue their steady advance toward the southeast, and Horspaw's ultimate destiny. Along with the changing scenery comes the changing climate, and the gradually hotter, drier air. Pena is hot, tired, and still debating whether or not she has made the right decision when she chose to take Kaja away from the equatorial trail, and any possibility of finding a woman that can give him what he needs. She is unaware that her choice is about to have a drastic impact on their lives.

The large predatory beast is loping along beside Horspaw, almost appearing to have accepted the domestic role that has been thrust upon it. But Pena knows this is only an illusion, and when Horspaw stops using his physically and mentally incapacitating treatments on the beast, it will turn into a deadly assassin with no remorse. For this reason, Pena has been unable to take her eyes from it, or get so close that she can't use the long-knife if needed. But the milk that Horspaw keeps squeezing from its dugs are the only thing keeping Kaja alive, and for that reason alone, she cannot harbor any ill thoughts toward it.

Her legs are growing tired, because of the added weight of the child, and she is feeling sharp stitches in the small of her back. Soon, they will have to rest. Because of the rising heat, she assumes that Kaja is sleeping peacefully, despite the jarring terrain.

And then, it suddenly dawns on her that he is no longer bouncing loosely in the straps. Instead of flopping forward when her foot drops unexpectedly into a dip, and then knocking back against her chest as she steps up and out of the depressions, he is remaining snuggly pressed against her. Only when she looks down on him does she understand why, and is immediately alarmed by the sight of his swollen belly, pinning him tightly in the homemade harness.

"Horspaw!" she cries out, while stopping abruptly and dropping to a knee so that she can rest the child on the other while slipping out of the straps.

His belly is swollen and taut, pressing firmly against the straps to the point they are beginning to bite into his tender flesh. Slipping her short-bladed knife from its hidden place, she slits the binding straps, and Kaja awakens with a howling screech of pain.

Meanwhile, Horspaw has laid the beast down with a quick tap behind the ears, and hurries to her side, studying the child with unaccustomed concern, but with very little working knowledge of a child's physical anatomy. The frustration of his apparent inadequacy is clearly imprinted on his face and his thick dark brows beetle tightly together in consternation.

His frustration quickly turns to anger, and he reels on Pena. "How long has he been like this? Why didn't you call out to me sooner?"

Kaja's skin is a pale grey, and his head lolls from side to side, as he tries ineffectually to steady himself. His eyes appear unfocused, and he is completely unaware of Pena and Horspaw's movements around him. Yet, despite the child's suffering, he remains stoic, not emitting another single cry of pain or alarm.

"I didn't know there was anything wrong," Pena cries defensively. "He never made a sound, I thought he was sleeping."

It didn't need to be said that the child was unable to digest the milk of the beast. Instead of drawing nourishment and succor from the liquid, it settled in his stomach and slowly putrefied, creating a deadly gas that is now threatening to rupture his tender little intestines.

Without a word, Horspaw slips the short-bladed dagger from Pena's grasp, and prepares to slice into Kaja's midsection. "No!" Pena screams at him, grasping the hand holding the knife. "What are you doing?" she demands of him, raising her voice even higher than her anxiety dictates to be heard over the child's sudden outburst of screaming.

"If we don't let the gas off in a controlled fashion, he will die," Horspaw states firmly, his eyes flashing at her accusingly.

When he turns back to the chore at hand, she says, "Wait! There must be another way."

Looking wildly about for inspiration, her gaze falls on a short stand of reeds, the tops of which are dying back. "Wait," she says again, as she rises and hurries to the stand of reeds.

Using her long-knife, she slashes most of the reeds off near the ground. Scooping up a handful, she hurries back to where Horspaw is leaning over the whimpering child, listening intently to the infant's heart for signs of distress.

When she reaches him, she holds out several of the long narrow reeds and asks, "If we insert one of these down his throat, won't the gas come out of it?"

Horspaw quickly studies the reeds for a brief moment, and then grunts his disapproval and brushes them aside.

Feeling her own anger rising at his hurried dismissal of her suggestion, she suddenly wants to know why; she needs him to qualify his reason for the quick dismissal of her idea before he uses the knife on Kaja. "Why?"

Pena has barely spoken the words, when she notices that Horspaw's hand is shaking. Stunned by this visible and outward sign of weakness, her heart sinks. He is her rock, the foundation that she grew so quickly to trust. She had believed that she knew his weaknesses and limits intimately, and now, he is unsure of himself.

Although it is a small thing, she feels her entire world threatened, and then, just as quickly, it gives her strength, for she realizes the depth of his caring is what is causing the unsteady nerves, and that is much more powerful than a simple quivering of the hand. In that moment of realization, she understands the depth of his love for the child, and knows also that he would rather cut out his own stomach than inflict the tiniest bit of pain on Kaja.

Speaking softly, he says, "They are too short, and we have no way of securing them together." He is looking into the child's pain-filled eyes while he speaks, and then turns back to meet her anguished gaze. "I am sorry, Pena," he says gently, and then hesitantly continues. "I do not blame you. Now, you must not blame me, for whatever happens. But if I don't do this, he will surely die. And even after I do it, if we cannot find him proper food, he will still die. The strength within him is waning. His malnourished body is eating itself from the inside, while the liquid we fed him is curdling and rotting in his stomach."

Tears are running unabated down her cheeks, when she asks of him, her voice barely audible even to his heightened senses, "Can you make him unconscious like the beasts before you start?"

Before the words are even out of her mouth, Horspaw pinches a place on the side of Kaja's neck and his eyes fall shut almost immediately. For the moment, he is feeling no pain or discomfort, and an angelic expression replaces the tormented features of just a moment prior. For this, Pena is thankful, as she gently strokes Kaja's forehead.

Horspaw's hands are steady now, as he makes the initial incision, slicing swiftly through the outer layer of skin and flesh. As the wound lengthens, it opens of its own accord; the hyper-inflated bowels within forcing their way out like a burgeoning balloon.

When Horspaw is satisfied with the length of the cut, he slips the knife into its sheath and then carefully leans over the small body. Using extreme care, he slips his right index finger into the wound and extracts a short section of bowel. To Pena's surprise and shock, he puts his face down to the wound, and, still holding the piece of bowel between his fingers, uses his front teeth to bite a small prick in the overly-stretched casing.

Immediately, a loud hissing noise erupts from the wound, as escaping gases mixed with a vile smelling liquid spews forth. The bowel slowly collapses back to a normal size, and then Horspaw looks up at Pena. "Put your fingers on this and pinch it shut while I prepare a mixture to help it heal."

Doing as he instructs, she gently squeezes the delicate tissue of his bowel, stemming the outflow of fluids until it stops, while Kaja sleeps contentedly under Horspaw's control. While chewing on a small, reddish brown leaf, Horspaw scrapes up and puts a small amount of dust in the palm of his hand. Leaning forward, he spits the contents of his mouth onto the dust, and then carefully mixes it with the soggy mash of leaf using his index finger. When he is satisfied that he has the right consistency, he motions for Pena to move her fingers from the wound so that it is exposed. To her surprise, it is no longer weeping. With extreme tenderness, he spreads the salve-like substance over the bowel, and then carefully pulls the flaps of skin back together. Using a soft piece of hide, he first wipes the last of the salve over the wound, and then ties the hide in place with cords that he unwove from the carrier.

"That should keep the wound from infection, and yet allow us to open it again if it's necessary."

"Will it be necessary?" Pena nervously asks of him.

Meeting her gaze, he says as tenderly as he can, "It will have to be done more than once again, as the poison continues to ferment. We must hope that we can use the same incision to gain access. If the bloat comes back further down the bowel, we will have to cut a new wound." Seeing the worry and concern in her eyes, he wants desperately to give her hope, something she can hang on to for strength, because she realizes as well as he, if they don't find Kaja proper nourishment, no matter what they do, he will die. "He is a strong boy. If anyone can overcome this, it is he."

His words sound hollow and uncomforting, even to his own ears. But she smiles, clinging to his words, believing in them with all her heart.

"I will fix us something to eat while the child rests," he says, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

"Turn the beast loose, Horspaw," she says suddenly. And then, as if to justify her sudden compassion for the animal, adds, "We have plenty of food without it. There is no reason to keep it any longer."

"Yes," he says simply, retreating to where the animal lies sleeping. With a flick of his fingers aimed at a point directly behind its ears, the animal snaps out of its induced sleep and rises unsteadily to its feet. After a long look in Pena's direction, almost as if understanding what she has given it, the animal bounds off to the north, heading back toward the more moderate climate nearer the equator.

"Thank you," she says softly, barely more than a whisper. Although it appears she is thanking him for turning the beast loose, he believes her words are intended more for the surgery he just performed on the child.

Foregoing a fire, Horspaw quickly assembles a small offering of fruit and previously cooked meat. But feeling guilty at not having anything for the child, neither of them touches the food. Instead, they rest in silence, their concern for the child all-consuming. After a short while, Horspaw grows restless, and he rises to his feet, balancing nervously from one foot and then back to the other.

Pena can see the mounting pain creasing the corners of his eyes. He is being drawn toward his prey, and the longer he stays with her and Kaja, the more intense the pull upon him. Soon, he will not be able to fight it, and they will have to continue, whether Kaja is ready to travel or not.

Studying the child intently for a few moments, Pena is content with his progress. There doesn't appear to be any new swelling of his abdomen, and he is sleeping peacefully in her arms. She determines for Horspaw's sake that if she is careful, he will not even realize they are traveling. Looking up at Horspaw, her heart goes out to him, and she feels his pain as if it were her own.

She is about to speak and share her thoughts of continuing with him, when he says, "She no longer travels in a southwesterly direction. Instead, she is moving due west now. Her travel continues parallel to the equator."

"How much farther from the equatorial trail than we are now?" she asks of him, a mixture of concern and anxiety permeating her thoughts.

"Less than a day's travel on our present course. Less, if we push ourselves."

It doesn't require her asking of him what he means by pushing themselves. For Kaja's sake, they have to push themselves. Without proper food, he will not survive more than a day at most. Although he is sleeping at the moment, he is growing weaker by the minute.

When she rises to her feet, Horspaw offers to carry the child, since they no longer have the carrier that he'd fashioned for him earlier. Pena declines his offer, asking him instead to carry her pack. Without hesitation, he scoops it off the ground, and then gathers up what's left of Kaja's carrier and quickly inserts it into her pack. Before he sets off, he offers her a last drink from the flagon he is carrying. With him holding it gently against her lips, she gingerly drinks, each sip making her feel guiltier than she did before, but knowing she cannot allow herself to grow weak for his sake.

Slinging the flagon over his shoulder, he sets off, gauging his pace so that she can maintain a safe distance behind him. The minute he starts moving, the pain in his head begins to subside. He doesn't understand it, though he tries constantly. It is almost as if he has a magnet in the middle of his brain, and unless it is in constant motion toward Loté, it heats up, emitting a severe pain through his nerve endings. The symptoms include nausea, a high temperature, dizziness, and the sensation of being flayed alive. The longer he resists the draw toward her, the more intense the symptoms, and accordingly, the more intense the pain.

Despite the awkward weight of the child hugged tightly to her chest, she has little trouble keeping up with him. After a while, she falls into a half-conscious state of mind. Although her thoughts are elsewhere, she is alert to her surroundings in the sense that anything out of the ordinary will bring her instantly back to the present. The scenery grows gradually more hostile and open; the horizon is clearly outlined against the dark grey sky. The reflected glare of the twin moons is beating down on them with all its force, drying their bodies faster than they can sweat the precious moisture out.

After several long hours of non-stop travel, Pena is jarred to the present by a grunt from Horspaw. Despite the high heat and strenuous travel, he appears in better spirit and body than when they last set off. The moon-glow has turned his once pale skin a warm, nutty color, while the creases surrounding his eyes have softened. Glancing down at her own arms, she is surprised at how much darker they appear.

Putting the child's needs before her own, she says to Horspaw as he stands staring ahead, facing due east, "We must find something to cover the child with."

Without a word, Horspaw takes her pack and dumps the contents on the ground at her feet. Using the point of his long-knife, he quickly makes two slits in the pack near the bottom, just the right distance apart for Kaja's feet to protrude through and dangle freely. Holding the pack open toward Pena, he says, "Put him in this."

Pena is stunned at the sight of everything she has ever treasured turned out on the ground at her feet. But she is aware that none of it has a value near that of Kaja's life. Gently, she deposits Kaja into the pack, and then, while Horspaw still holds it suspended, she bends down, her back creaking slightly with stiffness, and gathers the items she considers necessary to their survival. Moving quickly, she palms the stone, keeping it from his sight. But when she rises, she notices that he was too preoccupied with Kaja to have seen it. Having wakened from being placed in the packsack, Horspaw is entertaining him with absurd noises and strange faces.

Relaxing, Pena realizes her thirst for the first time, and asks Horspaw for the flagon. Handing her the pack containing Kaja, he slips the flagon from his shoulder and unstops it. Then, being careful not to drip or waste any, he gives Kaja a sip to wet his mouth and throat. To both of their surprise, Kaja drinks greedily of the water, finally finishing with a loud burp that causes them to break out laughing.

It is the only water they have, and Pena drinks sparingly before handing it back to Horspaw. "How much farther south?"

"This is it. From here, we travel due east."

Pena follows his gaze toward the east. Although she suffers no ill effects from the direction, she can't shake the sense of foreboding that threatens to smother her. There is nothing to the east but gently rolling hills that are little more than hummocks in an endless sea of rust colored reeds. Even the sky appears foreboding, threatening to crash down on them.

But what lies ahead must be faced before their budding relationship can move forward and mature. And what lies ahead must also be good for Kaja, despite its threatening appearance.

Although she is tired and in need of rest, she says to Horspaw, "Let's go."

By slipping her arms through the straps of her pack, she is able to carry Kaja in front of her, so that she can keep an eye on him. The flap is light and shields his face from the harmful rays of moonlight. Although the pack was not designed to be worn on the front, and in a very short time, the straps are cutting into the backs of her shoulders, it protects Kaja from the effects of the harsh light, and for this reason alone is worth the pain and inconvenience.

Their new course is due east, and although the jungle is nowhere to be seen, she can almost, but not quite, feel the cool draw of it off to their left. Because of the backdrop of the rising sun, the horizon ahead is clear and crisp, rising above the endless sea of shimmering reeds.

After several hours, Horspaw halts, allowing Pena and Kaja to overtake him. Without a word, he slips the flagon from his shoulder and unstops it before cradling it to Kaja's lips. The child is groggy, but not from lack of sleep.

"He is growing weak," he says, offering the water to Pena.

The emotions are heavy in his voice, but they are helpless to do anything.

"How much longer?" she asks of him, her own voice betraying the effects of the super-heated air.

Turning toward the east and then back to face her, he says, "She is drawing closer all the time. It won't be much longer now." After a moment, he asks, "Can you keep up this pace?"

He isn't asking because he wants to increase their speed, but because he is concerned for her welfare, as well as that of the child.

Feeling the effects of the heat and lack of moisture to a greater degree than Horspaw, she realizes that she must look horrific. All three of them are covered in a heavy layer of red dust, even Kaja, despite the protection of the pack. While Horspaw's skin has turned a deep bronze, her own is turning a blistering white over dark chestnut. It is unhealthy looking and tender to the touch, but there is nothing she can do about it for the time being. The dust is offering her some protection, and for now, that will have to do.

"Yes," she answers him determinedly, her voice cracking, while she silently thinks, "To the ends of this God-forsaken planet, if it will save this innocent child."

Without a word, he turns and sets off once again toward the east. Pena notices that his demeanor toward her is less attentive than it had been before, but she quickly writes it off as nothing more than the stress of being unable to help the innocent Kaja, while he slips ever closer to death.

In reality, Horspaw is feeling more and more withdrawn from the situation that he finds himself with Pena and the child as he draws closer and closer to his quarry. The genetic alterations that were done to him in the deep bowels of the planet are slowly exerting more influence over his thoughts and actions, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything else besides Loté, and what he must ultimately do to fulfill his destiny. Soon, he won't be able to think for himself, the genes embedded in his tissues will be exerting almost complete control over his every thought and action. Resistance will be virtually impossible, especially once he is close enough to see and touch her.

Within a short while, the straps are causing Pena extreme pain, as they cut through the raw, blistered skin on her shoulders. But the pain keeps her attuned to her immediate surroundings, not allowing her thoughts to drift. Her throat is parched, but she is unwilling to stop Horspaw for a drink. A new stitch has developed off to the side but still in the small of her back, and her thighs are quivering with each step she takes forward, when she is suddenly aware of a dark object in the sky, just above the horizon. At first, she thinks it's her vision failing from lack of moisture, and that she is starting to see black spots above the horizon. But after repeatedly blinking, the object is still there and no new ones have become visible. Trying to make her voice loud enough for him to hear her, she cries out for Horspaw.

"Horspaw!" she finally manages to gasp, her parched and cracked lips starting to bleed from the movement of them.

At first, she doesn't think he's heard her. Then suddenly, he turns angrily and confronts her, an ugly mask of impatience painted in red dust hiding the once handsome face. "If you intend to accompany me," he shouts at her in a voice she has never before heard. "Then you will remain silent and do only as I say!" he ends with finality.

Shocked by his outburst, she suddenly realizes that it isn't Horspaw standing before her, but the evil Lord Balzar that made him; his genetic fodder. With a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, she also realizes that if she is to have any chance of saving the man she loves from committing an act of inhumanity against an innocent person, she has to do it now, or he will be lost to her forever.

"Horspaw," she says pleadingly, hoping to reach him. His face twists and contorts as if a demon is fighting for control. And in many respects, she believes that is exactly what is happening.

But then the battle is over, and the evil mask prevails. "Follow," he harshly commands. When she doesn't move, he draws his long-knife and moves toward her. Suddenly fearful of her life, but unwilling to draw her own weapon against him for a greater fear of having to use it on him, she stands her ground. When he is within inches of her, he says with a smirk, "If you don't get that prim ass of yours in gear and follow me now, I'm going to take that runty piece of flesh from your pack and stake it out here to cook. It is probably much more tender than that old hogas."

He smiles while he threatens her, enjoying the mental image of it. All doubt as to the identity of the being that has taken control of her man is quickly dispelled.

Desperately, she tries again to reach the man that loves the child, as well as her. "You will not harm this child," she states as bravely as she can, trying desperately to keep her voice from cracking while fearful of what the entity controlling Horspaw might do.

His face twitches spasmodically for a moment, and then the horrifying voice says, "I will do as I damned well please, if you don't follow me."

Although the entity has control, she believes in her heart that it was her love trying to break free that caused the uncontrolled twitching reaction in his facial muscles. And she believes even stronger that it is her love forcing the evil entity to hurry, before he loses control.

Turning abruptly toward the south, he heads off at a brisk pace, forcing Pena to make her choice. Should she follow him, as instructed? Or should she stand her ground, and wait to see what he does?

At the last, she hurries after him, suddenly confident that it is Horspaw forcing the evil Balzar to do what he is doing. Why else would he head south, when there is clearly something in the sky ahead of them that can only be a floating domain? And recognizing the domain for what it is, she feels strongly that it is where Loté is also headed. So why would he head south, unless her love was forcing him to do so.

That conclusion gives her renewed hope, and her step quickens, having momentarily forgotten the pain in her back and shoulders. In her mind, Horspaw is resisting the pull toward Loté, and the devil Balzar is losing the battle. Yet, it still doesn't explain the unrecognizable voice, or why south. Why not north, back to the equatorial trail, and possibly help for Kaja?

They travel for almost an hour before he abruptly turns back to the east. Her heart sinks, as she realizes that Horspaw has not won the battle with the devil in his genes. They are heading back toward Loté, and his ultimate destiny.

With the weight of defeat suddenly bearing down on her, her legs fails her, and the pain in her back and shoulders becomes unbearable. When she is certain that she cannot go any farther, she gasps, "Horspaw, please."

He stops, but doesn't turn around to look at her. It is almost as if he is deciding whether to abandon her and the child, leaving them to die in this desolate place, while he goes on ahead and finds Loté, bringing his ordeal to an end. Or is he considering turning around and finishing them mercifully?

"Please, Horspaw, we need water," she cries, her spirit failing, all hope abandoning her. "For Kaja's sake, we must have water."

A spasm sets her right leg to quivering, and she collapses forward, instinctively putting her hands out to break her fall and protect the child, keeping his little body from either striking the ground or being pinned beneath her weight.

But the shock is too much for her fatigued arms to withstand, and her elbows buckle under the impact of striking the ground. At the last moment, she throws herself sideways, keeping the child from being caught beneath her dead weight.

Hurting and too weak to raise herself, she breathlessly sobs, "Please, Horspaw." But no tears are forthcoming; her body is much too dehydrated to spare moisture on such frivolities.

Instead of acknowledging her, he sets off to the east at a trot, never once so much as glancing backwards. She tries desperately to regain her feet, but stumbles, and falls back to the ground. It is useless.

Without thinking what she is doing, she pulls the pack closer to her so that she can lift the flap and see Kaja's angelic little face. When he doesn't respond or move, she loses all hope and gives up, falling back to the ground. Out of respect for the child's memory and not wanting his face to burn from the moon's bright glow, she struggles with the flap on the pack, only barely pulling it back over the child's little head before falling into unconsciousness oblivion.

### **23**

They continue the journey after a short rest. Layton quickly returns to being his old self with no lasting effects. However, because the dehydration slipped on them without any warning, more than twenty of his men are sent back to the equatorial trail to recoup. Most of those sent back are too weak to be of any use to him, while two others are sent along to assist and find water as quickly as possible. They leave the main body with instructions to keep pace on a parallel course just south of the equatorial trail and when notified by scout, set up a supply base for water and fresh meat. Their second duty will be to guide fresh recruits to him. This latter idea being Loté's suggestion.

They continue on in silence, the heat and dry air making it difficult to breathe. Although they planned for an extended time in the southern reaches, Layton is growing concerned about their water supplies. The men, not conditioned to such a dry environment, are consuming much more water than he had originally allotted for each man per day. But he keeps these thoughts to himself, not wanting to alarm his troops and possibly set off a binge of drinking. He has seen enough of human nature to know that when there is the possibility of a shortage, man will over indulge until there is nothing left, creating the shortage sooner, rather than avoiding it all together.

Layton is also acutely aware of the lack of small talk among the men. They are plodding in silence, each withdrawn into their own thoughts. He believes that when they are called to action, they will spring forth and shed this morose cover. But in the meantime, it is best to leave them as they are. If he has to ration water, it will take all of his cunning as a commander of men to keep them from fighting one another when the supplies become dangerously low. Hopefully, they will overtake Rod before then, and he will be able to send scouts to the north to retrieve water and fresh game.

The journey is dragging on, and Loté is growing ever more concerned for Rod and the few men with him. Although they had anticipated the journey taking them far from the equatorial trail, neither of them expected it would continue this far, and Rod's small group was ill prepared for an extended stay in the farther reaches. Without adequate protection from the bright light, combined with higher heat levels than they are accustomed to, they will quickly burn or dehydrate, both of which might prove lethal. And even if they don't succumb to the inhospitable elements encountered this far from the equator, their fighting abilities will be greatly compromised.

Of course, if they stick to their original plan, there shouldn't be any fighting, or so Loté tries convincing herself. However, she knows Rod much too intimately to ever believe that he will idly stand by while innocent people are being treated unjustly, or worse.

Loté is abruptly stirred from her thoughts, when a scout comes jogging back, crying out for Layton's attention. Halting the column and allowing the men a breather, Layton continues forward with Loté and Elsa following close behind him. When he reaches the winded scout, he automatically hands the young man his flagon, saying, "Here, drink first."

The man takes the proffered flagon and hastily throws back a few quick gulps before handing it back. "Many thanks," he says with a nod out of deference to Layton.

"What brings you back at this deadly pace?" Layton demands of him, impatient for any news of what lies ahead.

"Corpses," he states, not giving any indication of continuing until all three of them look at him in confusion, obviously expecting an explanation to be forthcoming, and soon. "Directly ahead, we keep coming across more the farther west we go."

Loté's heart skips a beat, and she interrupts Layton, "Are they...." But she cannot finish, as Elsa reaches out and puts a steadying hand on her arm.

The scout doesn't immediately understand, and then realization slowly settles in, and he quickly relieves her anxiety, "No, they were slaves, some still in their tethers."

Loté exhales, suddenly aware that she'd been holding her breath.

"You are certain of this?" Layton asks of the man, even though he knows his men are first rate and knowledgeable and they wouldn't make such a grave mistake.

"Oh yes, sir," the man quickly responds.

"Any signs left behind by Rod or his men?"

"None, sir." The scout hesitates for a moment before continuing. "Sir, in this heat, human flesh will bake much more quickly than it does along the equatorial trail, but even taking that into consideration, these corpses were there before Rod and the others passed through. It's inconceivable that they didn't see them."

Speaking more to Loté than the others, Layton says, "I wonder what Rod made of it."

Speaking to the scout, Loté asks, "Were the corpses mutilated?" When the scout hesitates, Loté adds, "We have probably been subjected to worse, go ahead and tell us what you found and what you deduced from it."

Her voice is stern and demanding, not leaving the scout with any options that won't leave him appearing weak. But even then, as a last hope, he glances at Layton.

Instead of being granted an out, however, Layton instructs him to speak openly and to not leave out any details. His descriptions of the corpses found to date are gruesome, and Loté finds herself feeling sick to her stomach. But the sick feeling is quickly replaced with a feeling of anger and frustration. Suddenly, she wants nothing more than to continue forward, and with haste. A bright fire is ignited within her breast, and her soul screams out at the injustice and inhumane treatment of fellow humans.

Angered beyond reason, Loté turns to Layton and says, "We must push the men harder. This cruelty must be stopped and the perpetrators punished!"

Before answering her, Layton studies her for a moment, gauging the best way to assuage her anger without her redirecting it toward him. And then, an idea comes to him. "I'll ask for volunteers of the strongest men, both physical and of heart. They will lead an advance party ahead, allowing the remainder to come at a more humane pace. We will outfit them with weapons and water, nothing else."

"I'll lead them," Loté quickly states.

Layton hadn't expected this, and now he is facing a dilemma. As much as he wants to lead the advance party, his duty is to all of his men. He knows that she is more than capable, and she has experience beyond most of his squad leaders and lieutenants. She also has the right motives. "Let me think on it," he says weakly, trying to buy himself a few minutes just to make certain he isn't overlooking something.

"There isn't time to think on it!" Loté almost shouts at him. And then, in a slightly calmer tone of voice, yet just as demanding, she adds, "We need to move now if we're going to get this together and going."

"First, I want to see how many volunteers there will be," he states calmly. And then, turning back toward the scout, says, "Rest up, you'll be heading back soon."

Loté's jubilation is evident as she turns to follow Layton back to the column. But he turns and says to both her and Elsa, "Wait here. I don't want the men to feel any undue influence. If they're willing to risk their lives in this cruel place, I want them doing it of their own accord. Understand?"

"Clearly, sir," Elsa quickly quips with a grin.

Shaking his head, he turns away and heads back toward the column of men. When he reaches the first, he states his intentions and has it passed along the line. If any of the men are interested in volunteering, they need to grab an extra flagon of water, and join the scout waiting west of the column. For fear of getting more volunteers than necessary, he makes the definitive choice not to let them know in advance that they will be following Loté.

The first to break from the column is Tye. Almost sullenly, he strides past where Loté and Elsa are standing as he heads toward the scout a short distance farther. His action sets off a small chain reaction, and several more break from the column and join him next to the scout. By the time word reaches the end of the column, almost fifty men have gathered around the scout, each appearing anxious to be in the few going forward to do battle ahead of the main force.

Layton returns with an armload of flagons that were offered up for the advance party from their precious supplies. With a quick wave of his arm, he singles out Tye, who immediately steps forward. "Tye, you'll take command of the unit."

"I thought that I was leading them," Loté quickly interrupts.

"I'm sorry Loté, but how will it appear to Rod if he sees you leading a small army of men, while I'm following at a safe distance? He will never forgive me. In case you have forgotten, for all he knows, you are still safely back on Keazar's domain with Nava. It will be hard enough for me to explain your presence out her, much less, without me present."

She is about to demand that he rethink his logic, when Tye suddenly interrupts. "If it will please you sir," he says calmly, addressing Layton. "It would be my pleasure to simply assist and advise Loté, if that is acceptable."

Layton doesn't say anything for a long minute, and then, with a resigning shrug of his shoulders, says sternly, "As an advisor, I expect you to follow his advice, Loté." And then, turning toward Tye, says with an even sterner tone of voice, "And if I hear later that she didn't adhere to your advice, or something happens to her for any reason, I will hold you personally responsible, and your life under my command will be an eternal hell!"

For the first time, Loté sees the makings of a grin at the corners of Tye's mouth, as he acknowledges his duty, "Yes, sir!"

Handing him the armload of flagons, he orders, "Distribute these among the men and then get started. We won't be far behind." His voice suddenly turns soft, as he sincerely adds, "And take care of yourselves."

"Thanks, Layton," Loté quickly acknowledges him, and then turns to her friend. "Elsa, I'll see you soon."

While she quickly hugs Elsa, her gaze falls on Tye, and she sees him looking longingly at Elsa's back, wishing for something that he cannot have. Although she has played the matchmaker many times in her life, there is nothing she can do for the lovelorn Tye. Even if Elsa and Layton are not in love, there is a bond between them that she cannot interfere with by interjecting Tye into the mix. They are her friends foremost. If Tye and Elsa are meant to be together, they will have to find each other on their own.

Releasing Elsa, she nods at Layton, and then heads off toward the west at a brisk trot with Tye close on her heels. For personal reasons, as well as those outlined by Layton, she intends pushing the men with her hard. If they cannot keep up, they will be picked up by the main body; she has no intentions of waiting on anyone!

### **24**

Excitement among the men is high, as Rod speaks briefly with the tethered slaves. It is important to him that they know and understand what his intentions are. They must feel that they are no longer slaves, and from now on, until they can be released from their tether lines securing them to the domain, they are working toward a higher calling. In addition, since they are no longer slaves, but their services as tethered domain toters is required, they will be paid for their time at the same rate as that of an enlisted man.

When Rod informs them of this, a loud chorus of cheering erupts with his name being repeated loudly above all else. It is at this moment, when his head is filled with their adoration and praise that he glances up and witnesses a barrage of falling objects. Through a myriad of small portals that are almost indistinct from this distance, especially because of the shadow they are in created by the domain, are steady streams of shiny objects, coming so close together, they appear as more than a multitude of streams, and more like a shower from the heavens.

Rod calls out a warning, trying desperately to get the attention of the cheering men, but to no avail. Believing that he is joining them in their celebration, they only increase the vigor of their cries and adulation, drowning him out completely.

Using sign, Rod turns frantically toward where Zin is standing with several of the camp followers' elders. Zin understands immediately, and his eyes turn skyward, toward the belly of the domain. But it is too late; there is nothing he can do. Even as he and Rod try unsuccessfully to warn the slaves, as well as Parco and his men, the silver streams of sparkling flakes begin to strike the toters and others, instantly changing the crescendo of the gathering from one of jubilation to that of an outcry of agonized wailing and screaming.

Thinking fast, Rod drops to the ground and rolls in the reeds, using his arm to pull a scant layering of the tough stems over his prone body.

As one of the shiny objects strikes the ground directly before his face, he realizes that the shiny streams are hundreds of feet of razor sharp tethering ribbon cut into roughly one-inch pieces. Striking human flesh, they slash and slice, filleting the meat to the bone. As the louder cries of startling fear and pandemonium die off, the sound of the blades striking the ground, the reeds, and an inordinate amount of human flesh, sounds like a waterfall of small pebbles, suddenly seeming thunderous in the growing silence.

Several of the shiny blades are protruding from Rod's already injured arm, but his head is beneath a thick layer of reeds, and he only feels the sensation of them bouncing harmlessly aside. However, his legs are less protected, and the pain is excruciating, as several of the small blades slice bloody furrows in his thighs and calves. He feels almost as if he is being eaten alive by many small, carnivorous creatures.

As quickly as the fuselage began, it ceases, and the elevator beneath the domain begins to lower rapidly. The sound of heavy timbers banging together alerts Rod to the danger, and he quickly recovers his wits. Rolling out from under the scant covering of reeds, he quickly studies his wounds, assessing the initial damage to his limbs. With an abandon to the pain, he plucks the bloody little razors from his flesh, and thanks the heavy layer of red dust for the clotting effect it offers.

Rising a bit unsteadily to his feet, he quickly evaluates the damage surrounding him. Many of the toters are hanging limp and bloody in their harnesses, having taken hits to more vital areas of their bodies, while still many more are struggling to escape, blood pouring from more wounds than can be counted, while trying vainly to get away from the diminishing hail of falling blades.

Parco is already on his feet and scurrying amongst the wounded and dying, trying to rally the able-bodied men around him as he maneuvers himself toward the lowering platform. In that moment, Rod's heart feels like a solid lump in his throat, as he has never been prouder of anyone before in his life. He quickly makes a mental note to recommend him for a medal of bravery.

Shaking off the moment, he draws his long-knife and hurries off to Parco's left, hoping to avoid the chaos surrounding the toters, while gathering his own group to attack from the far side. But at first, he finds no able-bodied men, only gravely wounded and dying, their pain steeling him into further action. His resolve to help Parco and the few men with him is such that he will attack their flank on his own if he has to.

To his good fortune, more men are getting to their feet, still leery of the falling blades, as they cautiously glance skyward, their first intentions to run for safety from beneath the domain. But as they see Rod coming toward them, they remember why they are here, and they quickly rally round him, following him beyond the lowering platform.

By the time he reaches the far side of the platform's expected landing place, he has three armed men with him, their wounds bleeding, but only superficial. Glancing across the distance separating him from Parco, he sees three more standing upright, their weapons at the ready. Glancing up, he sees almost thirty well-armed men brandishing a variety of weapons, anxious to slaughter the few on the ground that are still able or willing to fight.

Outnumbered by almost five to one by men that are conditioned to killing, Rod begins to doubt his logic regarding the attempted coup of the domain. Because he knows with almost dead certainty that the rogues are going to overpower them unless they get help from the toters, which are still manacled in place and unarmed, he wishes suddenly that he had waited for Layton and reinforcements. It had never been his duty to take control of the domain. His ego had gotten the best of him, and for that, brave men are going to die. Instead of the legend of him capturing a domain filled with rogues and delivering it to the Army of Heälf for justice's sake, he will be remembered as a fool that sacrificed men's lives needlessly, including his own!

As these thoughts are racing through his head, another and more sobering one suddenly makes its presence known. Since embarking on this journey, it had never really seemed possible or even plausible that he might never see his son again. But now, the possibility was real!

A cold fear grips his bowels and he suddenly feels on the verge of panic, when he remembers whom he is and for whom it is that he's here. It's not for him, but for all the slaves and the innocent people that cannot protect themselves from such ruthless and savage people as those aboard the domain. He is here for all of humanity! And his life is a small price to pay.

Charged up and ready for the fight to begin, he steps forward, the platform just fifteen feet above his head. The only chance they have is to take out as many of the rogues as they can before they get the chance to disembark and maneuver into position. Once that happens, his small force will be broken and divided, and then easily picked off by their opponent's overwhelming numbers.

As the platform lowers into the range of their long-knives, Rod starts the melee by hacking viciously at the heavy timbers, even though he knows that he is using valuable energy doing so. But if he can intimidate them in the least, he will be starting the battle with a small advantage, and any advantage he can gain is worth the effort.

His actions set off a chain reaction, as the others charge forward to join him, and start hacking furiously at the heavy timber floor of the platform. As the first of the rogues jump off, they are set upon immediately by a frenzy of sharpened steel, while others continuing hacking at the feet and ankles of those still aboard, crippling as many as they can and impeding the departure from the platform of those behind them.

But the platform continues its steady descent, and in a matter of seconds, the rogues are on the ground, the battlefield having been leveled, and the disadvantage to the rogues no longer existing, if it ever did.

Their uniforms are gruesome, bleached skin stripped off innocent men, the genitalia still intact, but inflated to exaggerated proportions from blowing air into them. Yet, Rod's distraction is only momentary, before the heat of the battle fully consumes him. Thanks to their quick actions, they have whittled the number of their opponents to just over twenty that are still on their feet and capable of fighting.

Although three to one odds are nothing new to Rod, he feels an innate responsibility to the less experienced comrades fighting next to him. Including Parco, he is fully aware of the obvious fact that they are barely trained in the ways of hand-to-hand combat. Instead, they are family men that set out on a mission of mercy for the soul purpose of collecting human tissue for recycling. It was meant to be a time of closeness with their loved ones, and time away from the eastern horizon and Keazar's recycling domain. It was also meant as a chance for their young to bond with the jungle, and everything that it has to offer, because ultimately, they are jungle dwellers.

Now, because of him and his ego, they are fighting a battle to the death against a cruel and ruthless enemy that will not take prisoners, unless it is to torture them. In the grimness of reality, Rod knows that most, if not all, of his faithful followers will die in this battle. And any that survive, will wish they hadn't.

With these thoughts in the back of his mind, he tackles the disembarking rogues head-on, bringing the fight to them and trying desperately to keep them within the boundary of the platform. The clashing of highly honed steel rings loudly in the shadow of the domain, while sparks fly from their weapons with abandon. Rod's weapon draws a steady flow of crimson from the group of rogues as he parries, jabs, and slashes with wild abandon.

But the super-dried heat quickly takes its toll, and his reflexes, though fired by an iron will, begin to slow and ebb against the overwhelming tide. Almost as quickly as he draws off a lethal blow from one of his comrades, he is parrying against yet another rogue. While his men are fighting beyond his expectations, whether from adrenalin or desperation, they also are showing the strain. Unlike the men disembarking from the domain, his men have been traveling non-stop across a merciless terrain to arrive at this battle, and they are not at one hundred percent.

And then, the worst happens! The man directly to his right takes a slicing blow across the left arm, a blow that Rod feels he should have seen coming and blocked before it could strike. The heavy iron blade forces the man's arm against his side before snapping through the bone, severing his arm and leaving a deep gash in his side, just below the armpit.

Crying out in agony, the man loses his grip on his weapon while reaching for the arm that is no longer there. With an opening before them, the rogues take quick advantage of the situation, and attempt to charge through, the leader hacking with triumphant glee at the disarmed man as he realizes the turning point in the battle.

Rod tries to fill the gap without creating a new one, but even his prowess with a long-knife isn't enough, and the rogues quickly burgeon through before turning back on the men to their left and right. Stepping back, Rod stumbles with fatigue, righting himself just in time to ward off a cloving blow aimed at his head. The wielder of the heavy blade, fully expecting his aim to be true, is caught off guard by the shock of steel against steel ringing through his hand, and for a fleeting moment, Rod has an opening to strike.

Yet, before he can bring his weapon around, another rogue's blade is whistling through the air, intent on his midsection. It is all he can do to block yet again, and the moment of opportunity against the first is past. While the rogue's pace remains brisk and unfaltering, Rod's own is slowing. No longer can he take the offensive against one, before he is on the defense against yet another.

Moving step by step in retreat, Rod sees one of Lofa's family members suddenly overwhelmed by their sheer numbers and chopped to bloody pieces, his carcass a mangled mess of flesh and broken bone, as the rogues continuing hacking at the lifeless corpse.

"Rod!"

Risking a hurried glance to his right, Rod sees Parco moving toward him with two other men. Only because they have stuck together and are covering each other's flanks, are they able to hold off the encroaching rogues.

"Rod!"

Recognizing the voice for the first time, Rod realizes that it isn't Parco that he heard earlier as he had assumed, but instead, it is his close friend Zin. With a quick glance to his left, he sees him approaching on the run, and in his wake almost fifteen men, some armed, some not. But it makes little difference whether they are armed or not, as the rogues suddenly pull up short and start signaling their comrades still aboard the domain to winch them up. No longer are they on the offensive, as they hastily scurry back aboard the platform. To their good fortune, Zin and his men are too far away to overtake them before the platform lifts, while Parco and the others still on their feet are too exhausted to give pursuit.

It suddenly dawns on Rod that when he first saw Parco working his way toward him from the right, he had wrongly assumed they were trying to regroup with him, when in reality, they were trying to join up with Zin. In that moment of truth, he feels slightly humbled, yet besieged with gratitude at the outcome.

With the platform retreating skyward, Rod suddenly remembers the rain of blades, and orders everyone to retreat from beneath the domain. Several of the more able-bodied stop to inspect the wounded, offering assistance to those that need help, regrettably leaving those behind that are beyond help.

As Zin pulls up to him, his first impression is of alarm at the blood covering his face and body. Then, he suddenly realizes that his own impression must be equally alarming. "I'm all right," he blurts, assuaging Zin's immediate concern.

Before he can continue, Zin gasps, "What of the toters? How can we protect them? We don't have the means or manpower to cut them all loose."

"They won't intentionally kill or maim anymore than they already have, my friend, unless they can catch us at the same time, which they will, if we don't get a move on," he gasps breathlessly, confident that he isn't wrong.

"What are you talking about?" Zin asks, also breathless from running. "They've already shown us that they're willing to sacrifice the toters."

"No, Zin," Rod says calmly between breaths, as they set off after the others that are already regrouping just beyond the perimeter of the domain. With Zin following close on his heels, he continues, "They were only showing us how ruthless they can be. If they kill the toters now, they have no way of moving the domain." After a slight pause while he catches his breath, he adds, "They need the toters for their ultimate survival, Zin. To kill the toters now would be the equivalent of killing themselves, and I don't think the whole bunch of them is suicidal." Then, sarcastically, he adds, "Even if they are all demented savages!"

They reach the outer perimeter of the domain just before the platform reaches its moorings in the belly of the domain. When no silver blades rain from the sky, Rod breathes an immense sigh of relief. Although it pained him to abandon the toters to the mercy of the rogues, for the first time in his life, he found himself at a complete loss as to what else he could do.

Standing just within the shadow being cast from the domain, and yet safely beyond its outer perimeter, Zin and Rod take a moment to assess their situation and take stock. From where they are standing, they can see the carnage of bodies laying everywhere, and not just those of the rogues. The sight of so many innocent lives lost leaves him feeling melancholy and disenchanted with his role. "We must collect tissue samples at the first opportunity," he says without any conviction.

"Yes, just as soon as Layton gets here, we'll gather the bodies."

"I don't want any of the rogue's tissue to ever reach a recycler, even if I have to torch them myself!" Rod says through gritted teeth. "They must never live again."

"I assure you, Rod, that will not happen," Zin solemnly confirms.

"How many have we lost?" Rod asks of him, and then quickly adds, "Including the members of Lofa's family."

"We haven't been able to assess the number of toters killed or incapacitated at this point, but almost all of Lofa's family is dead. There may be sixteen or seventeen survivors all told, mostly those that stayed behind with the children," Zin says softly, his spirit also drained. "Of the twenty or so slaves and handlers that were on the ground, there are nine survivors in our group, and I'm sure I saw a few more hiding among the toters, where they'll stay for the time being."

Parco limps toward them with a sloshing flagon of water. The soles of his feet are caked with a thick layer of blood-tinted dust, as are so many of the others. In their haste to escape the rain of death, many trampled on upturned blades, which cut through the heavy calluses lining the bottoms of their feet. Miraculously, no one received any crippling cuts. Without a word, he holds the flagon out to them. "Thanks, Parco," Rod says, after taking a small sip and passing the flagon to Zin.

To both Rod and Zin's surprise, Parco finally speaks, asking them, "When do we go after the corpses?"

Zin speaks first. "Leave them for now."

Rod quickly adds, "We'll collect the tissues we need when Layton gets here."

"The former slaves and handlers are anxious to help, Rod. They've all heard of your exploits and great deeds, and they all want to get their hands on those bastards," Parco says to Rod, nodding upward toward the domain. "Unfortunately, very few of them considered retrieving the fallen weapons as they ran to get out from under," he adds with a bit of sarcasm.

Gently, Rod reprimands him for thinking ungratefully of the former slaves and handlers. "Don't think unkindly of them, Parco. Unlike us, these men are not warriors. It took a great amount of courage for them to raise their hands against their former captors and assist us." As an afterthought, he adds, "We'll get them weapons soon enough. For now, let's all rest while we plan our next move."

As Parco moves away to tend to his wounds, Zin states for Rod's benefit, "We cannot risk moving the domain. Before the toters get ten meters, the rogues will rain down another volley of blades."

"We need to free the toters from their harnesses without drawing attention to the fact. As long as they're secured beneath the domain, their lives are in danger, and the rogues have some power over what we can or cannot do," Rod angrily replies.

"Then I suggest that we find a way to get them out of their harnesses," Zin grimly agrees.

After a moment of silence, Rod nods toward the west. "If we approach from that direction, and slip in among the toters without raising a commotion, we just might be able to cut them free, if they don't panic and draw attention down on us before we finish."

"That's an awful risky idea, Rod. When Loté finds out that I actually went along with such a crazy scheme, she'll kill both of us," he says with a smirk. "How many men do you think we can use without drawing attention?"

"You, I, and Parco," Rod says, the sound of his voice betraying his excitement, as he subconsciously checks the movement of his weapon in its sheathe.

"We need to arm all the men that are able to fight and then find proper knives for cutting through the heavy leather, first," Zin says thoughtfully. "They'll know what we're up to the minute they see us gathering weapons," Zin slowly continues. "The bastards might even drop another load of those damn blades on us just to discourage our actions."

"I don't believe they will, Zin. At least, not until they realize we're cutting their only salvation loose. If they just think we're arming ourselves, they'll leave us be, because they know we can't get to them anyway. But when they discover they're losing control of the toters, they'll try killing them and everyone else within range."

"Then, I suggest that we get started. Warn the others to watch their step. We've been lucky thus far, and no one has been crippled from stepping on a blade at the wrong angle."

Nodding toward Parco to get his attention, Rod quickly explains their plan to him. Like Rod, he too is eager and anxious to get started. No longer is he the timid greenhorn. Having been blooded and his manhood surviving the challenge, he is acting much more like a warrior than not in Rod's opinion.

Moving quickly while glancing repeatedly up at the belly of the domain, Rod and all the others capable of fighting move forward, scouring the battle scene for fallen weapons and knives. They are not disappointed in their finds. Before retreating to the safety beyond the perimeter again, everyone is bearing more weapons than he can possibly use. Rod, Zin, and Parco select from the finest of short-bladed knives to use for cutting the heavy harnesses keeping the toters restrained beneath the domain.

The blood running from the many cuts to their bodies has caked over with the dry powdery dust covering everything, adding to their camouflage. Not running the risk of being seen heading directly toward the toters and giving away their intentions, they hike along the perimeter toward the west until they are directly before the forward bow. After waiting for a minute while studying the domain high above them, they determine that they haven't drawn any attention to themselves. Moving quickly, they work their way in among the toters.

Once they are in among them, they spread the word of their intentions, and ask that none of the freed toters make a run for freedom until the last man is cut loose. They've brought an extra supply of knives, which they hand over to the handlers and slaves they find hiding among the toters.

Spreading out, they set in to cutting the harnesses, which quickly becomes a daunting task. The leather is hard and unforgiving, especially since the dry air has sucked the moisture out of it. In addition, the stench of human excrement is over powering, the ammonia from decomposition burning their already dried nasal passages.

The toters are nervous and thirsty, constantly in fear that a new rain of death will fall upon them at any moment. Rod talks to the man whose harness he is working on, trying to calm him, as well as those surrounding him within hearing. He becomes aware that Parco and Zin are doing the same. He wishes that he had thought to bring along some water. Although they don't have nearly enough to slake everyone's thirst, it would go a long way toward relaxing the more anxious of them.

Every so often, he has to get the attention of one or the other slaves or handlers and remind them to work more slowly, and not so frantically. Their movements are liable to draw attention from above, and they've only freed a few of the almost one hundred and fifty living men still secured in harnesses. Almost fifty of the toters are dead in their restraints from the hail of blades. Their corpses are being left intact to prevent the floating domain from moving freely. In addition, Rod can't think of any practical reason for cutting them loose at this time.

It's a slow process, and they work nonstop, the sweat pouring from their bodies, and no liquids available to replenish them. Rod's actions become mechanical, his mind locked on the fact that he must free all of them before any can run for safety, and that the longer he takes, the greater the chance that someone will bolt, drawing others with him, which will in turn draw down another rain of death.

His hands are cramping on the handle of the knife he's using, blood from broken blisters mixing with sweat. His back is aching, and his legs are shaking uncontrollably from fatigue.

"Rod, Rod." It's Parco, asking him to hand off his knife to one of the freed toters and take a rest. Someone has produced a flagon of water, and it's being offered to him.

To his amazement, almost half of the toters are free, and despite their thirst and fear, they are more concerned about him than they are with fleeing to safety.

"Thank you," he says gratefully, and not just for the water. In that moment, he is so proud of each and every one of them that he is momentarily at a loss for words.

"Rest for a moment," Parco advises him, his concern for Rod's wellbeing evident in his expression.

"I'm all right now," Rod argues, reaching for his small-bladed knife and finding only an empty sheathe. "Where's my short blade?" he demands of no one in particular.

"It's all right, Rod," Parco insists. "They can free the others without our help. They'll return your knife just as soon as they're finished."

Rod lowers himself down on his haunches and wipes a grubby hand over the front of his face, pushing the sweat, blood, and grime around, but not effectively removing it. After a moment, Parco suggests they return to the outer perimeter.

"No!" Rod angrily states. Then softly confides to Parco, "Until the last survivor is freed, we remain here." Rising up, he glances around at the overall progress and likes what he sees. With all the knives being used, the work is picking up speed. "It won't be much longer now."

### **25**

Horspaw moves quickly and silently as a phantom on the tundra. Like Pena, he too saw the floating domain directly ahead of them. It was an easy assumption to make that it must be the destination of his prey, Loté. Her sense is almost more than he can tolerate now, and something strange and desirable is sprouting within his breast and loins. His destiny cannot be denied!

Although he had initially intended bringing Pena along to the end, something overpowered his intentions, forcing him to leave her and the child behind. It was a difficult decision, one that brought on an extreme amount of pain and dizziness when he fought it, despite not wavering from the spoor of his destiny. And though he cannot explain it, it had to be done.

Only after he had gone a short distance, was he able to overcome the debilitating pain and return to the place where he'd left the woman and child. Unslinging the flagon from his shoulder, he carefully pours a small amount in the cup of his hand and puts it to her lips. Although her tongue is swollen and discoloring, and her mind has drifted off to a more hospitable place, she sips thirstily at the liquid.

Next, he does the same for the child, ensuring that its tender skin is completely protected from the harsh light by the fabric of the modified pack. Then, leaving the flagon on the ground next to her face where she will easily find it if she regains consciousness, he resumes his journey, utterly confused and bewildered by the moment of tenderness that he felt toward the pair. And even more confused that the modifications to him allowed the moment of tenderness without inflicting mind-numbing pain.

But the moment is quickly forgotten, as he nears the domain, and his sharp sense of hearing picks up the tortured cries and metallic sounds of a battle in full swing. Yet, it is not his battle, and Loté's sense is coming from farther away to the east. With utmost certainty, he knows that he has reached her destination ahead of her. Now, he must decide whether to set a trap and wait, or to continue his pursuit around the domain, and cut her off before she arrives.

While he feels compelled to continue on, and meet up with her before she reaches the domain, he wonders if she isn't bringing reinforcements with her, and will thus be surrounded by a large number of men. Even though the men on the ground are fighting valiantly, they are sorely outnumbered.

Moving closer to the sound of the battle, he positions himself just south of the domain while studying the footprints in the dust from the small party that Rod led to the domain just a short while earlier. In a matter of seconds, he has determined the number in the party, and also the degree of their inexperience by the nervousness of their approach toward the domain.

In a low crouch, he patiently observes the battle's progress, and is astonished at the amount of carnage being inflicted upon those on the ground when it is clearly apparent that only a platform lift consisting of less than thirty men total has reached the surface from the domain. Then, using his keen eyesight to its full advantage, he studies the wounds of the dead and dying in more detail, and quickly sees that many of them still have small shiny blades protruding from them.

It takes him only a moment to figure out the origin of the numerous blades, and how they were utilized to decimate so many of their enemy from above without having to set foot on the surface. A cold sneer turns up the corners of his lips as he envisions the rogues cutting up spare tethering ribbons into many small fragments of deadly, razor sharp steel for the sole purpose of dropping them on the unprotected below. A small part of him wishes that he would have arrived just moments sooner so that he could have observed the deadly carnage while it happened.

Then, as quickly as the feeling came over him, it dissipates, and his cold, calculating sense of duty replaces it. Carefully, he studies the man on the ground that is obviously their leader. He is a tall, dark haired man with a powerful build that automatically demands attention. And yet, he appears to be showing deference to another, slightly less commanding presence than himself. Subconsciously, Horspaw appraises the first man as an opponent, and then realizes that he is studying Loté's mate, the legendary ex-pilot, Rodick. Although he is not sure how he knows this, he believes it with all of his being.

With a keener interest than before, he watches as the man moves among the less skilled, always landing an effective blow and covering their inadequacies. He is particularly protective of the other man. It makes Horspaw wonder if he is looking after him out of guilt, while trying to do the same for all the others near him. Horspaw is impressed with Rod's skill level regarding the long-knife, but also this obvious concern for his fellow comrades. The latter is a weakness that could cost him his life. If he doesn't get himself killed trying to fight the entire battle, he will make a very worthy opponent, in Horspaw's opinion.

Loté's scent is quickly growing stronger, and he realizes that she has increased her pace toward her destination. As much as he would like to linger here and watch the battle, he has determined that he will get in position and cut her approach off. "We will meet some day in the future, Rod, when you are not so preoccupied," he says under his breath.

Rising to a low crouch, he moves swiftly to the east until he is far enough from the domain to move unnoticed. He doesn't worry that he might be seen from the domain because they will not realize who he is or what his intentions are anyway. And beyond that, he has no interest in their plight.

Moving northward, he quickly covers the distance separating him from the projected path that Loté will be using. For a moment, he thinks out his plan, only to determine that he must continue moving forward, directly toward the east until he has her in his sight. Because there may be scouts ahead of her, he must use extreme stealth. Speed is almost irrelevant, since she is coming toward him.

With the nearness of her being, his senses are overwhelmed with her scent. He is no longer able to distinguish the scents of others around her, or even those of the people back at the domain. Every nerve ending in his body is tingling with anticipation, and he licks constantly at the drool dripping from the corners of his mouth, despite the heat and low humidity of the surrounding air.

His heart is pounding in his chest, and his breathing is quick and shallow. For a moment, it reminds him of the way he felt when he first got close to Pena, while she slept unknowing beneath him.

But that was love, and this is lust!

For the first time in his existence, he can distinguish the difference without any doubt. Yet, there is no true desire in his mind for this woman called Loté that he has never met before in his life. The lust that he feels toward her is coming from somewhere deep inside, some buried well of planted origin. It is not his desires that he is feeling, but those of Lord Balzar. The sadistic urges and desires sweeping through his loins and flesh like a wild fire are not his at all, they belong to another! In the far reaches of his mind, he knows this is true, and yet, he is incapable of defying them.

But what then? What happens after he has fulfilled his destiny with this innocent woman? Will he be free to go as he pleases? And will Pena still have him, if she lives?

Moving slowly through the reeds, yet almost invisibly, he draws ever closer to the approaching Loté. With his keen eyesight, he sees their heads above the reeds, as they draw nearer together. It will be only moments before he lays his eyes on her for the first time.

And then, just when they are within reach, they stop to rest for a moment. Quickly, Horspaw studies their number and formation. He is not surprised to see that Loté is in the lead and clearly giving the orders. Her demeanor tells him that she is impatient with the men, and wants to push them harder. But they are not accustomed to the farther reaches and the inhospitable climate that it is presenting to them, so she is forced to acquiesce to their needs.

After a quick word to a tall, lanky youth that carries himself with a sullen manner, she separates from them and comes directly toward him. Horspaw freezes, briefly fearful that she has seen him and is coming to acknowledge his presence.

But logic dictates that she wouldn't separate from the safety of the others if she felt there was a threat in the area, and he quickly relaxes, unmoving, watching her with a growing leer on his face. For the first time in his life, he is seeing the essence of his destiny, and he is physically stunned by her beauty and gracefulness!

Moving slowly, he lowers himself to the ground like a large predator, waiting for its prey to come within reach of his grasp. He is not surprised by the hardness of his manhood, or the tremendous pressure longing for release within his loins. Even if Lord Balzar had not implanted his psyche with so much lust and desire for this woman, he would have felt something stir at the sight of her.

Yet, Balzar did implant him with sadistic desires and demented intentions, and now, with her in his sight, he is having a difficult time restraining himself. Without realizing that he is doing so, he crawls forward, toward the woman of his dreams and nightmares. No number of men can keep them apart, no matter how loyal they are to her.

He is within mere feet of her, when she suddenly stops and drops down low, below the reeds. Without questioning or thanking his good fortune, he slips forth and grabs her around the throat, stifling an attempt to cry out. With gentle pressure against her carotid artery, she slowly slips into unconsciousness, her lithe body going limp in his strong arms. He could have used a quicker method of immobilizing her, but hesitated at the last second for fear of causing undue injury. Her time for pain and humiliation will come soon enough.

The soft pressure of her against his bare flesh feels like a thousand pinpricks, despite the woven reed between them. So close, he finds it difficult to breathe, as he studies the smooth texture of her dust-covered face.

A strong, almost overwhelming desire to throw back the reed shawl from her body and ravish it threatens to destroy everything that Lord Balzar planned for him. Using tremendous self-control, he lifts her into his arms, intending to carry her away before the others come looking for her, when the front of the shawl falls open, exposing her engorged breasts to the grey sky above.

His breath stutters in his throat, and he almost drops her. His manhood releases in a sudden surge of pent-up energy, spraying itself against the reed fabric and drizzling milk like on the tops of his feet. The release causes an immediate clearing of his senses, and he hastily pulls the shawl closed before adjusting her weight to balance comfortably in his arms.

Moving at a low crouch, her body almost touching the ground, he weaves a swift path through the reeds, making it as difficult to follow as possible. In the distance behind him, he hears a chorus of shouts go up as they realize she is missing. The noise causes her to stir, and he has to pause and reapply pressure. With her sleeping soundly in his arms, he retreats back the way he came.

When the domain looms on the horizon, he veers his course southward, intending to pass along the same path that he did prior. He is immediately aware that the battle of earlier is no longer raging, as there is no sound coming from either above or below the domain. His sharp ears pick up whimpers and soulful cries of pain, mostly coming from the area of the tethered toters.

Reaching the same place that he used as an observatory the last time, he stops and sets Loté on the ground. Carefully, he checks her state of consciousness before raising himself enough to observe. Just within the shadow of the domain, but not quite beneath it, he sees Rod and several others in a small group. His eyes rise slowly to the domain, where he sees the platform raised and resting securely against the belly of the floating structure.

Then just as slowly, his eyes fall on the bloody group with Rod. Another man has joined him. His appearance is young, but he carries himself with acquired age and respect. While they talk, the other that he was looking out for earlier during the battle approaches with a flagon of water. Seeing them drink, Horspaw feels the first pangs of thirst in his own body. Moving cautiously, he slips his hand beneath the reed shawl that Loté is wrapped in, and feels for the pack on her back. The touch of her flesh beneath his fingers gives rise to an acute feeling of nausea. His body wants her, and yet, something within his thoughts, buried deep within his mind, forbids it; the time is not yet ripe!

Finding the pack, he gratefully slips his hand inside where he cannot feel the smoothness of her skin. But there is no water, only a spare weapon, some basic medical supplies, and a cache of small rubber rocks. For reasons that he doesn't understand, he places one of the rocks in his mouth and sucks on it. Almost immediately, his thirst is alleviated.

Beneath everything else, he discovers a small parcel of human flesh, carefully wrapped in a layer of leather. It is obviously someone's tissue that she is protecting for future recycling. But it is of no concern to him, and he puts everything back before raising himself and studying the scene before him. Although his eyesight remains sharp and focused, his sense of smell is almost gone, overcome by Loté's scent so strong in his nostrils as to block out all other scents.

Rod and the other two are still together, apparently holding counsel. All of them are covered to some degree in caked blood. With a knowledgeable eye, he estimates their losses, and gauges their strengths. Wryly, he thinks how fortunate Rod is to be surrounded with such brave and loyal men.

Loté slowly stirs, and he is forced to apply more pressure. Her will to fight the darkness reminds him of Pena, and he is suddenly overcome with turmoil. What will Pena think of him for what he must do? Having seen Loté, he realizes his helplessness to resist what Balzar planted within him. Even now, his manhood is hard, his lust boiling within his veins, fighting to be released. He will not be able to control himself for much longer before Balzar's genes take control, and he does to this beautiful woman what no man should ever be allowed to do to another human being.

Rising to his feet again, he watches as the able-bodied men in the group, with Rod in the lead, head back out into the battlefield. A wicked smirk distorts his handsome features as he observes how gingerly they carry themselves for fear of lacerating the soles of their feet on the many sharp blades lying about. When he sees them recovering fallen weapons, he understands immediately that Rod is attempting to arm as many of the men as he can before another platform of rogues can lower themselves to the surface.

Although he feels a strong sense of urgency, he is caught up in the moment of watching them. Once all the weapons are gathered together, the two confidants of Rod's, with Rod leading, head off toward the west. Finding this of interest, Horspaw turns and scoops Loté easily into his heavily muscled arms. Cautiously, he follows, staying due south of them until they turn back toward the north. His curiosity still not satisfied, he too turns toward the north, keeping them in sight. Only when he sees them turn back to the east and move in among the toters, does he understand Rod's intentions.

With his curiosity finally satisfied, he turns once again toward the west, toward Pena, and Loté's last chance at surviving the ordeal that Lord Balzar wrote out for her in Horspaw's genes.

### **26**

"Loté!" Tye cries out, unable to believe she disappeared from right before them. There isn't any tall cover, and yet, she is gone, vanished! "Loté!" he cries out again at the top of his lungs.

"There's no sign of her," says one of the men, reporting the obvious to him.

Frustrated and angry, Tye is about to order the men to spread out and search for sign, when another calls out from a point to the west. "Over here!"

Running toward him, Tye shouts his question, "Can you follow it?"

The answer gives him little relief. Yet, it is something to go on.

"Yes, it leads to the west." As Tye draws up to him to personally inspect the sign, the man says, "A man waited here for her to come to him, and then he carried her off. Yet, he doesn't move in a straight line. His trail zigs north and then south, but always westward."

To himself, Tye states the obvious, "Thank god there isn't any blood. She must still be alive."

"He couldn't have knocked her unconscious, as her head was protected by the hood of the cape. Since we didn't hear her cry out, he must have gotten hold of her throat or covered her mouth somehow," another of the men states.

"Loté is a fighter, we must assume that she lives and is in need of our help," Tye confidently states, not leaving any room for doubt. "Until we overtake her abductor, there will be no rest. Go! Follow the trail, time is wasting here!"

The man sets off at a trot, but quickly pulls up, the rest of them overtaking him en masse. "Why do you stop?" Tye demands of him.

"The trail, it leads back from which it came," he stutters, pointing at the tracks doubling back over themselves.

"Spread out! Everyone! Now!" he shouts, frustration gilding his anger.

Despite everyone's sincere efforts to find the trail and thus find Loté, they accomplish little more than trampling what little sign there is. After a few moments of watching in speechless frustration, as the men grow increasingly disorganized, Tye calls them back into formation.

"We know they were heading due west," he states loud enough for all to hear. "And we know that Rod is somewhere due west of here. So, before we waste anymore time looking for sign, we will resume our forced march directly into the west. It only goes to reason that whoever abducted Loté is headed for the same destination as ourselves, though we don't understand why at this point. Maybe, when we find Rod, we will also find the answers that we seek."

With that said, and no one questioning his authority in Loté's absence, he takes the lead and sets a heart-bursting pace. Up ahead, he will find the answers that he seeks, or he will find Rod's wrath for losing Loté, when Layton specifically entrusted her care to him. In either case, no good will come of it, and he feels a strong sense of foreboding. Yet, no matter the consequences, no one will punish him more than he is already punishing himself. Until he finds Loté, and she is safe, he will push himself beyond his limits. And to Hell with anyone that can't keep up!

### **27**

With all the able-bodied toters finally freed, Rod instructs them through hand signals to start moving toward the outer perimeter of the domain. They have barely started moving, when a cry goes up from the southern perimeter, drawing everyone's attention in that direction. The first thing Rod sees is a multitude of arms waving toward the east, trying to direct their attention that way. But before he follows their beckoning, he glances up, and sees movement at the belly portholes.

Shouting at the top of his lungs, he orders everyone to run, warning them of the coming rain of death only seconds before it begins. But they are near the edge already, and within a matter of long, death defying seconds, most are beyond range of the silver blades raining deadly from the belly of the domain.

Rod and Parco, however, are at the rear of the stampede of human flesh, and farthest from safety. While running madly, but being careful not to overtake the slower toters, Rod draws his long-knife and swings it wildly above his head, trying vainly to deflect the shower of razor sharp blades from his exposed body.

But his efforts do nothing to protect him; it is only because of the grace of the gods that he isn't struck down immediately. Several glance slicing blows off his upper arms, leaving behind only shallow wounds and missing patches of skin. Parco suddenly lets out a sharp yelp, as a blade embeds itself in his scalp. Blood gushes forth immediately, flooding down his face and into his eyes, blinding him. When he stumbles, Rod sheathes his useless weapon and reaches out to put a steadying hand on his forearm to guide him.

Without warning, Parco's feet snag in the reeds, and he goes down. Pulling up short, Rod hovers over him, protecting him with his own body. Several blades land in his exposed flesh, feeling like hot pin pricks. In the back of his mind, he is aware of a wet sensation coursing down his back and wetting the space between the cheeks of his ass. But everything is irrelevant, as Parco is all that matters for the moment.

Ignoring the burning pain and the continuing rain of death, he carefully and gently pulls the protruding piece of metal from Parco's head. The wound is deep, but not lethal. Fortunately, the small pieces of deadly sharp steel do not possess enough force to penetrate a human skull.

Another blade suddenly embeds itself in Rod's upper right shoulder. When he twists his arm, he can feel it gnawing against his shoulder blade.

"Can you get to your feet?" he asks of Parco.

"Yes," Parco shakily replies. "Lead me, Rod, and I will follow."

"Take my hand," Rod orders. And when they're both on their feet, Rod sets off toward the nearest perimeter at a dead run, literally dragging Parco along. They are almost clear of the blades, when Rod feels hands grabbling him under the arms and almost carrying him along, his feet barely touching the surface. Glancing around him through blood and sweat bleary eyes, he makes out his friend Zin along with several of the paler skinned toters. Although they were safely beyond the deadly reach of the blades, they returned to assist when they saw him and Parco in trouble.

More blades spit and hiss or rattle and clink as they find marks or land against others on the ground. After a long second, however, they reach the safety of the perimeter. Hurriedly, the toters and others mercilessly pluck the crimson-smeared steel from their puckering skin.

Rod is sitting on the ground allowing the rescued toters to attend to his and Parco's wounds, when he suddenly remembers that something besides their actions with the toters had set off the hail of steel. Pushing an attentive, yet interfering arm from in front of his face, Rod asks, "What happened? What was all the commotion about?"

"We have company," Zin states with a grin, his own body covered with fresh wounds and dripping blood on the ground at his feet.

"Help me up!" Rod commands, reaching for assistance. "Hurry," he goads, when they don't move fast enough to satisfy him.

Looking hard toward the east, he quickly recognizes the faces of several of the men, despite the hoods and capes adorning them.

"It's Tye!" he shouts with excitement. "It's Layton's army."

"Don't get too ahead of yourself, Rod," Zin calmly advises, also studying the men approaching from the east. "If that's Layton's army, where's Layton? And why are there so few?"

"Come, we will find out," Rod says excitedly, his faith in Layton unshaken. "There should be news from Loté, also," he adds, spurring Zin to step a little faster, as they head to the south and then east to meet up with Tye while avoiding any further encounter with the rogues.

A few, but not all of the toters, follow them. Most are content to simply rest in the bright light, just beyond the shadow cast by the domain. It is the first time in a long time that they have been free of their harnesses and allowed to venture beyond the shadow of the domain.

As they draw nearer to Tye and his band of men, there is a brief moment of shock and alarm on the newcomer's faces because of all the blood. When they are still fifty paces from Tye and his soldiers, Tye suddenly halts, and his men spread out on either side of him in a protective show of force. They stand uneasily, most of them not accustomed to the sight of so much blood, especially when it is adorning standing men. Their weapons are drawn and at the ready, though they remain at a distance, waiting for an explanation to the situation ahead of them.

Meanwhile, Rod and the others still following him, continue forward, anxiously awaiting any news they might be carrying. When they are within easy speaking distance, Rod pipes up with the first and foremost important question. "Tye, it is so good to see you. Where is your commander, Layton? And how is Loté? Has she sent you with a message for me?"

Ashamed of his failure, it takes Tye a moment to collect himself and summon up the courage to speak. By this time, Rod is directly before him, holding out his hand in a welcoming gesture. The nearness reminds Tye of when he was a small boy, meeting Rod for the first time. Although he didn't sense any menace from him, he was slow to trust. This time, he knows that he can trust Rod, but fears the menace that will come from him when he explains Loté's sudden disappearance while being under his protection.

"I'm sorry, sir," is all he can say.

"I don't understand, Tye," Rod says perplexed, studying Tye's face for answers. "You're a good man, Tye, what can you possibly be sorry for?"

Of all the men in the world, Rod is the only man who's opinion of him ever mattered, or still matters. He is suddenly less concerned for his safety than he is for the irreparable damage that has been done to the opinion Rod has of him. "She was commanding our unit when she suddenly disappeared." He pauses, while Rod's face twists into bewilderment and confusion. "She was kidnapped right out from under our surveillance. One minute she was there, and then the next, she was gone. We followed the trail for a short distance before losing it. But I am certain that whoever took her was heading here." After a long pause, he adds defensively, "We came as swiftly as we could."

"Where is Layton, and does he know what's happened?" Rod anxiously inquires.

"We left him with the main body so that we could come on ahead at a faster pace. He doesn't know anything yet, but I will send a man back to inform him immediately."

Zin, having remained silent to this point while taking it all in, suddenly speaks up. "Rest your men, and then we'll send out trackers to the north and south until we break a fresh trail. If what you say is accurate, whoever took her will have to pass this domain either to the north or the south and we should be able to find the trail. Do you have water for your men?"

"We should have enough for now. More water and supplies will be coming with the others," Tye states matter-of-factly, speaking directly to Zin. He is stunned by the fact that Rod isn't reprimanding him for having lost Loté, and suddenly feels a strong desire to tell him that he will not rest until he sees her safe again. But before he can speak, an inner voice silences him, advising him that it isn't necessary, and will only appear as a sign of weakness before such a strong and powerful individual.

"Let me know as soon as your men are ready," Rod says, speaking to him in an almost fatherly voice.

Tye suddenly realizes that Rod still sees him as the child, and not the man he has grown into. This realization both relieves and angers him. And it also makes him more determined than ever to prove himself to him. "They're ready now, sir."

"Good, then we'll get started." Nodding toward the bodies lying in the deeper shadow of the domain, he adds, "Don't venture beneath the domain if you don't have to."

It doesn't need words to explain what has happened there. All the carnage and blades are visible, just as they have fallen, as well as the multitude of superficial wounds adorning Rod and the others.

Because of the sight of Rod and the others, all of which are covered in blood-caked dust with thicker, still moist spots where the blades struck deep, none of Tye's men argue or protest the short rest they've been given, despite having ran nonstop for the last couple hours through some of the most inhospitable terrain on the planet.

Moreover, because of the ordeal Rod and the others have just survived, none of them are feeling any particular empathy for Tye and his men. But most important to everyone, even if these thoughts were being thought in the privacy of their own minds, is their overall concern for Loté, and what might be happening to her while they search.

The question of who would want to kidnap Loté never comes up. Even though a law was passed restricting the recycling of certain individuals based upon a communal of their peers, Rod, as well as Zin and everyone else that knows Loté on a personal level, believe that it has to be Lord Balzar. Who would have recycled him will be a topic of much debate when there comes time for such lollygagging. Speculation will run to all corners of the planet, especially including the subsurface, where it is well known that a strong insurgency of loyalists to Balzar still exists. It is only to the good fortune of many innocent people that they don't have the strength or courage to bring themselves into the public eye. But when Layton's army is ready, they will hunt them down to the last man and bring them to justice.

Rod believes that whoever has his love will have passed them to the north, probably veering at an angle that will bring them back to the equatorial trail well beyond them to the west. Whether Zin agrees with him or not, he isn't arguing about which direction he is heading. Because it is Rod's woman that is the subject of the search, he will only do precisely as Rod requests of him.

With Tye following Rod and slightly more than half of his force of almost fifty men, they start off to the west until they are clear of the domain, and then turn due north, hoping to intercept the trail left by Loté's abductor. Meanwhile, Zin and the rest of Tye's men head due south, directly away from the domain. And, although Zin doesn't hold out much hope of finding fresh spoor, he diligently studies the ground before him, looking for any sign that their small group didn't make on the approach to the domain.

They haven't gone far, when one of Tye's men summons him over to exclude a set of heavy tracks branching out to the west from their last stop before splitting up for the attack on the domain. It takes Zin barely a second to realize that he is looking at a strange set of prints, and they are too heavy for a single individual, unless they are packing a heavy load.

"Signal Rod!" he says urgently, not waiting for the man to carry out the order before heading off toward the west at an urgent pace.

The track is easy to distinguish from any other because of the deep impression caused by the added weight of Loté's unconscious body. But alarming to Zin is the obvious lack of care the man is taking to conceal it.

Rod and the others have not gone far yet, and Zin can hear their excited cries to each other as they race toward him, when a thought suddenly stops him in his tracks. Although everyone has assumed that it is Lord Balzar that took Loté, Zin's train of thought runs in another direction. He was there when Rod and Loté were captured by Balzar, and he remembers all too clearly that Balzar wanted Loté for sadistic reasons that only a man like Balzar can understand. He also remembers that Balzar wanted Rod for even more deadly reasons. In fact, as he remembers it, he wanted Rod above all else for the sole purpose of revenge! Balzar was more preoccupied with destroying Rod than anything else, even to the inclusion of letting his kingdom fall into ruin.

Remembering all of this, he suddenly has to ask himself, "What if she is simply bait to bring Rod to him? What if we are heading right into a trap?"

Rod comes running toward him, panting hard from the exertion. "What are you waiting for?" he demands of his friend.

"We have to consider the possibility that she was taken for bait to draw you into a trap," Zin replies calmly, not letting his friend's anxiety infect him also. The situation is calling for a cool head, and in his opinion, Rod cannot be thinking clearly.

"To Hell with caution!" Rod fires back. "Follow me."

Before Zin can argue with him, Rod takes off at a dead run toward the west, hot on the trail leading to his love. Tye reacts first, and quickly falls in abreast of Rod, his sharp eyes studying the spoor, and keeping Rod on coarse.

Though tired and exhausted from travel and battle, Rod asks Tye how much time has passed since Loté's disappearance. The answer will dictate the pace. If little time has passed, he will push himself and the others to the extent of their endurance. If more time has passed, he will set a pace that will eat up distance, and not overtax their meager reserves of strength too quickly, despite the high heat levels and nonexistent humidity levels.

"We have not seen her for more than two hours, Earth time," Tye answers him. When Rod doesn't respond for a moment, but simply continues his mad forward charge, Tye asks of him, "Should I send a detachment back to the domain to take charge of the freed slaves and toters, just in case the rogues decide to take back control in our absence, and deploy their forces to the surface?"

Rod abruptly stops, sending the men close on their heels into a moment of confusion and bedlam until they realize what is happening. Zin draws up beside him, a questioning expression on his face. Not waiting for order to be regained, Rod says, "Take thirty of Tye's men and return to the domain. If the rogues realize they are being held at bay by a force of mostly unarmed toters and slaves, they're liable to attempt a coup on the surface. And if they manage to lower all of their men before Layton arrives, we will lose the advantage we currently hold. For now, we need to keep them contained aboard the domain."

"Why not send Tye back with his men? We are only chasing what appears to be one man, after all," Zin argues without much conviction, yet not wanting to abandon the chance to help Loté.

Rod glances sternly at him, and he turns back to the men, quickly breaking them into a party of two. But before leaving Rod to return to the domain, he turns back and looks him in the eye while emphatically saying, "Find the bastard, and bring our girl back safe."

Rod gives him a brisk nod of affirmation before turning to Tye and saying, "You take the lead."

Caught off balance by the compliment and trust that Rod is placing in him, Tye stutters acknowledgement, and then raises his right arm to signal his troops to advance on his command.

### **28**

With Loté draped across his arms, Horspaw moves silently away from the domain. Using the tremendous strength in his genetically altered legs, he is able to move at almost three times the speed of an average individual. Furthermore, there is no need to hide his trail. By the time anyone finds him, he will be finished fulfilling his destiny.

But what comes after that, he has little knowledge. Will his genetic makeup allow him to blend into society as a normal human man, or is he doomed to evil, and a never-ending call to sadism? Who will be his next victim?

Loté stirs in his arms, and he pauses for a moment, looking down into her lovely face. An irresistible urge overcomes his restraint, and he lays her on the ground, the woven cape falling open to reveal her swollen breasts and firm tummy. His eyes devour her beauty, hungrily following each and every curve of her body, as they move down her thighs, lapping at the well-defined leg muscles.

Slowly, almost gently, he opens the cape further, now exposing her deeply tanned arms and shoulders. Her long, dark hair, sensually frames her face, creating a picture of undeniable splendor.

With unsteady fingers, he touches her hair, gathering a small bunch together and raising it to his nostrils, inhaling deeply the full scent of her being in a heady rush of passion. Slowly, he lays the strands of hair carefully back where they were, almost as if in awe of her. A strong desire to take her is slowly building within his loins, creating a beautiful pain that is keeping him focused. Without something to keep him cognizant, he would be brutally ravaging her, inflicting extreme pain and humiliation upon her loveliness with wild abandon. It is what Balzar demands, and his destiny is quickly growing impatient with his gentle slowness.

With a flick of his fingers, he undoes the soft suede halter confining the burgeoning breasts, and exposes them to the bright grey sky. The pain increases tenfold within his lower belly, and he leans forward, agonizing against it, but managing to stay focused. Her breasts are upright and full, and he cannot fight the urge to fondle them. A small drop of liquid erupts, and Loté stirs sensually in her sleep.

With the grace of a lowly snake, his tongue flicks out and he laps up the glistening liquid, relishing the flavor of her fruit. The thrill of violation against her sets off an uncontrollable spasm, and his manhood releases itself across her bare legs. Yet, deep within his consciousness, he realizes that it is Balzar's influence and ethereal presence that is taking the pleasure; his own being is crying out in protest and disgust!

A name suddenly jumps to the forefront of his mind-Pena!

With renewed determination, he closes the halter back over her breasts, and roughly draws the cape together, hiding the temptation from his genetically altered and Balzar influenced genes. The action causes Loté to stir, and he quickly reapplies pressure, sending her into an oxygen-deprivation coma of his making.

While part of him demands that he ravage and inflict pain upon hurt her, another part is fighting to continue forward, into the unknown, where Balzar cannot influence or humiliate. But it is a small part, the larger and stronger being Balzar's sadistic and unrelenting control.

Yet, the control is managed through pain, and nothing more. His altered genetic makeup was designed to endure pain without acknowledgement. He should be able to function as if without the influence of pain.

So why can't her? Why can't he ignore the influence of Balzar in his brain?

Lifting Loté into his arms, he struggles forward, his steps suddenly unsteady, and his pace a hobbling, stumbling journey forward. The pain in his head demanding release, ordering him to fulfill his destiny while his prey is vulnerable and within his grasp.

The heat seems overwhelming, the light burning brightly against his shrunken pupils, forcing him to squint his eyes against it just to see the ground before his feet. His joints are stiff and painful, as if arthritic. He feels old, almost as if he has gone through a time machine and leaped forward one hundred years. No longer do his muscles vibrate with youthful strength and enthusiasm, his senses keen and alert.

Somewhere in his subconscious, he is aware that Balzar's genetically altered genes came with an override switch on the off chance that he is unable to perform according to his destiny. And because he is resisting the pain, the switches are kicking in, making him physically weaker, and less able to resist. At the current rate of rescission, he will be lucky to get back to the place where he left Pena and the child before he becomes too weak to carry Loté.

Yet, in the forefront of his mind is the knowledge that he can still get back in tune with the destiny laid out for him, and the pain will subside. And with the remission of his pain, he will also find his former strengths and abilities. All he has to do is submit to Lord Balzar's will, and give in to the sadistic and primal urges wracking through his body. She is in his grasp, vulnerable to his every whim. He has achieved single handedly what Lord Balzar couldn't do with all of his influence and power, as well as a force of thousands at his beckoning. To this end, Lord Balzar will not be denied. Loté's day of reckoning has arrived!

### **29**

With Tye leading, Rod is given a mental respite, and he considers everything that has happened as of late. While his feet move his body forward, his mind is busy assessing all the facts. He knows that Lord Balzar was obsessed with Loté, but has assumed over the years that it was over, in their past. Moreover, he was having a hard time believing that someone might have recycled Balzar without word leaking to ears within their realm.

So who would kidnap Loté and why?

Was it as Zin suspected, and she was abducted for use as bait? Could it even be someone connected to the rogue domain? That would explain their presence in the farther reaches. But who aboard the domain, or still on the ground and unable to return to the domain, would realize the importance of the individual they kidnapped?

No, it is much more likely, whoever took her realizes whom they have, and that it will bring him after her, with or without an army. And though he keeps coming back to this conclusion, he is having a hard time believing that Balzar is somehow connected.

They have pushed at a hard run for nearly an hour, when Tye suddenly pulls up short. The men are exhausted, and many simply fall to the ground, unable to remain on their feet. Water flagons are passed around, and those unable to drink are assisted. If not for their capes to protect them from the moon's glare, they would not have made it this far. Rod's own salvaged-together piece of hide is weighty and unwieldy, but well worth the discomfort.

After taking a long swallow on the flagon, he passes it to Tye, who in turn does the same. For the sake of survival, they are beyond sips. Tye savors the warm fluid as it cleanses the dust from his throat, and then says to Rod, "The spoor changes."

Rod immediately perks to attention, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. "How so?" he quickly demands, his voice rattling in his throat.

"The man carrying her stopped here to rest." Tye takes a breath before continuing, "There is sign that he raped her, his man-juice is crusted into the dust."

"Damn him!" Rod cries out, jumping to his feet while raising his long-knife in defiance and anguish. "I will cut his heart out and shove it down his throat, for what he has done to my woman!" Out of respect, no one speaks, and then slowly, his arm lowers, and a soft whimper escapes his cracked and bleeding lips, "I am so sorry, my love." Then, taking a deep breath, he turns to Tye and says emphatically, "I will go on ahead. You can catch up when the men are able to travel."

"There is more, sir," Tye says softly. "The spoor shows evidence that her abductor is growing weak."

Rod immediately looks toward the west, studying the tracks for the first time. It is quickly apparent to him that the person they are following stumbled, the tracks clearly showing a shuffling, disoriented nature to him. The footprints are closing together and unevenly spaced apart from side to side. It is as if carrying Loté has become an unwieldy burden.

After a long moment, Rod finally says, "He is vulnerable, after all."

Without any further words, Rod pulls the makeshift cape closer around his face, and sets off at a steady trot across the barren tundra, his eyes glancing between the horizon and the tracks. His confidence is high that he will overtake Loté and her abductor quickly.

He manages to keep up the pace for almost fifteen minutes, before he is forced to stop and take a sip from the almost empty flagon. Glancing over his back trail, he is not surprised to see a wispy cloud of dust in his wake. But he is slightly disappointed that he has not overtaken at least as much from the spoor he is chasing, even though he doesn't expect such. Unlike him, the person he is chasing is moving much too slow to raise a cloud of dust.

When he overtakes them, he will see their silhouettes on the horizon. Then, he will make the man pay, especially if it turns out to be the dreaded Balzar. And then, he will bring an end to the legends and myths surrounding the evil being. He will show the world that the man is only human, and nothing more. He is not superior or invincible. He is just like everyone else, and he can be killed and put away permanently, never to be recycled again.

And if it is not Balzar, the individual will still receive the same permanent treatment. Injustices to innocent human beings will never be tolerated again, and he will be made an example of for all to see.

Spurred on by his mounting anger and growing concern for Loté, Rod resumes his steady trot, the low cloud of red dust following in his wake.

But he doesn't have far to go, when he comes across a naked man, sitting with his back toward him. He appears to be alone and with no supplies. As Rod draws nearer to him, he notices that the man is not only naked, be he also appears to be unarmed.

Wary, studying the area directly around him, he is disappointed not to see Loté, or anyone else, for that matter. Drawing his long-knife, he cautiously circles around the man until he is facing him from a distance of almost thirty feet.

His first impression is of a handsome, well-built man of dark complexion and hair. But as he studies him closer, warily moving toward him with his long-knife at the ready, he sees a man suffering from much mental anguish and torture. His eyes are sunken in deep, dark circles, lines of experience running deeply from the corners of his eyes and forehead. Even now, as he draws closer, the man remains in pain.

Confused, Rod asks of him, "What is wrong?"

When the man doesn't acknowledge him, Rod raises his voice. "I am looking for someone that may have come this way. Have you seen anyone, possibly carrying another?"

This time, the man's eyes focus on Rod, and he grimaces with the effort.

"You've finally made it," he says between tortured lips. Shaking as if with a sudden chill, his voice stuttering, he adds, "I knew you would be the first to arrive."

"Do you know me?" Rod demands, suddenly certain that this man is somehow involved in Loté's abduction.

Stiffly, as if lifting a heavy burden, the man slowly rises to his feet. He is clearly unarmed and naked, and yet, his skin is not burnt, as a normal man's skin should be. Speaking softly, his voice barely audible to Rod, the man says, "Yes, I know you. I am the reason you are here."

His anger suddenly flaring, Rod takes a quick step forward and then just as quickly checks himself. "Where is she?" he demands of the tall stranger. "If you've harmed her, I'll make you pay ten times over."

As if he didn't hear or comprehend Rod's words, the man begins to speak, his voice soft, yet clear. "I am a product of your nemesis, the Lord Balzar. He made me in his image of evil. To fulfill the destiny that has been laid out for me, I must do his bidding."

"Where is the bastard?"

This time he acknowledges Rod, though he is far from finished. "I have no idea. Although he created me from his genes, I have never laid eyes on him." The man stops for a moment as if undecided on the right words. Rod takes the opportunity to move closer. Although the man is unarmed, Rod holds his weapon at the ready. Until he knows that no one else is near, he will remain on guard against an ambush. "My name is Horspaw. I consist of genetic material from several individuals, including synthetic alterations that have enhanced my senses and capabilities." After a moment's pause, he shouts to the horizon, his body pumped and quivering while he shakes his right fist in defiance, "I am Horspaw! No man dictates my course of action!"

Rod senses that the declaration isn't intended for him, but some inner struggle that is taking place within the man. It is as if Horspaw is flitting between reality and some other place.

Standing less than ten feet from him, Rod demands of him, "Where is Loté?"

"Loté," Horspaw laughs.

"Why do you laugh? I could kill you now, and on my word, you will never be recycled."

Horspaw regards this last comment regarding his recycling with even more hilarity, and throws his head back, a thunderous bellow of laughter erupting from his open mouth, while Rod stands before him, uncomprehending.

After a long moment, the laughter dies, and Horspaw focuses again on Rod. "Balzar has decreed that I should kill this woman, Loté. He made me for that purpose alone. True to his engineering skills, I tracked her down, and I took her out from under her escort. They could not stop me. No one can stop me!" He takes a deep breath, and then slowly exhales. "You cannot stop me," he says calmly, his gaze on Rod. "She must be punished for the humiliation she bestowed on him. He will not rest until she has been humiliated and disgraced as he was."

"She was only fighting to protect herself and her friends, the people she loves!" Rod argues defiantly. "She never would have done to him what she did, if he had not done to so many innocent people what he did." Rod takes a deep breath and steadies his stance before continuing, "Then he will never rest, because I will kill you before I let you harm her anymore than you already have."

Remembering the caked sperm in the dust, Rod's anger suddenly flares beyond his control, and he charges toward Horspaw, his blade leveled for a deep thrust to the midsection. Everything appears to him as an easy kill.

But it is too easy! Rod has never attacked an unarmed man before that isn't threatening, and he can't now. With the tip of his blade less than an inch from Horspaw's exposed midsection, he abruptly halts, freezing in mid-stride. To his astonishment, Horspaw hasn't even flinched, no fear ever clouding his eyes.

"I should kill you for what you have done," Rod says through clenched teeth, still fighting the urge to drive his weapon into the naked flesh.

Speaking calmly, as if they are two old friends enjoying a leisurely moment together, Horspaw asks, "What have I done, that I deserve to die at your hand?"

Rod blinks the sweat from his eyes, and looks at Horspaw anew. To his surprise, he notices that the deep worry lines and creases surrounding Horspaw's eyes and forehead are gradually diminishing, the skin growing tight and smooth. To Rod, he appears to be growing younger right before him.

Cautiously, Rod lowers his weapon, while continuing to study Horspaw's face in amazement. Yet, if he flinches, Rod will gut him without hesitation.

"How dare you take my woman? You have soiled her beauty with your defiling touch, and taken what you had no right to!" His hands are shaking with uncontrolled anger, as he continues. "And then, you have the gall to stand here before me, while denying that you've done anything wrong! May the gods have mercy on your soul!"

Calmly, Horspaw replies, "I have never denied my deeds. I am guilty of many injustices against humanity. But that is not what I asked of you. If you'll indulge me, I asked of you what have I done that you feel so strongly you can take the laws of humanity into your own hands, and exact what you feel is justice?"

"You know what you have done!" Rod screams angrily at him.

"Then you must tell me, so that I understand why I must die."

Frustrated by Horspaw's calm demeanor, Rod raises his weapon above his head and swings it fiercely, barely a breadth above Horspaw's head. The blade whistles in the hot, dry air, and Horspaw feels the gentle breeze of its passing. His pain is subsiding, and he is thinking clearly again. He doesn't understand what is happening to him, but he suspects it is because he has finished with Loté, and his destiny is almost fulfilled.

Speaking softly, almost apologetically, Horspaw says to Rod, "I am sorry for what I did to your mate, Loté. She is a very beautiful woman, and I can understand why you care for her the way that you do. But you must know and understand something before you kill me, or try to kill me."

"There is nothing you can say that will deter me from my obligation to see you rot in Hell," Rod seethes through clenched teeth.

"None-the-less, I will tell you, since you are a part of it." Horspaw pauses for a moment, suddenly not sure where he should start. Then, after a deep breath, he begins, "Lord Balzar created me from his genes, as well as several others that were modified on a cellular level. I was given superior strength, reflexes, and senses. I was also cursed with a preordained destiny. It was in my very being to find Loté and destroy her." He pauses for a moment, studying Rod's reaction to this statement before continuing. "Although she was my first priority, I have come to learn that there was more to his madness than I was originally aware. It was also written into my genes that when I finished with her, I was to hunt down the famous pilot of legend that goes by the name Rodick, you. To fulfill my destiny and finally be free of Lord Balzar so that I can get on with a life of my own, I must destroy you. At first, I had assumed that simply humiliating Loté and soiling her for eternity would be enough to destroy you, also. But I can see now that will not be enough. You are a tough man. The stories taught to me as a child didn't do you justice. You are indeed worthy of the legends told of you."

Rod's bewilderment lasts barely a fraction of a second, before he realizes that he must strike first, if he is to live. His anger and adrenalin is further fueled by Horspaw's bold confession of what he did to Loté, if not all the details of it. It is enough for Rod, and he springs into action, his weapon whistling through the air toward Horspaw's exposed torso.

But before his blade strikes flesh, Horspaw is no longer standing before him. Moving with incredible speed, the spring steel in his legs snapping taut, he catapults himself into the air, and Rod's deadly blade whistles harmlessly below his feet.

Rod immediately twists his wrists, and spins on the balls of his feet, reversing the direction of his blade without a loss of momentum. This time he aims higher, for the neck, yet ready to change up or down depending on Horspaw's defensive move. He has never witnessed a man jump so high from a stationary stance, which tells him volumes about his adversary. The words spoken to him only moment's prior suddenly taking on a new importance and validity. This man is no ordinary warrior!

But then, neither is Rod, the man of legends and myths.

The leading edge of his blade just a microsecond behind his vision, Rod is suddenly stunned that his opponent is no longer there; he has simply vanished!

Rod's weapon curves downward, the momentum of heavy steel carrying it into the reeds before coming to rest on the ground. Warily, holding his long-knife with a two-handed grip, Rod turns to his left, expecting to see Horspaw standing behind him.

He is not disappointed.

Before he can raise the heavy steel blade to bring it around, Horspaw steps in close and grabs him by the wrist, the heavy cords of muscle clamping down with enough force to stop Rod in his tracks.

Rod has always been proud of his prowess with a long-knife. He has also been proud of the fact that he's never lost a fight with his bare hands. But he can't remember ever going up against an opponent that could stop him in his tracks with just one hand.

Drawing from his reserves of strength and discipline, Rod clenches his teeth and arches his back with the strain of bringing the weapon up toward the man holding his wrist in a vice-like grip. His gaze follows the arm, studying the bulging muscles that seem steady and controlled; unlike his own that are quivering with the strain. Slowly, he makes eye contact with Horspaw, and is stunned to see amusement behind the shrunken pupils. In that moment, he realizes for the first time in his life, he has met his match. This stranger that calls himself Horspaw, created by the evil Lord Balzar, holds his destiny in his hands.

The long-knife drops from Rod's grasp, as his fingers go numb for lack of blood. Desperate, Rod swings his right foot out and hooks it behind Horspaw's left calf. But when he tries to pull Horspaw off balance, Horspaw's other hand flicks out and encircles itself around the front of Rod's throat, shutting off his air and blood flow to the brain. With spots blurring his vision, he feels his feet lifting off the ground.

Desperately, his struggles growing weak and ineffective, he focuses on Horspaw's face, as his vision clouds, drawing in from the edges until all he can see is his eyes. There is no mirth or evil lurking in them. He sees no satisfaction or sense of accomplishment, only relief.

Slowly, even Horspaw's eyes begin to fade, and he feels the seductive pull of unconsciousness drawing him into its depths. It is a slippery path leading downward. He has been down it enough to realize that it is much more difficult to reverse his momentum and climb back up.

With all of his resolve, he fights the temptation to succumb. Fiercely, he kicks out with his right foot, and feels it strike something soft and giving. The hold on his throat jerks, and he manages a quick gasp of air. It's enough to keep him from falling down into the abyss, and he kicks out again. This time, his foot strikes something solid, and his feet strike the ground with a thud. He feels himself freefalling, but is unable to stop himself, his entire body feeling as if he has landed on pointed stakes. Even the air being sucked into his lungs hurts, as if it's on fire.

As his vision slowly returns, he is stunned to see Horspaw standing uninjured before him. Confusion sets in, as he tries to understand why the man is letting him live. And then he remembers the others. They must have come to his rescue, but he his lying too low in the reeds to see them.

Yet, Horspaw doesn't seem concerned or distracted; he is looking directly at Rod, and their gazes meet again.

His voice hurting, Rod gasps, "Kill me if you're going to."

"I only said that Balzar intended for me to destroy you. I never said that I intended to."

"Then why are you strangling me?" Rod gasps, confused and bewildered.

"It seemed the only thing to do if I didn't intend on killing you." Horspaw pauses for a moment, releasing his hold on Rod. "I have no intentions of hurting you," he continues, enjoying the confused expression on Rod's face. "It is you that was going to kill me."

"And I still will!" Rod defiantly declares. "Unless you take me to Loté immediately, and I see that she is all right, I swear, I will kill you."

"Then come."

Rod slowly regains his feet, and is surprised that they are still alone. He was certain that Horspaw had changed tactics because he saw the soldiers coming this way. Stiffly, he follows after Horspaw, the man ahead of him appearing immune to the heat and labor of travel.

When Rod trips and falls, Horspaw turns and patiently waits, but doesn't offer so much as a hand. Struggling back to his feet, Rod glares angrily at him, finding the strength to continue. He must find Loté, even if he is being led into a trap, though he no longer feels any real conviction of such. If Horspaw intended on killing him, he would have done so already. In addition, it doesn't make Rod feel any better knowing that the man could have carried it out with ease.

They have covered quite a distance, when the man suddenly halts, while continuing to stare ahead. Rod slowly pulls up abreast, and follows his line of vision. A short distance ahead of them, he makes out a mound in the reeds. Anger flares anew, as he grows certain that it is Loté's remains.

Grabbing Horspaw by the arm and spinning him around to face him, Rod cries out in anguish, "What have you done to her?"

"Come," Horspaw calmly replies, brushing off Rod's hand on his arm and continuing forward.

Too exhausted and dehydrated to act on his anger, Rod stumbles after him, a ball of grief eating his insides like a growing fire. They are almost to the mound when Rod recognizes the pattern of the woven reeds. There is no doubt that it belongs to Loté.

"You bastard!" he stutters before falling to the ground next to the cape. Lying on the ground, too dehydrated to form tears, Rod whimpers, "You bastard."

His voice is strained from grief and lack of water, yet the body beneath the cape recognizes it immediately, as it joyously cries out, "Rod!"

Rod's eyes fly open at the sound of Loté's voice, and she throws back the cape, revealing that she isn't alone. Huddled next to her is a haggard looking woman; while on her lap lies a young infant. The child is busy feeding on Loté's engorged breasts, while the woman looks on with love and relief in her eyes.

Forcefully pulling the baby's mouth from her breast and handing the child back to the woman, Loté lets out another cry of joy, and throws her arms around Rod, pulling him to her. He is amazed at her strength, realizing for the first time just how weak he has become from his ordeal.

"Oh Rod," she cries, tears trundling through the heavy layer of red dust masking her face.

"I thought you were dead," he breathes through parched lips.

They hold each other for a long time, before Loté finally pulls apart from him and produces a nearly empty flagon of water. Carefully, so as not to spill a drop, she pours a small amount into his mouth. He swallows, savoring the sensation as it rolls down his throat. When he reaches for the flagon, she holds it out of his reach, saying, "This is all we have."

Although she didn't intend it to sound like an admonishment, he feels embarrassment over his selfish desire. After a long moment of contentment at being reunited with his love, Rod rolls onto his side and looks up at Horspaw, who has moved over to stand next to the woman and her child. Rod immediately recognizes his expression of contentment also as he looks down upon them.

"This is Pena," Loté says, jarring him from his moment of reverie. "And the child's name is Kaja."

Pena glances at Rod, a face that is beautiful in its tranquility, but currently burnt and distorted from exposure to the elements. "You are a lucky man, Horspaw," Rod remarks, not taking his eyes off the woman.

"And so are you," Horspaw reflectively replies.

Horspaw suddenly tenses, and Rod reflexively reaches for his long-knife. With great effort, and a helping hand from Horspaw, he rises stiffly to his feet. But when he apprehensively glances around, he sees nothing but empty horizon. "What is it?" he asks of Horspaw.

"Men approaching from the east. Approximately thirty, moving fast," he calmly replies.

Surprised by his abilities, but not willing to show it, Rod replies equally calmly, "That will be my men. They will have water enough for all until we can return to the domain."

"You overtook the domain?" Loté bursts out excitedly. "Tell me, love, what happened? Have you freed the slaves?" Excited and anxious to hear his tale, she climbs out from the protection of the cape, leaving it undisturbed for the more seriously suffering Pena. "Layton will need to see you immediately. We'll have to send a currier back with all the details."

"Calm down, Loté," Rod says, putting a hand on her arm.

At that moment, Rod's attention is drawn toward the eastern horizon, and the miniature figures appearing there. "We'll have water and supplies soon, Tye is coming with his men."

At the mention of Tye's name, Loté says softly to him, "I am so glad that he is alright."

"Yes, me too," is all he says.

In their short time alone together, Pena filled in Loté with all the details of Horspaw's existence and destiny, and most importantly, his constant battle to change it. Because he didn't kill anyone in the execution of Loté's abduction, Pena knows with certainty that he has overcome Lord Balzar's instilled influence. Moreover, just seeing the healthy glow on his face is enough to prove that he is no longer in mortal combat for control of his life.

### **30**

Upon Tye's arrival with the men, Horspaw is quickly introduced, purposely omitting all the details of how he came to be and why he abducted Loté. In fact, she swears that he propositioned her for the sole purpose of saving the child with her fortuitous blessing of motherhood. It went without question that she couldn't deny the child life. Rumors were bound to spread, but because of Rod and Loté's status, no one will ever confront them openly, and they have no intentions of ever clarify the details. Somehow, Tye instinctively knew better than to ask why she left without consulting anyone beforehand.

Although Tye's men are not well equipped, they have sufficient water and covering for all. The return trip to the rogue's domain is slow, verging on leisurely. Rod's wounds are well cauterized from the heavy coating of red dust. They itch intensely, as his skin begins the healing process, but he bites his tongue and resists the urge to scratch. Kaja, although holding on to life by a thread, turns the corner, and slowly grows stronger from the steady supply of nourishment from Loté's breasts.

As they near the domain, Loté is surprised by the number of men milling about. Her first concern is that there will not be sufficient supplies of water for so many. When the question is brought up in council with Zin, Parco, Tye, and several of his lieutenants in attendance, Rod quickly averts his eyes, ashamed that he hadn't considered it himself.

"We must set up a supply line to the equatorial trail," Zin casually states. "Because the rogues' only means of attacking us is through the belly portholes or down the elevator platform, we can safely keep them contained up there so long as we have supplies down here. Eventually, their supplies will be exhausted, and they'll have to surrender to us or die."

Loté is the first to speak up. "What about the slaves they have aboard the domain? We can't just forget that they're up there." Being the consummate humanitarian, Loté made a point of going around immediately after her arrival at camp and looking in on all the injured, including the remaining camp followers, who quickly apprised her of the slaves still aboard the domain.

"We haven't forgotten them," Rod says flatly. And then, feeling he should explain further, adds, "We considered torching the domain from down here and burning them out of the sky, but discarded the idea for two reasons."

"What is the other?" she quickly presses him.

""I promised the domain in equal partnership to Lofa's family in exchange for their assistance in overthrowing the rogue's ground forces. I can hardly burn their payment to the ground after the losses they've suffered. It wouldn't be right."

"Thank you," Loté says softly, intended just for his ears.

Horspaw suddenly appears just beyond their group. Upon seeing him, Rod quickly invites him to join them. "Come on Horspaw, join us. We are strategizing our campaign against the rogues, and we can use any fresh ideas you might have." He says this openly, but he doesn't truly expect any input, even if the man has an idea.

Ever since their first meeting, when Horspaw explained his entire purpose for being to Rod, he has kept to himself, and Rod doesn't expect anything different from him now. He shares a very intimate and private relationship with Pena and Kaja, letting only Loté into their private world, and she isn't confiding their business with him.

"I have a suggestion," he says calmly, almost bordering on shyly.

All eyes in the group suddenly focus on the handsome, well-muscled man, who has elected to wear a suede leather loin cloth similar to that of Tye's men, so as not to appear a braggart.

"Well, let's have out with it," Rod says, attempting to sound encouraged, but secretly doubting the man's abilities at warfare.

"I can scale one of the metal tethers and then drop ropes down for men to climb."

Without thinking, Zin contemptuously blurts, "It's physically impossible to climb a tether ribbon." Then, realizing the crude manner in which he acted, lamely adds, "Careless handlers lose fingers all the time working around it."

Coldly, Horspaw remarks, "I am not a careless handler."

Rod quickly cuts in, "No one is doubting your abilities, Horspaw. Unless anyone," and Rod's gaze focuses on his friend Zin as he continues, "can come up with something better, I'm willing to hear the man out."

A silence ensues in which Zin meets Rod's gaze before quickly, humiliated, turns away. Having established his boundaries with the men, and positioned himself in the role of leader again, Rod starts off the discussion. Turning toward Horspaw, whom he has developed a keen respect and genuine liking towards, says, "Let's hear your idea."

"It's quite simple, really. I climb up one of the lesser visible tethers with a line rope. When I reach the domain, I'll drop the line rope so that something stouter can be attached. I'll pull it up and secure it to the domain in a place that offers access to the lower deck." He pauses for a moment, looking toward Rod for questions. When none are forthcoming, he continues, "We'll use a rope with knots in it for ease and speed. While the men are scaling the rope, I'll keep the rogues occupied so they can make a safe boarding. Who goes up first will have to be decided by you, as you will want the most experienced in battle to be the first to board."

Zin pipes up before Rod can speak, "I'll interview the men with Tye's assistance, and select the boarding order, if you're certain you can make it up there."

Rod throws a glaring expression toward his old friend, feeling slightly disappointed that he is unable to put aside his personal feelings regarding Horspaw. It hasn't gone unnoticed that Zin has shown nothing but hostility toward the man since their first meeting. At first, Rod simply assumed that Zin didn't trust or like Horspaw because of his connection to Lord Balzar. But in the short time of watching them, he has become more convinced that it is a case of jealousy, and not envy. Because Rod and Horspaw developed an immediate and mutual respect for each other, Zin has felt left out, which quickly grew into a feeling of resentment and distrust toward Horspaw.

"As long as I am the first on that list, that'll be fine," Rod answers him sternly, and then quickly grins to lighten the atmosphere. Then, looking at Horspaw, asks, "How soon do you want to get started, and what will you need. Until we are aboard that domain, you're in charge of the show." At these words, he glances around the small group, looking for any signs of dissention, especially from his friend Zin or Layton. Everyone meets his gaze, acknowledging the statement for what it was meant to mean.

Horspaw answers without acknowledging the exchange between Rod and Zin. "Let me know when the rope has been made and the men are ready to climb. You will find me easily enough."

As Horspaw walks away, Rod says to Parco, "Can I trust you to get a work party together that is capable of weaving one hell of a tough rope in a very short matter of time. Something tells me, that man is raring to go now."

"Yes, Sir," Parco quickly replies, and then turns to go. Before he has taken a step, however, he turns back around, and says, "Is there any chance that I can be near the top of that list, sir?"

"I'll see to it," Rod replies with a nod. "By the way, how's your head?"

"Just fine, sir. Thank you for asking."

The others have already sauntered off, each to their own needs or duties, when Parco turns to go. Turning away from him, discovers Loté studying him intently. He recognizes the worry on her face immediately. "What is troubling you, my love?"

"What if he cannot scale a tether? What happens then?"

"Don't worry, Loté. If he wasn't capable, he wouldn't have offered." Rod pauses for a long moment, and then adds, "Something tells me he is capable of a lot more than we will ever know, or care to know." Changing the subject, he asks, "How are Pena and the child doing?"

At the mention of the child, Loté's face lights up. "They are doing much better, but if you're asking just to change the subject, it's not going to work. Pena and I have been doing a lot of talking. Would you believe that she has never been recycled, or that she doesn't suffer from directional sickness?"

"She is a remarkable woman. However, I'm sure there are others like her. In fact, they are quite common if you take into consideration all the subsurface dwellers now living on the surface."

"Horspaw's feelings for her and the child are very strong," she continues, almost as if she hasn't even heard Rod speaking. Something is on her mind, and she is trying to lead up to something of greater importance.

"If you are trying to tell me something, Loté, would you get it out and end this suspense," he light-heartedly demands of her.

"Pena confided something of immense importance to me regarding Horspaw, and I probably shouldn't tell anyone, but I think you should know, since the two of you seem to have a bond."

The seriousness in her voice sobers the mood between them, and he looks at her questioningly. "What is it that concerns you so deeply, my love?" he asks.

"Many people's lives will be depending on him, or I would keep this to myself."

"So tell me," he urges her, frustrated by her hesitancy.

"Horspaw cannot be recycled because he does not possess a soul."

With the words out, there wasn't any taking them back. Yet, she wasn't sure she had done the right thing. Although it was Rod, her lover and confidant, the father of her child, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had betrayed a friend's trust.

After a long moment, Rod finally says, "I think I knew that from the first moment I laid eyes on him. Yet, he is not a clone. His genetic material was derived from several sources and put together like pieces to a puzzle. Unlike a clone that is nothing more than living flesh, he was engineered and programmed. He is much more than the sum of his individual genes. He is Horspaw!" Rod defiantly states. "And I don't ever want to hear anymore of this subject."

Loté is about to agree with his demand, when a chorus of shouts suddenly erupts from the group of toters and soldiers. Everyone is on their feet and looking toward the east, while waving their arms and shouting cheers. At first, Rod and Loté are perplexed by the outburst, and then immediately realize that Layton and the rest of his army are approaching.

Loté lets out a shriek of joy and cries out, "Elsa!"

Before Rod can say another word, she turns away and is quickly lost among the out-pouring horde of people. Though he is tempted to do the same, he realizes that his place is to remain aloof and let Layton come to him. Turning toward the deeper shadow of the domain, he considers Horspaw's plan, working out the details in his mind. Though he is not thinking it, he notices that the bodies have been recovered from the killing zone. He is glad of this, because it shows respect for the fallen.

Lost in his thoughts, a voice from behind him startles him back to the moment, and he turns to find Layton facing him, grinning from ear to ear. He immediately throws his arms around Rod and they squeeze each other fiercely, each trying to impress his strength upon the other in an old fashioned ritual they have never given up on.

"It is good to see you again," Layton says excitedly, as they step apart and study each other for wear and tear or fresh scars that can be bragged about until the next recycling session. "It appears that you've been quite busy in my absence."

His remark is aimed at Rod's multitude of cuts and the slash down the inside of his arm. "I've been holding my own," he replies with a smirk.

"Will you be ready to hold council after I get the men settled and supplies distributed?" he asks of Rod. Not really expecting an answer, he continues, "This is some prize you have brought to bay. I understand there are nearly two hundred armed rogues aboard her."

"That's the best information we have. But if you would like to rest for a bit first, we can discuss all of that later." Loté comes hurrying up to them with Elsa in tow, her face beaming with excitement. "Elsa," Rod acknowledges her.

Her expression suddenly turning seductive, replies, "You're looking good, Rod."

Loté gives her a sharp tug on the arm, and quickly says, "I'm taking her to meet Pena and Kaja." Turning toward Layton, she asks, "When will you be ready to discuss strategies?"

Slightly irritated by her presumptuous attitude, Rod says defensively, "I've already suggested that he take care of his immediate matters and get some rest first."

"Oh good, that'll give us time to catch up. Come on, Elsa." As they head away, Rod overhears Loté excitedly telling her, "Maybe you'll get to meet Horspaw, also." His jealousy lasted only a moment, before he realized that Layton had also drifted off to take care of his business.

Believing that he is alone, he grumbles to himself, "Might as well get some rest myself before the meeting."

"That would probably be a good idea," says Tye, startling him.

"Tye!" he blurts. "I didn't see you come up on me."

"Getting careless in your old age?" he asks, a mischievous grin on his youthful face.

"You're in a good mood. Is it something I should know about?" Rod asks of him, suddenly curious as to what could transform the formerly sullen Tye into this man standing before him.

"It's nothing, really," Tye quickly declines. Yet, instead of taking his leave, he remains, shifting from foot to foot.

"If there is something you would like to discuss, Tye, all you need do is mention it," Rod encourages him.

Hesitantly, Tye starts. "You know that you and Loté are the closest thing to an aunt and uncle I could possibly have. If Brae and Wary had not taken me in, I know that you and Loté would have, and for that I will be eternally grateful."

"You know that Loté and I care for you like our own, Tye. It isn't necessary for you to explain it to us."

"I know that. But there is something I need to tell you before it happens so that you don't feel I've betrayed you."

Rod quickly interrupts him, "There is nothing you could do that would make us feel betrayed. But now that you've got me curious."

"I intend on asking Elsa to be my mate," he suddenly blurts.

Rod is speechless for a long moment, before he says, "You do realize that she and Layton are in an intimate relationship?"

Defensively, Tye states, "He doesn't care for her the way I do. And I know she has feelings for me."

Rod is fully aware of the relationship between Layton and Elsa, and how they see each other just for the pleasure of physical release. But he is also aware that Elsa is shallow, seeking pleasure for the moment, and any man that might bring her prestige, such as Layton. Ironically, though their feelings for each other do not run deep as lovers, they are a perfect match for each other. Their friendship is solid and open, neither questioning the others motives or actions.

Now Tye is going to disturb what they have, and somehow, Rod suspects, he and Loté are going to get dragged into it. Rod wants to tell him that she isn't the type of girl to plan a long-term relationship with, but as her friend also, he doesn't feel it's his place. Tye will have to learn the hard way, and hopefully someday, he will be able to move on and find the right girl for him.

"He has not claimed her Tye, and hence, that means she is as available as she wants to be. But I'm asking you as a caring individual to think through the consequences of your actions before you decide to go forward with them."

"I have, sir, and I've decided to Hell with what happens. Without her, I am miserable, unable to think about anything but when I will see her again. Just knowing that she is near is enough to make me happy." He hesitates, and then proclaims defiantly, "I hope to keep you and Loté out of it sir, but when this mission is over, I intend to take her as mine, if she'll have me!"

Meeting his gaze and seeing the fire in his eyes reminds him of when he first met Loté, and realizes that there is nothing he can say that will change him. "Good luck, Tye. If there is anything I can do to help, all you have to do is ask. But if I might suggest this, keep your mind on the mission at hand. If you aren't one hundred percent focused, someone that doesn't deserve to die might die, and I will have a hard time forgiving that."

"Yes, sir, and thank you," he sincerely replies. He meets Rod's gaze and holds it before turning and heading back to his men.

"No wonder I'm so tired," Rod mumbles to himself as he drops down onto his cape and catches some shuteye.

### **31**

Rod's eyes barely have a chance to close, when he is awakened by a chorus of loud voices and shouting. Rising groggily to his feet, he pulls his cape up around his shoulders, and looks in the same direction as the majority of others. Coming out of the north, on the far side of the domain, Rod sees a short column of men approaching in single file. Quickly, he counts sixteen, each heavily laden with bulging packs on their backs and litters strung out between them. They are covered in a thick layer of red dust, and they appear fatigued to the bone, but determined to finish the last leg of their journey.

Looking around him, Rod notices Layton working his way through the tightly gathered throng of men. It isn't by choice that they are bunched so tightly together, but rather, each is determined to remain in the shade created by the domain, without getting any closer to it than is absolutely necessary.

Layton is smiling and pleased to see the approaching column. "You obviously know what is going on. Would you mind filling me in?" Rod casually asks of him, while rubbing the sleep and caked dust from his bleary eyes.

"They are the first of my men that were unable to continue the journey. I sent them back to the equatorial trail to recoup and then set up a supply chain with us. Although I didn't expect to see them this soon, they are a sight for sore eyes," he says proudly of his men.

"With all the bodies we have to feed and water, they are indeed a sight for sore eyes," Rod echoes his thoughts. "As soon as the supplies are stored and the men refreshed, we should send others back," Rod comments, studying the advance of the column against the progress of the men sent out to relieve them.

"It has already been done, my friend. That is how they knew where to head south in order to intercept us," he comments almost too nonchalantly, while nodding toward the column, as if afraid of appearing belittling toward Rod and his ability to command. Even though he unofficially acknowledges Rod as his superior, he must remember that Rod is just a civilian with no legal authority to give orders, only advice.

When Tye approaches, Layton orders him to bring the column leader to him. With a curt nod, Tye heads off in a circumspect path to intercept the men being relieved of their burdens. Rod and Layton watch silently as Tye speaks to the squad leader, and then they both retrace Tye's footsteps. Within a few moments, they are coming around the far side of the domain's shadow.

Despite the heavy layer of dust, Rod instantly recognizes the man with Tye as that of Porg. Rod's first impression is one of amazement. For a man that traveled the return journey to Keazar's domain with Loté, and then back with a heavy burden of supplies, he appears to be in excellent condition.

"Porg, you're looking good," Rod freely admits.

"I am doing good, sir," he answers in high spirits.

"Glad to hear it," Rod replies, and then asks of him, "Do you have any news for us?"

"Yes sir, I do." He is about to say more, when Tye produces a flagon and offers it to him. He gratefully accepts and then drinks sparingly, clearly conscious of the effort required to bring water from the jungle across the far reaches.

"Go on, man," Layton urges him.

"Just beyond the horizon, less than a day's march from here, is Keazar's domain," he says with a smile, proud to be bringing such good news. Before Layton or Rod can comment, he continues, "Keazar told me to tell you that just as soon as you have this matter under control here, he will come for a visit. But in the meantime, he said for you to send all the injured and dead for recycling. His journey here is only temporary, as he is worried about missing stragglers every day that he is gone from the eastern horizon. Moreover, it has created an extra burden on the men that have to go north of the equatorial trail, since his domain is hovering several day's south of the equator."

"That sounds just like him," Layton pipes up. "It is good to have his support. Tye, assign a good man to put together a return column and get the tissue we have back to him. The sooner he can get started on it, the better."

When Tye turns away, another figure joins them. "I have seen the work on the ropes," Horspaw states matter-of-factly, facing only Rod. "If you are ready, I would like to get started so I can get it over with."

Concerned for him, Rod asks, "Are you sure you're up to this?"

"I'll approach from the west," he says, not acknowledging Rod's question.

"I would like to join in, if someone will tell me what is going on," Porg interrupts. When everyone but Horspaw turns toward him, he quickly clarifies, "But first, with your permission, sir, I would like to see Loté, alone."

At just that moment, Loté, with Pena and Elsa in tow, the latter carrying Kaja, and appearing very uncomfortable with a child in her arms, approaches them. Loté, having heard the end of Porg's statement, stays, "Yes, that would be a good idea. It would seem that we have some catching up to do."

She is both relieved and alarmed by his unexpected appearance. Nodding toward the east, away from the thicker grouping of bodies, she moves off with Porg trailing closely behind. When they are separated enough not to be overheard, she turns and tells him of her relief at seeing that he has been recycled.

"There is so much I wish to tell you, Porg."

Cutting her off, Porg says, "I owe you an apology, Loté. What I forced you to do was not fair of me. But before you judge me, let me finish. When I regained consciousness in Keazar's domain, I thought about everything that had happened, and why. Because you confided in Keazar, he was able to modify something in me that abolished my desire for distilled spirits. He also talked to me like a man, and convinced me that I could do much more with my life than I had to that point. I took his words to heart, Loté, and I decided to make amends and do something constructive and positive with my life, so I joined up with Layton's army for justice."

"You don't know how glad I am to hear that, Porg."

"There's more," he quickly continues, a gleam coming into his eye. "Jai knows what happened between us in the jungle, and she is committed to keeping me on track."

"Congratulations!" Loté says with sincerity. And then, hesitantly, says, "I knew Jai suspected something, and I had a hunch she harbored feelings for you. If I had known how she felt, I think I might have been able to convince you to go down a different path."

"If I had known how she felt, I would have been on a different path," he replies with a laugh.

They return to the group of Rod and the others, and Loté notices that Horspaw and Pena have also gone off to share a moment alone. They are holding each other closely, while Elsa is still holding Kaja, who is grabbing irritably at her dry breasts.

"Give him here, Elsa," she says, taking the crabby infant from her. Within a moment, he is suckling happily, completely content with the world.

Two men approach, each with a large coil of freshly braided rope over his shoulder. One of the ropes is light and strong, while the others is heavy, sporting knots every meter or so. Horspaw quickly returns and takes the lighter of the coils. Slinging it over his shoulder, he nods toward Rod and then heads toward the west. Rod, in turn, nods at Tye and Layton, indicating that the men scaling the knotted rope better be ready to go because the action is about to start.

When Horspaw reaches the front of the domain, he turns and heads toward the north until he is even with the center. Glancing up, he moves in among the scattered harnesses until he reaches one with a corpse still tethered in it. With only a loincloth and the coil of rope over his shoulder, he reaches above his head and carefully places his fingers on the smooth steel surface of the tether line. Both the leading and trailing edge is razor sharp, designed for the purpose of slicing through the jungle canopy with as little resistance as possible.

With muscles unlike any normal man's, he pulls himself skyward, and then precisely plants the balls of his feet on either side of the ribbon. Using a scissor-action, he quickly ascends the tether. From the ground, his movement is so fast and fluid it almost appears that he is floating skyward with no physical effort propelling him. Within a matter of short minutes, he reaches the belly of the domain without being observed by the rogues above.

Holding himself with only his feet, he un-slings the coil of rope and secures it to the same eyebolt securing the tether. No sooner does the loose end reach the ground, then two men dash forward and secure the heavier, knotted rope to it.

Using just his hands, Horspaw grabs the timber above his head, and works his way out toward the side of the domain. Moving swiftly with a hand over hand maneuver, he begins scaling the side until reaching the short trip rail. Cautiously, he raises his head and glances around, noting the positions of the nearest loitering men.

Then, in one fluid movement, he is up and over, standing brazenly on the deck, facing outward while he hurriedly brings up the heavy rope. No sooner is the rope over the deck, then he dexterously ties is off, securing it for the men below.

With the rope secured, he rises to his full height and turns toward the center of the domain. Because he is on the lowest deck of three, he is among the lower ranking rogues and slaves. The officers and their chosen will be on the second deck, while the ruling class will abide on the topmost. Unfortunately, for Horspaw, the bulk of the rogues are low ranking soldiers and live in squalor and unruly disorder scattered about the lower deck.

Fortunately, for Horspaw, they are without leaders or warning, and his sudden appearance on the deck sets off a chain reaction of confusion, disbelief, and then bewilderment. While some scramble for weapons that are not conveniently at hand because of their overconfidence in the security of the domain, others dazedly gape at him, unable to believe that any normal man could breach their security from the ground.

A gleam of anticipation sparkles in his eye as he assesses the odds. Although he is without a blade, he doesn't feel as if he is without weapons. Since breaking free of Balzar's evil hold over him, he feels refreshed and without equal. All of his senses have returned to their normal state of extreme sensitivity, his reflexes have never been quicker, or his strength stronger.

This fight will break the last bonds of obligation for the discomfort and trouble he put Rod and Loté through, and he is suddenly anxious to get it over. Pena and Kaja are awaiting his return to the surface, and the sooner the domain is taken back from the rogues, the sooner they can begin their life together.

Throwing a quick glance over the side, Horspaw sees Rod ascending the rope, while the formerly sullen lad by the name of Tye is close on his heels. He is glad to see Rod in the lead, because, although he doesn't fear the rogues, there isn't anywhere he can go to evade them, and their sheer numbers represent a dangerous threat. He will feel much more confident when Rod is covering his back. Having already seen him in action, he knows that Rod will prove a worthy ally.

But he is still quite a distance away, and already the rogues are getting over their initial shock at his sudden appearance. Slowly, he moves away from the secured rope, acutely aware of the fact that the rogues have only to hack through it with a long-knife, and he will lose his ground support, possibly sending those on the rope to their deaths. In addition, he will have made the climb for nothing. For even though it appeared easy from the surface, it was a feat that taxed him heavily.

A large mob is gathering before him, slowly moving to either side in an attempt to encircle him and prevent him escaping over the side. He cannot let them get behind him, or they will see the rope and chop it free.

Slowly, he slides his feet back again, retracing his forward progress. Feeling confident in their numbers, and seeing only one unarmed man, they quickly begin to crowd forward. If he doesn't do something quickly to discourage their advance, he will lose his precious little space on the deck.

Nonchalantly, almost casually, he suddenly strolls forward, walking straight up to the nearest man. With a deadly flick of his palm, the man collapses in a heap on the deck. Moving in a blur of speed, Horspaw spins around, his right foot arcing in a circle with the heel out at a right angle. The sound of breaking bones mixed with splatters of blood striking the nearer men brings their advance to an abrupt halt. Three rogues are motionless on the deck before their feet, and Horspaw has retreated back a few paces, still protective of the limited space on the deck behind him.

For the briefest of moments, the silence is deafening, and then a large burly man suddenly pushes his way through the front ranks, knocking protesting men aside with ease. Horspaw realizes what is happening, and he relishes a moment of relief. In their minds, his actions have scorned their sense of manhood and pride, and now the bullies will come forth to prove themselves. All he has to do is toy with them to buy Rod and the others time enough to scale the rope.

Stepping away from the others, the large man moves toward Horspaw with relative confidence in his step. When they are less than two meters apart, the man stops and assesses him with a keen, raking eye. "I don't know how you got up here," he says casually, as if talking to an old friend. "But I know damn well how you're going back down."

A riotous chorus of laughter erupts, and the man looks over his shoulder, acknowledging his comrade's good cheers and snorts of approval. Then the laughter changes, and the goading begins, as their cheers turn to open appeals for him to make good on his boast.

Turning back to face Horspaw, his scarred and stubble covered face a grimace of determination, he moves in, his weapon still sheathed at his side. Because of his size and Horspaw's apparent lack of weapons, he doesn't feel threatened, and simply reaches out to grasp Horspaw in a bear hug. But when his arms come together on empty air, he lets out an angry grunt of disapproval and turns about, looking for the lone opponent.

His comrades immediately break out in laughter at his slow clumsiness. The blood rising in his cheeks and neck, turning him a bright crimson shade, he finds Horspaw standing among his comrades, the nearer not even aware of his presence for a moment. Like a bull charging the cape, he lunges at Horspaw, his huge burly fists viciously striking out. Even a glancing blow from such large, meaty paws could prove fatal.

They connect with living flesh, breaking jawbones and knocking men down. But not Horspaw, who has already sidestepped and is standing back, casually watching the display of anger and frustration play out.

When the man realizes that he has only inflicted damage upon his own comrades, his anger and embarrassment grows exponentially. Fueled further by his mounting rage and increasing release of adrenalin, he seeks out Horspaw, while slowly drawing his long-knife. At the sight of the heavy steel blade, the crowd begins backing away, having tasted his fury with fists and not wanting a repeat with the weapon.

"Stand still!" he shouts, when he finally sees Horspaw, separated from his comrades.

Glancing at the edge of the deck, Horspaw sees a hand grasping the side, and a moment later, Rod's head. To draw the rogue's attention away from it, he suddenly charges away to the east, toward the stoutly built, upper deck-supporting buildings. Like a pack of wild animals, the mob's bestial instincts kick in, and they immediately give chase.

Horspaw reaches the wall of the nearest building well ahead of the pursuit, and immediately forms a plan of action in his mind. As the first of the rogues reaches him, he springs upward into the air. Lashing out with the side of his foot, he gives the man a vicious slap to the side of his head, instantly knocking him unconscious, and then a forward kick in the midsection before his feet touch gracefully back to the deck. The forward kick sends the man sprawling backwards on rubbery legs into the oncoming mob, which continues surging forward, trampling the man beneath their feet like so much rubble.

Horspaw spins away, drawing the mob with him. Quickly, he darts around the corner of the building, searching for an opening and finding a closed door. Moving past it, he rams his elbow against the rough wood, jarring it open, then slips around the far corner just before the first rogue appears.

Assuming their prey has gone through the open door and is hiding in the dark interior, which contains nothing more than bunks lining each wall of a long narrow room, they hesitate, uncertainty marring their courage. When the hulking figure arrives, slightly winded from having run through the crowd like a battering ram, he immediately rushes through the open doorway, roaring like a bull behemoth, as he enters the deeper shadows. Not seeing Horspaw, he begins tearing the bunks off the walls and throwing them about like kindling. There are a few feeble cries of protests from outside the door, and then the cry goes up that he's been spotted on the north side.

As Horspaw clears the end of the building, he glances toward the south edge and is glad to see a small group of men bearing long-knives. Rod is in the lead and moving toward the rear of the mob; it is time for Horspaw to attack their front.

Turning to face the advancing mob, a smile on his face, he stands his ground, anticipating the release that the oncoming carnage will bring. He is glad to see the huge hulking form of the man that pushed the first charge leading the mob. When he is less than three meters from him, he stops, intending to antagonize the leaner Horspaw before he slices him to shreds with the razor sharp steel of his long-knife.

But Horspaw is through playing games, and casually walks up to the huge man until he is within his reach. Before the man realizes Horspaw's intent, he flicks a hand out and tears the throat out of his neck. Instantly, a heavy spray of blood spurts forth, and the man grasps helplessly at his throat, trying vainly to cry out, but no longer in possession of his vocal cords.

Those nearer to him are tough and hardened men, used to the atrocities of human defilement and disregard for life. But this casual act of such extreme violence catches them off balance, and they surge backwards, away from the demon that is suddenly moving among them, ripping and slashing with his bare hands.

Chaos and confusion erupts, and weapons are slashing out at the dervish amongst them, striking only their comrades, and making it appear as if there is more than just the one. And then, as Rod and his allies charge into the rear of the mob, slashing and stabbing with their long-knives, there is more than just the one.

At first, they are outnumbered by more than ten to one, but with Horspaw's extraordinary skills, combined with the confusion of the rogues, the battle appears even. But then, a booming voice from above begins crying out orders to his men on the deck below, and slowly, the tide turns as they shed the robes of a mob and form into an organized and controlled fighting machine.

Across the turmoil, Rod and Horspaw make eye contact, both aware that the man on the deck above must be silenced immediately, or they'll be taking a much quicker route back to the surface.

With nothing more than a nod passing between them, Horspaw moves to the nearest wall supporting the next deck, and scales it with ease, bringing himself quickly to the next deck, and only twenty meters from the man giving order and reason to the rogues below.

As he moves toward him, the man catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and turns to confront him. At that moment, one of his bodyguards charges from Horspaw's left, swinging his long-knife in anticipation of an easy decapitation. Gracefully, Horspaw dips, and the blade whistles harmlessly over his head. Before the man can regain his composure and strike again, Horspaw sweeps him off his feet and flips him over the side to land on the group of men below.

Not bothering to observe the outcome, Horspaw closes the distance between him and the remaining man in three long strides. Slipping the man's dirk from the sheath strapped to his right shoulder, he then grasps his head with both hands, giving a quick jerk to the left, and then the right, breaking his neck. As the body goes limp, he gives it a gentle push and lets it fall over the side to join his bodyguard among the rabble below.

With the dirk concealed in the palm of his right hand, he looks skyward, and immediately sees who he is looking for. Poised on the top deck with a long-knife jabbed into the deck at his feet and leaning forward on the hilt to oversee the battle scene playing out below him, he notices Horspaw glaring up at him. A wicked grin of confidence enhances the evil smirk upon his face. Though there is no real recognition between the two men, each realizes on some subconscious level that they are looking at their counterpart. The man upon the upper deck is the puppeteer, controlling the movements of the men on the lower deck, while Horspaw is the driving force behind the attack, the only man capable of defeating the rogues.

Instinctively, Horspaw plants his feet, gauging the distance and the upward angle. Satisfied with his instinctual calculations, he suddenly makes his move. With a speed that defies human capabilities, moving even faster than the eye can see, he flicks his arm forward, almost as if pointing at the man on the upper deck. Yet, even before the man can acknowledge the gesture, the blunt end of a dirk suddenly erupts from just below his ribcage, the blade angling upward, into the heart muscle.

He stands looking down at Horspaw for a long moment, unaware that he is already dead. Then, as if in slow motion, he leans forward, his torso stretching out beyond the edge of the deck before his legs collapse and he falls downward, toward the men on the lowest deck.

A wild cry goes up from below, as the rogues recognize the falling corpse. There is no loyalty to the dead man, only a loss of direction and coordination. Without his explicit orders to guide them as comrades united, they quickly become disorganized, each man suddenly looking out for himself.

Still, there are lower ranking officers on the second deck, each controlling small bands of men on the first deck, and the battle quickly resumes with Rod and his small group being driven backwards toward the edge and a long fall to their deaths.

Watching in dismay, Horspaw suddenly notices a small face peering fearfully from behind a barely closed door. Moving swiftly, he yanks the door open and finds himself standing face to face with approximately twenty-five slaves. All of the males capable of fighting are tethered securely to a railing that runs the length of the dim and dingy room, while women and children sit on the filth laden floor across from them, huddling in fear, their babies held tightly to their bosoms.

Grasping the end of the railing in both hands and planting his foot against the rough-hewn wall of heavy timber, Horspaw pulls, using his legs for leverage. The rail creaks and groans against his strength, but it refuses to give. The anchoring mechanisms are greater than his physical strength.

Unwilling to give up, he takes a deep breath and reapplies pressure, the muscles in his neck and back swelling with the effort. When it fails to tear loose for a second time, one of the women rises to her feet and yells at the men secured to the rail to help him secure their freedom. Timidly, not accustomed to thinking for themselves, the males slide their bindings along the rail until they are standing bunched up next to Horspaw. Understanding grows between him and the slaves, and in a concerted effort, they pull against their bindings until the rail creaks loudly, and then suddenly breaks loose with the sound of splintering wood.

Slipping their bindings free of the broken rail, they hesitantly follow Horspaw out into the light. Realizing that the men are not fighters, and that he'll be sending them to their deaths against the savage rogues down below, he enlists their aid instead at something that will keep them out of harm's way.

As the slaves quickly disperse on their appointed missions, Horspaw moves out across the open deck, killing all he encounters. When he reaches the far side, he turns and surveys the battle scene below. Rod and seven or eight men are still on the deck, valiantly fighting against overwhelming odds, their blood and sweat mingling with the rogue's as their pressed into ever shrinking quarters. Soon, they will be forced to jump or die at the hands of the rogues.

At that moment, the first of the slaves returns. Carefully, he lays his burden on the deck at Horspaw's feet. It is a large apron filled with knives from the kitchen, where all the meals are prepared for the men aboard the domain.

Selecting several of the knives, Horspaw quickly assesses their balance, and then turns toward Rod and his struggling allies. Carefully, he determines the most serious threats, and then lets loose with a steady volley of sharpened steel. The air whistles with the sound of flying objects, quickly followed by the dull thud of metal embedding in flesh, and Rod and his men are given a momentary respite as their nearest threats fall dead at their feet.

At first, the rogues don't understand what is happening, and then another volley of blades arrive, and heads begin to turn as they see the blades striking into the backs of men in front of them. When they realize what is happening, most turn toward Horspaw, and because there isn't anyone to direct them, they charge toward the newest threat, suddenly forgetting the exhausted group behind them.

Horspaw waits for just the right moment, and then he orders the slaves to rise and pour. From the deck above the rogues, a huge drenching of scalding hot water cascades downward, burning the skin off the nearest, while blinding and wounding many more.

Seeing their opportunity, Rod and his fatigued band of survivors charge forward, rushing crazily into the chaos, their weapons slashing and jabbing with the last of their physical reserves. This is the break they were praying for, and their opportunity to turn the tide of the battle in their favor. If they don't prevail now, they will never get another chance, and death is the only alternative.

Having done all they can for the brave few below, Horspaw leaves the slaves to throw trash and anything else they can find down upon the rogues, while he looks for the easiest route to the uppermost deck. Using one of the thick wooden supports, he easily scales to the top deck, only to find it abandoned by all but a few women slaves, sexual distractions for the higher ranking rogues that were left behind, along with full body suits made of human skin.

The women are cowering near a far wall, their bodies blistered and raw from exposure. As Horspaw approaches, they cringe even tighter together. "Is there anyone else on this level?" he asks of them, and then realizes they are too afraid to speak. "It's all right, we are here to free you. We mean you no harm."

One of the women nods her head toward the only door on the deck. It leads into a small square structure that houses the elevator platform for bringing items including people to the upper deck.

"Thank you," he says, before moving swiftly toward the door.

Taking hold of the handle, he yanks it open, and finds a lone figure cowering in the far corner. Moving forward, he reaches out for the individual, who suddenly spins around, a short-bladed knife held tightly in the palm of his right hand.

But Horspaw is pumped up and ready, and he easily diverts the knife into the nearer wall, where it sticks harmlessly in the wood. "Lower this thing," he orders the man.

Realizing his options, the man reaches for the brake release and slacks off the tension, allowing the counterweight to rise and the platform to lower. When he reaches the second deck, he runs over to the edge and surveys the situation. Rod and his small band are still on the offensive, keeping the larger but dwindling number of rogues off balance. But to Horspaw's trained eyes, he quickly concludes that they will not win this battle without some decisive action on his part.

"Drop this to the ground, and then be ready to bring it up as fast as can be done!" he commands the gutless rogue.

"Can we get off first?" the man fearfully requests.

Stepping off the platform, the man turns to the near wall and disengages the counterbalance brake. With a whoosh, the platform drops almost two hundred feet in a matter of seconds. In the distance, his hypersensitive ears pick up a chorus of cheers and shouting, as many men rush forward from the perimeter of the domain in order to be the first to board the elevator and have their name included in the annals of legend-dom.

"Raise it!" he shouts at the man, who hurriedly reaches for a large wheel mounted next to the brake. Slowly, struggling from the overly burdened platform below, he slowly turns it, drawing the platform back toward the domain.

Impatient with the progress, Horspaw roughly shoves the man aside, and grabs hold of the wheel. With his superior strength, he spins the wheel easily in his hands, despite the strain on the cables from being overloaded.

He isn't required to look down the shaft to see his progress, when he hears the fighting chant of Layton's warriors growing louder as the platform reaches the first deck and more than forty men disembark, fresh and ready for battle.

Running to the edge of the deck, Horspaw looks down on a slaughter, as Rod and Layton are squeezing the remaining rogues between them, their numbers quickly dissipating. Within a matter of minutes, there is only one surviving rogue, and he is standing next to Horspaw. In total disbelief, he is watching through the open elevator shaft as his comrade's bodies are thrown with little regard over the side, and then heaped on a pile with the apparent intent of being burnt to ash on the ground below. Even as they watch the last of the bodies being heaved over the side, they become aware of a distinctive odor already reaching their nostrils, as flaming torches are turned upon the heap of human flesh.

As a victory chorus erupts from the main deck, movement out of the corner of his eye catches Horspaw's attention. Turning, he sees the rogue spread his arms and jump, as if anticipating flight. But man was not made to fly, and he disappears from sight, never to rise, his body eventually being added to the fiery heap below. Horspaw feels a momentary twinge of remorse that the man took his life without benefit of trial. But the feeling quickly dissipates, as all the rogues knew what their life choices would eventually lead to, and they made them voluntarily.

With the grace of a feline, Horspaw launches himself from the second deck, landing gracefully on the lower deck, his knees bent to absorb the impact. Rising to his full height, he heads to where Layton and Rod are in conference with Porg and Tye. All are covered in blood, but none so heavily as Rod and Tye. Horspaw notices that Rod is favoring his left arm, and that the old wound has been torn open.

Their discussion abruptly ends, and they all turn to him, their faces alight with the remaining adrenalin in their systems from the battle. He is happy for them, though he doesn't share in their euphoria, as his system doesn't contain adrenalin, nor is it capable of producing it. Horspaw was intended as a cold and calculating killing machine with no emotions.

Rod is the first to speak, as he takes Horspaw's hand in his, and says, "Thank you, Horspaw."

Horspaw isn't expecting any thanks or gratitude for his part in the battle, only forgiveness and an evening of the score between him and Rod.

"We couldn't have done this without you," Layton quickly chimes in. "Have you considered joining the army?" he quickly adds with a grin.

"Thanks, but I must be going now," Horspaw humbly replies.

"Why would you want to leave now?" Rod demands, suddenly afraid that he is going to miss the opportunity to spend time with his newfound friend and ally.

Although it is not his nature to discuss personal business with others, he feels strongly still that he owes Rod something more, and thus tells him the truth. "Pena and I must find a mother for Kaja. The sooner we can get back to the equatorial trail, the better are our odds of accomplishing this. Without a source of food for the child, we will have no choice but to have him recycled, and then he will be out of his childhood forever."

Overcome with relief, Rod blurts, "You have Loté, you don't need anyone else!"

Shocked by his statement, Horspaw humbly replies, "You and Loté have your own child to return to. We cannot expect her to continue helping us after what we did to her and you."

"Nonsense! Nava is less than a day's journey from here. You and Pena will accompany us there, and I won't hear any argument!"

"Thank you, I will discuss it with Pena."

"I'm sure Loté has already done that, my friend," Rod replies with a smile of contentment.

Tye approaches from across the deck with a small squad of men following close on his heels. Between them, they are herding almost thirty-five people of varying ages ranging from infants to elderly. "These are the only people we found aboard, sir," he says politely, addressing Layton.

"Thanks, Tye," he says, studying the former slaves. "See about gathering up a dozen volunteers that are willing to stay aboard until we can get this rig back to the equatorial trail." He hesitates for a moment, and then adds with a smile, "And don't forget to bring the new owners aboard at their earliest convenience, as I'm certain they're eager to meet their new partners."

"Yes, sir," Tye responds in good spirit, as he heads toward the raised elevator.

As Tye boards the elevator, Layton breaks the news to the former slaves of their inheritance of the domain, as well as most of the responsibilities they will be asked to deal with, the first of which will be soliciting toters for the move northward. Although there are ample men on the surface directly below them, their services will no longer be free.

Suddenly bored with the proceedings, Rod and Horspaw retreat to the elevator and catch the next ride down. When they reach the surface, they are greeted by two genuinely excited women and a young child. Rod puts a hand on Horspaw's shoulder and says softly, knowing his sensitive ears won't miss a single syllable, "I told you they would have it worked out for us."

### THE END

Note-If you're wondering about the mysterious stone that the old peddler gave Pena in the tunnel when she ventured too far and got lost, it was nothing more than a mood stone, the kind you find in mood rings that changes colors depending on humidity and barometric pressure. Or as some believe, your mood.

A note from the author:

This should be the final episode in the series that I entitled HEÄLF. But then, this isn't the first time I've said that. Unfortunately, if you're looking for something in the way of a new series, you will have to be patient, as I intend taking a little time off from writing, and will be devoting more of my time to my wife and our life. Whatever writer once said that this is a lonely occupation wasn't exaggerating. Despite the long hours cooped up together in a forty-foot bus, we are still literally worlds apart. And even when I'm not at the keyboard hammering out the next chapter, my mind was always there, and rarely in the real world where it needed to be. For that, I am truly sorry, because unlike on the planet of Heälf, our scientists are being much slower in making the recycling process available to all. To the world's children, I say, keep digging in that sandbox, who knows what wonderful worlds you'll uncover.

Will Decker

More Exciting Stories by Will Decker:

DRIVEN

UNREQUITED LOVE

FIRE BABY

HYBRID KILLERS

The 'HEÄLF' Collection:

MORTALITY REVISITED

CLONE WARS

DAY OF NIGHT

REGENERATIONS

HORSPAW

The 'Mac" Collection:

THE WITNESS

TOXIC RAIN

BETRAYAL

RECORD KEEPER

DEATH IN THE DUNES

WIT-SEC FAIL

SIMPLY PERFECT BINDING 2ND Ed.

If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to leave a review. A sincere thank you to those readers that take the time, Will

