

### A Leap of Fate

### Episode 3:

### Retribution

By G. L. Fontenot

Copyright 2013 G.L. Fontenot

Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

What is fate?

On occasion, fate can be a relentless, heinous adversary with no regard for those in its path. At such times fate's cruelest weapon is betrayal...and betrayal is a cold, dull knife leaving a jagged, gaping wound that never truly heals.

G. L. Fontenot

### Chapter One

### What dreams are made of

Ron Allison walked slowly through a thin line of trees, his feet disappearing at each step in deep, soft sand. His bare toes slid into it easily, with just a hint of a squeaking noise as those bits of silica compressed and ground together under his weight. In one hand he held a plastic drink cooler filled with a picnic lunch, and in the other was his young wife's feminine fingers.

He casually gazed at the twenty-year-old, dark headed beauty strolling beside him and smiled a blessed, adoring, carefree smile. She wore a big, floppy sunhat to shade her face from the intense Hawaiian sun and a tiny, teal-green bikini to accentuate her exquisite figure to maddening perfection. Her lower half was wrapped with a sheer, lacy sarong that did little to hide the heavenly sight beneath, instead merely adding a glittering layer that played off the burgeoning sun with a sensual shimmer. That sexy ensemble swayed almost magically with every step of her glorious hips and the sight of her feminine attributes quickly set Ron's male drives revving soundly...craving more of the rigorous playtime they'd enjoyed only a billot earlier.

As the pair stepped free of the tree line Ron forced his attention away from his heavenly mate and swept his eyes across the broad expanse of the beach. When he did, his advance slowed quickly until he and his bride stopped completely, standing there just staring at the awesome beauty nature had created.

The sand before them wasn't the brilliant, glaring white stuff he'd seen on the shores of Pensacola, Florida...so bright and hot it was difficult to endure...but instead, it was a light beige color that still felt cool on his toes in the early hours of the day. Those soft granules spread out for a mile to the south and at least a half mile to the north, gently undulating in small dunes as it went.

Beyond that inviting expanse was a narrow ribbon of white...the rolling froth of surf that lapped endlessly against the sandy fringe of the land. And past the surging curl of foam their view lay open to the deep, incredibly blue water of the Pacific Ocean...so blue in fact that Ron had to remove his sunglasses to believe it was real. He'd always believed that pictures of the island state were somehow enhanced to add to its beauty, but now he knew he'd been wrong.

As their eyes scanned the scene again they noticed the place was practically deserted. There was only one other couple on the whole beach, and they were far off to the north. It was almost too good to believe and as they strolled casually out to a spot closer to the water, they couldn't imagine a more perfect day could be ordered up.

The couple had flown to Maui on the previous day, leaving barely two hours after their wedding reception, so excited and happy and consumed with one another that when they finally landed in paradise, they barely remembered the long trip. It had started in Lake Charles, Louisiana, (their home town) before hopping over to Houston, Texas in a small commuter jet and then continued from that point into a nine hour, non-stop flight to the gorgeous Hawaiian Island.

Once there, they drove to the west coast of the tropical landmass just before the sun set, their eyes gleaming and grins spread wide. That shoreline was literally custom-designed for tourists by amazing visionary artists who'd worked their magic in the wonders of the land with incredible grace. Starting with the desert-like, natural fauna of the volcanic isle, those craftsmen had molded it into a breathtaking, lush, green Eden...a romantic retreat of incomparable splendor.

The newlyweds arrived at their accommodations just after nightfall and wasted no time at all before giving in to their still blossoming passions for one another. Scant moments after the valet dragged their half-dozen suitcases into the honeymoon suite of the fancy, oceanfront hotel, they were enthralled with the fires of lust, and tangled in the fine linens of their first bed as man and wife.

After a romantic, candlelit dinner they coupled again in the large shower of their room and played for an hour, lathering each other in the warm spray, and exploring each other's bodies. That night rampant with desire and sexual fulfillment set the emotional tone of their stay...and they had every intention of making it last.

Ron had struggled and saved a year and a half, working many long, extra hours to afford such an upscale vacation...and worried that it might not live up to his dreams. But when he awoke that morning with a mound of dark brown, tousled curls tickling his chin, and his wife's incredible figure pressed to his body with nothing at all between them, he knew he would not be disappointed.

Another blissful encounter with his sweetheart had followed breakfast and rendered them both in the mood for a casual if not downright lazy morning, which was now a little closer to noon than dawn.

As they took a peaceful stroll down Makena Beach, there was a light breeze coming in off the water, bringing with it the clean, fresh smell of the open ocean. It was magical in its appeal and the two young lovers hugged and grinned at one another often, still trying to grasp that they were really there.

They finally settled on a wonderful spot far from the other couple and close to the water; where they set up their little camp and lay down to bask in the glorious day. After a half hour snooze in the warming sun though, Ron had rested enough and so he quietly made his way out to the gentle surf that caressed the day with its melodious, soothing sounds.

He let his bride sleep, checking the time to be certain not to allow her too much sun, and waded out to search for shells, hoping to find a nice one to commemorate their first full day as husband and wife.

He picked up a few, but they weren't what he was looking for, so he ventured a little further into the salty fluid. He gave a quick check of his darling...which allowed him an excellent view of her turning over...and her squirming figure settling into a new position made him smile.

"My God, I'm a lucky man!" he told himself before returning to his relaxing endeavor.

A quick glance across the sand showed more couples and families had joined them in the peaceful pastime, but there were still less than fifty souls lounging about the span of beach and each group left the others ample space for sufficient privacy.

He was up to his thighs in the clear water and had not a care in the world to clutter his mind when suddenly, a rogue wave as tall as he was, rose from the deeper water and crashed into him with overwhelming force. It crushed him down face-first into the sandy bottom of the shallows, and rolled him completely over more than once.

Ron fought hard to recover his footing but found it difficult to even get a breath in as more waves tossed him roughly about in rapid succession. It wasn't long before the broken shells that littered the shifting bottom had cut him in several places, biting sharply into his skin and resulting in a good amount of blood flowing into the water.

The sound of that freakish surf startled his wife awake and she immediately searched out her love.

"Ron!" she screamed as she jumped to her feet, her face laced with dread.

He tried to respond to her worry, to tell her he would be fine in a few moments when the bizarre series of waves passed and the sea calmed again, but he was fighting hard to stay upright and could barely keep water out of his lungs.

The ocean wasn't done with him yet either, and he felt an outward surge that was equal in strength to those waves that had hammered him down. He barely got a gulp of air in before disappearing into that blue expanse and shooting out two hundred feet from dry ground like racing down a water flume.

Ron broke the surface and refilled his lungs hurriedly, panicked that he might not get another chance...but the undertow's grip on him was suddenly gone, and he floated easily in the swells of a tranquil sea.

"Angie!" he cried quickly, hoping to calm his frantic beloved. "I'm all right! It was just a rip..."

The words froze in his throat in mid-sentence as his brain realized that he was not so well off after all.

Something had bumped into him!

In one second, a dozen thoughts blitzed through his mind about what that might have been...a turtle, a piece of driftwood, a stray boogie-board, or even his overactive imagination.

"It's nothing to get concerned over," he told himself, trying to quell his fast-rising panic...that is until he heard his wife scream a long, horrified, blood-curdling wail that brought everyone on the beach running.

"Shaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrks!" ripped a shriek from the trembling lips of his spouse.

"Oh shit!" Ron said as he realized just exactly where he was.

His heart rate doubled instantly but his mind stayed in control and forced his body to stop kicking and splashing about, fearing the movement would attract the creatures more. But then he recalled seeing the blood in the water, from the cuts on the shells.

"Oh, God!"

One of the sea beasts rammed headlong into him and he doubled over from the blow, the air gone from his lungs once more. Then another smashed into his shoulder with enough force to spin him completely about. Next came a blow to his back that snapped his head backward so hard he heard his teeth click and the vertebrae in his neck pop. His legs and arms began taking a beating as well and soon he could barely feel them, too numb from the onslaught of blows...but for some reason they were not biting him.

Through the haze of pain he tried to understand but it didn't make sense!

Ron had no time to ponder that abnormality however because he was being pummeled from all sides at once. He couldn't help but see his life's inevitable end in that moment, yet somehow he kept himself from screaming, as if that last act would give him an edge...a slim chance at survival. That too, he realized, made no sense. What could it possibly matter?

During a few moments respite from the pounding he managed a long look to the beach, his brain frantically seeking some hope of rescue. However, he knew all the while that it was an undeveloped area with no boats and no lifeguards, and nobody else would have the means...or the inclination...to come to his aid.

The sight his desperate eyes immediately locked onto though made him instantaneously forget his dire plight. He stopped moving all together while his frazzled thoughts fought a new battle, one to understand what he saw. His beautiful young wife...who had less than twenty-four hours ago pledged her love and her life to him...was in the arms of another man! She was nude too, and the man's hands were on her gorgeous, nubile body.

The battering he was taking began again but he hardly felt it anymore, his mind too wrapped up with the bizarre scene before him. It wasn't possible! He must be having a hallucination...a nightmare!

He wanted to blink...to look away...but could not. Then, as he stared, the dark curls of her hair morphed and faded away until they were bright blonde, and straight!

None of it made any sense. His mind spun crazily.

She broke off her long, passionate embrace with the stranger, turned to Ron, and laughed a haughty, superior laugh. She wasn't Angela anymore though. It was someone new in his life, but the scene still didn't match any memory he'd ever actually had.

"What the hell?" Ron growled to himself, his mind swimming with scattered, unclear thoughts that fractured his grasp of reality at every turn.

His mental struggle to figure out the truth rapidly began to take on the feeling of an all-out battle.

"Wait a minute!" he ordered at himself then, slamming his iron will into gear and forcing his mind to focus through the barrage of pain, anguish, and confusion.

"Angie and I never went to Maui! That was just a fantasy we talked about...hoping one day to make it come true! We went to Florida on our honeymoon...and Ang is dead! Hell, the whole Earth is dead!"

The warping, shifting scene then suddenly made perfect sense to him. He 'was' dreaming. And the woman that his bride had morphed into was Cache Kuar; the one person in his insane new life whom he thought...no...who he was certain he could trust.

The illusion of a Maui vacation quickly changed with that revelation. There was no ocean. There were no sharks. It was a quiet little cove in the foothills of the mountains of the Ulyan Territory; on a planet called Caron...and the man-eaters weren't fish, they were Kreete soldiers!

"You fool!" the Cache image was yelling at him. "You never meant anything to me! You were just a pawn...set into motion to make us rich and powerful! The Lords will pay us a fortune for you!"

### Chapter Two

### Prisoner

Incarceration...day one:

Ronald Allison awoke from his semi-delirium nightmare with the impact of a sharp kick to his stomach. His limp body rolled completely over by the force of that blow and he gasped audibly, trying to refill the air in his emptied lungs. He instinctively drew up into the fetal position to protect his extremities, and that act caused a violent reaction in his head as his senses sent urgent messages of intense pain from every quadrant of his body.

Slowly reality began to take a more solidified feel, but it was like a gear with some broken teeth trying to start an engine.

"Where am I?" his brain queried. "Not Earth!" it answered resoundingly. Then a checklist began to roll. "Hot! White star. Strong gravity too. Caron; a class 9.6 planet. Kaskle Dangarth's (the other half of my physical convergence) home-world. Much larger than Earth. Two moons...Urac and Vorac. Ruled by the Kreete...septenarians. There numerical base is seven. Long years...no...correct that...the Kreete call them cycles. Months are called santaris. Seven santaris make a cycle with each santari comprised of seventy days. Each day has twenty eight hours...make that billots. Seventy borts to a billot and seventy litas to a bort."

His mind began to speed up at that point as the gears settled in to run smoothly once more. It grew easier to differentiate dream from actuality...but that was not a good thing as the intense pounding in his head would testify.

As coherent thought returned to his cerebrum with shocking results, he heard metallic tinkling whenever he moved, and felt weight at his wrists. He carefully cracked his eyes open for a quick look but that too caused considerable discomfort.

He found himself securely shackled at the wrists with heavy chains. Those thick links in turn were attached to a seamless steel, articulating ring that passed through a massive iron stake which had been driven into the ground.

Ron's mind finally locked into high gear and his memory raced back to bring him up to speed on his situation. The last clear recollection he had was of him standing in the little hideaway camp that he and Cache had made into their temporary home for two weeks while she recuperated from her recent, nearly deadly ordeal.

That dreadful trip had started in the gladiator city of Mardesh and quickly turned into a hellish nightmare of fear, exhaustion, exposure, and brutality. Ron had finally saved her, with the tremendously well timed help of Flash, the baby Redalion tracker pup. The three of them had then disappeared into the Caronian wilderness, Ron carrying Cache in a near comatose state while Flash provided an absolutely impenetrable zone of safety around them. Nothing on the planet could stand against a tracker, even a youngster like Flash.

Once they found a 'seemingly' secure place to make camp, Ron had nursed Cache back to health using the last of his supply of Raulden wonder-drugs. They eventually spent a peaceful, glorious time together, each finally expressing the pent up affection they'd held in check for so long.

Cache professed her undying devotion and love to him and his own heart had been won as well, perfectly contented and happy to have someone in his life again with whom he could truly allow his emotions free reign.

But, just as they were about to head back into the beginning stages of an inevitable war with the vile Kreete overlords, she'd turned on him.

With the assistance...or more probably the insistence, he thought...of his one-time friend, Roelantish Sonebane of the Chavarre Territory, she left him unarmed and naked in the midst of at least two-dozen fully equipped Kreete warriors wearing light metal armor. She even sat calmly by as they attacked him and beaten him senseless...and as the recollection ended, Ron could not get that picture out of his head.

"How could she have done that?" he asked himself again, his mind in an endless loop of possible scenarios that would make sense out of the facts he had. "Was she drugged? Was she under threat? Was she insane? Was she secretly in league with the Kreete...her ancient biological ancestors?"

He shook his head roughly. "No," he thought, "there is only one logical rationalization that would account for her behavior. Roe was somehow controlling her with something that made her open to his influence. But why would he do that? We were friends!"

Ron quickly found himself having to admit that he really knew very little about the huge, burly fellow. The time they'd spent in each other's company, exploring the wilds of Caron had apparently taught him nothing of the true nature of his 'friend.'

With his assessment as complete as he could make it with the few facts he was sure of, Ron put further questions on hold. He then had the fleeting thought to be grateful that he was still alive...until the comprehension of what being captured by the Kreete would more than likely mean to him. They so loved the savage arts of interrogation!

His anger began to build in that moment, flames surging through his soul with every aching breath he took.

A Kreete soldier stood ominously over Ron and dumped water onto his head, which was actually a slight blessing. Although it roused him to a clearer reality filled with even more pain, Ron at least had the quick wit to gulp a couple of mouthfuls of the liquid before he choked and sputtered the excess out.

He found his vision badly impaired and felt about his face tentatively, thus realizing that both of his eyes were swollen half shut and his nose was broken, it leaning sharply to the right.

At that point Ron took a hurried inventory of other injuries to his body...or at least what he could tell. He was still as bared to the world as he'd been when captured, his head pounded harshly, and there was intense throbbing from everywhere else as well, but he could detect no obviously broken bones.

Ron took a moment to think while his guard calmly carried the water bucket to the side, and then he clasped his two palms together across the bridge of his nose and squeezed hard. The crunching of cartilage was drowned out by Ron's growling as he fought the sharp stab of pain that marked the resetting of his septum.

"Why have they not killed me?" he asked himself when the tearing action finally subsided from his eyes.

He then glanced about the makeshift camp and studied the group. They had obviously left the little cove he and Cache had been staying in and traveled quite a distance, since the terrain was like no region he'd seen before on that world.

"Cache!" he thought with more than a little angst. She would be an enormous victory for their enemy if she were captured. "Where is she? How long, and what all has happened while I've been unconscious? And how did they find us anyway?"

Ron had a million questions beginning again and he willfully discarded the ones that showed any affiliation tying her to his capture. She was his most trusted friend...and his new lover.

"Where is your army?" the Kreete sentry asked Ron when he stood towering above the chained man thirty percent smaller than himself. He wore the burnt orange colors of a Hunter-class soldier.

His voice was deep and gravelly like all their kind and if it weren't for the highly advanced translator device the Rauldens had installed in Ron's brain, he wouldn't have a clue as to what the fellow was saying. After all, he hadn't grown up in an environment that forced him to learn their version of the Caronian language.

Ron glanced at him with disgust before he continued his survey of his new surroundings. The giant was ensconced in metal armor from the knees up; much like many ancient cultures on earth would have worn. That protection was designed with overlapping scales pinned over chain mail at the joints of his arms and legs to allow freedom of movement, and it also had a broad chest plate to deflect arrows or sword strikes away from his most vital areas.

He was a bit above average in size, maybe eight feet tall, heavily muscled, and his all too familiar, putrid appearance was sickening for Ron to look at.

The warrior's horrid gray skin was adorned with a wild assortment of tattoos covering every inch of his exposed hide, each denoting some significant contest or battle he'd survived in the past. His bald head, with a prominent bony ridge bisecting it from one ear to the other, was bare of helmet, allowing his gruesome features to shine forth all the more. His overly wide nose was beastly at the very least, having the tusks of his lower jaw slip neatly into his nostrils when his mouth closed, further turning Ron's stomach. But the most bizarre feature of the huge fellow was his eyes. He, as well as all Kreete troopers, had orbs of silver...no white at all, just silver. It was like looking into a pair of reflective sunglasses with no rims. It gave them a demonic, soulless appearance.

Ron calmly switched his attention back to the land, which was rocky and rugged, with mountainous terrain all about. Twenty peors (Kreete yards) away to the north there was a good water supply coming from a wide, fast running, snowmelt stream that fed off the higher altitude ridges some ten hoz (Kreete miles) to the west.

The camp was situated in an open glade that gave a good view of the immediate area and had at least four hundred peors distance to any viable form of concealment. They would not be ambushed here. Above them, the deep blue sky was littered with small, puffy, white clouds and a slight eastern breeze wafted across Ron's blood-covered face.

There was at least one entire strike team (forty-nine soldiers) surrounding him, and they had apparently stopped for the night since the sun was hovering low on the western horizon. Their animals grazed in a natural meadow of tall grass a hundred peors to the west. They were unfettered but Ron knew they were so well trained that fear of them wandering away was minimal.

Off to the northern side of the encampment there were several campfires burning brightly with some women tending to a late-day meal that smelled delicious. When his nose caught that scent Ron felt his stomach growl, but he switched mental gears immediately. There was no time for that. A meal would be the very last thing he would be offered.

Ron surmised that this was one of the fully supplied military forces that traveled about the face of Caron and enforced the wishes of the local magistrates...a 'Vanguard' patrol team. He then quickly located the banner proclaiming their call sign and studied it. It had a symbol that his implanted translator signaled to be the 'Hellions'. They were all wearing the same style of armor as his guard...with metal sheathing...far more protection than the layered animal hide the soldiers back at Lampsh had worn when he'd annihilated them on that rainy night so long ago.

These were not mere scouts either. Ron had read about them in the archives of the Rauldens' computer. None were below the rank of Hunter. They were handpicked killers that enjoyed their duties and who had volunteered for this assignment. It was a quick two-steps up the 'chain of command' ladder to be selected for such a patrol, and each of these men had ambition, skill, and determination.

The scout kicked Ron again and he rolled once more, coughing from the impact of the fellow's heavy boot. That got the attention of some of the other Kreete militia.

"Where is your army?" he repeated.

Ron recovered enough to let out a smirking laugh.

"What army?" he thought to himself. "You shit-bags think you're so damned invincible that it takes an army to kill a few of you?"

The guard saw his laugh and smashed Ron in the face with a huge fist that felt like a sledgehammer. Ron rolled on the hard ground again, spinning about the stake as the Kreete followed to strike him again. After a couple more punches, the soldier stood up and called to his friends.

"Come on boys...he is ready for questioning!" the fellow proclaimed eagerly.

That soldier was joined by two others, and they beat Ron for a few borts with what appeared to be some form of long, stiff, riding crops. They then kicked, and stomped, and punched him fervently as he tried to cover up and maneuver away from each of the blows, chuckling away in the sadistic alien manner of their kind. After a bit, one of the soldiers wearied of the fun and called for an agony wand, and they all looked to see two of their buddies unsheathing those weapons from their packs.

The agony wand, Ron recalled clearly, was configured much like a sword but was actually a high technology energy device. It had a black, insulated handle that twisted to regulate the power setting, and its 'blade' was a long tubular-shaped device which glowed blue when initiated. The brilliance of the blade signified the intensity of the energy output setting, and it could be set to kill if used at maximum. It was meant to be handled as a sword, even to the extent that it was tough enough to be wielded against steel blades, but instead of cutting or gashing, it was designed to induce a special energy shock to any living tissue. That shock caused the nerves of the affected area to be over-stimulated to result in an incredibly excruciating blast of pain that would last for billots. But eventually the affect would abate to leave no permanent damage. The Kreete loved that feature because it allowed them to repeat the act over and over and over...and they so enjoyed the thrill of torture.

Ron took their momentary pause as an opportunity and sprang into action; scrambling hurriedly to gather his feet under him. He then gripped the heavy chains in his large hands and pulled with all his considerable strength.

The stake that held his metal tether was as big as his forearm, three feet long, and had been driven into the hard-packed earth with a massive steel mallet. His legs, arms, and back burst out with rippling chords of nearly unstoppable sinew, inflated fully at the urgings of his pounding heart. The huge pin could not withstand such a ferocious onslaught and fairly leaped from the ground and into his waiting hands...and then 'he'...the mere human man...attacked 'them'!

The nearest scout never knew what hit him as the giant spike plowed through his armor, his skin, and finally his spine as easily as a stone falling into a puddle. After that thick metal spear was ripped free, he fell motionless to the ground with a great puff of dust lifting abruptly around his limp corpse. Ron turned from him without another thought.

The next soldier felt the hefty iron weapon when it crushed the side of his skull. He had mistakenly, and foolishly, removed his helmet for the night. His body hit the ground hard as well, thrown completely off his feet by the power of the blow.

The third scout realized what was happening and had enough time to remove his sword, but just barely. Ron met that threat with the stake swinging around his head like a long mace. He brought the tip of that bludgeon down into the Kreete's sword hand where it shattered the man's skeletal assemblage easily, erasing his hold on the blade and freeing the space for the next target...a knee. Ron put the scout down with that hit and then finished him off quickly, all before the rest of the strike team could jump into motion.

The next move he made slowed the reprisal even further as he lifted his face to the darkening skies and released a blast of air into the heavens. It began deep in his chest, a growling, rumbling chord that sounded more like an infuriated greel (Caronian bear) than a human. Next, as the cry gathered momentum, it took on the characteristics of tyione's (lion's) roar as it crackled and reverberated across the grassland. But then, at its hellish crescendo, it was like nothing anyone had ever heard before, or ever wanted to hear again. It was like the gates of hell had opened and let the wails of a million tortured souls out into the world. It pierced and clawed and scorched the auditory nerves of all who heard it, forcing gooseflesh onto the skin of every person within two hoz of its epicenter...even the hardened Kreete warriors.

It was the call of Kaskle's countrymen...the revered wild men of the Aredanz Mountains...a breed of Caronians so fearsome that their mere existence was widely believed to be pure legend, or fanciful folklore.

It was the unbridled challenge to mortal combat!

As his harrowing ultimatum fell silent, Ron was absolutely certain that he was about to die, but by the code of Kaskle's ancestors he vowed to himself he would not go quietly. His chest rose and fell with his deep breaths that pumped vast amounts of oxygen to his bulging muscles. The impending battle forced an adrenal rush in his body which overshadowed the agony he'd felt mere borts ago to allow him to move with extreme power and fantastically fluid motion.

Chained as he was, Ron couldn't make use of the sword at his feet...the one the soldier had dropped...but the whirling, bloody iron stake still whistled through the air, and the man who swung it growled like a rabid wolf. The red haze of fury that always tinted his vision when he faced the Kreete was burning brightly by then and his hatred for those beings exuded from him like heat from a roaring fire.

A dozen crossbows dropped level at him, and would have ended Ron's life at that moment had it not been for a loud, reverberating order that seemed to suddenly explode from the very air itself.

"He is not to be killed!" called the ground-shaking voice that made every soul in the group shudder visibly.

Ron couldn't see that fellow, the order emanating from behind him, but he knew by the instantaneous reaction of the men that his command would not be disobeyed. Instead of twenty-plus arrows, only three soft reports of bowstring twanging in the evening air sounded...and then Ron felt an arrow pierce each of his thighs and his left shoulder, quelling his valiant revolt in hasty fashion.

He staggered back from the impacts and fought hard to keep his only weapon moving with his one good arm, still attempting to keep the fight alive, but it was not to be. A moment later the sharp slap of metal against skin caught his attention and forced him to turn. The stake had stopped in mid swing, caught by someone who stood very close behind him.

Ron's last sight was a glance at the face of a Kreete warrior who towered above his men, even though they were all at least seven and a half feet tall. And that fellow held the heavy stake lightly in one hand. His tattooed face was clear of a helmet too, and was beastly to the point of vulgar grotesqueness. His silver eyes were lit with fire as he gazed calmly at the human who had so easily bested three of his elite troops.

Although most men would have sworn the giant was rife with anger, Ron could tell his rage was tinged with wonderment as well. He saw the uniform of the massive creature and quickly understood why he was so well-regarded. Before Ron Allison stood a very rare sight...a Kreete commander ranked in the Reaper class!

Then Ron saw only white stars...and he began to scream...five agony wands had reached his body!

### Chapter Three

### The march

Day 3;

At the powerful urgings of sharp bolts of pain from some, or all areas of his body, Ron's eyes jumped open suddenly to a confusing, blinding sight. It took only an instant for the inky black protection of his Caronian glands to surge out and shield his vision against the violent onslaught of light, but in that moment his mind recoiled from the blast. When he could stand to crack open his eyes again Ron made out a hard-packed roadway whizzing by merely inches from his face. It was bleached to a brilliant white from the fierce star above and was as smooth as stone.

"I'm...being...carried," he rationalized between surges of agony.

His confused mind began trying to sort itself out, but he quickly found it difficult to give attention to any particular object or thought. That was due to the amount of blood pressure in his face causing his vision to blur and imaginary fireflies to dance with each thumping beat of his heart. Nonetheless, he concentrated on gathering what information he could from his point of incarceration.

By the sound of footfalls and the lunging motion of his face drawing first further and then closer to the ground, Ron could tell he was bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm. On the downward plunge it allowed his long hair to drag the surface of the sandy roadway at every stride of the men who bore him.

He squinted and blinked rapidly as the dust swirled about his face, and redoubled his efforts to focus on exactly what was happening. Soon he realized he was lashed to two long poles set about three feet apart, which were fashioned together into a makeshift litter. Those poles were held in the hands of four Kreete soldiers...one at either end of each pole.

Ron's body was suspended from his upper arms, his waist, and his ankles, and the pain he'd felt on the previous day was easily tripled today. It was difficult to breathe and he felt like his shoulders were both partially dislocated. His throat was as dry as the parched ground he hovered over and his stomach was equally as barren. The pounding in his skull, while horrible in and of itself, was actually a bit of good fortune because it helped to block the intense anguish emanating from the rest of him.

He turned his head to see a column of Kreete warriors on both sides, and the steady clinking of metal reminded him that he was shackled. The land across which they trod was as flat and unbroken as the Bonneville Salt Flats of Utah, and as desolate. His vantage point was extremely low but he saw no end to the plateau and so assumed that they were crossing the Greishere Highlands.

Greishere was a term from an ancient Caronian dialect and translated to mean 'flaming death', Ron recalled from his pre-mission briefing. They were headed east and that meant Huinrag was their most likely destination. That was not good.

The scout at his right foot saw Ron's head swing side to side, so he barked: "The prisoner is awake!" at which time the four men simultaneously dropped their burden.

Ron fell sharply to the hot surface of the roadway, with the intensity of the Caronian sun having turned that gritty landscape into a skin-searing facade of baked silica.

"Finally!" piped in one of the Kreete at the forward end of the litter. "Kreete warriors should not have to carry scum like him as if he were a trophy."

They spoke in their own tongue during the exchange, apparently seeing no need to communicate with Ron at that point...and not knowing that he understood them perfectly. (It was extraordinarily rare that a Caronian could grasp their native dialect, so they assumed no one did)

"Just be glad he did not die!" grumbled his partner. "I have said nothing over the past day and a half that we carried him, but I know it was your wand that nearly killed him, Drahto. You know wanding a man's neck is too close to the brain. He could have perished instantly, and if he had, you would have followed him...but Reaper Karne would have made it much, much slower. 'We' just happened to be by your side when it happened, so 'we' are the ones who have been unduly punished for 'your' carelessness. A day and a half of rouker duty because of you...so just shut your hole!"

"And we will not soon forget this either!" growled one of the troopers at Ron's feet.

Ron couldn't move much in his present state of confinement and so had to endure the burning of the road until his bearers had stretched themselves thoroughly and finally began to untangle him from the litter. He was left to breathe in shallow, hissing puffs as he strained to keep as much of his skin off of the scorching surface as he could, and was greatly relieved when he was finally unlashed and hauled to his feet.

"You walk on your own now, flarge!" ordered one of the guards in their rough form of Caronian speech, before he struck Ron on the back with his coiled whip. "Move!"

Ron's body screamed in defiance as he steadied himself in an upright attitude. His equilibrium swam harshly due to the sudden change in blood pressure and so his mind listed too, fighting through the throbbing haze of bombardment to understand his new position. It had been a long while since he'd last called upon his own faculties to operate his muscles, and the lingering effects of his recent beatings didn't help whatsoever. His legs wobbled and trembled visibly, giving him the look of a man trying to walk down the deck of a pitching ship.

After a few borts though, he managed to collect himself and stretch out what he could as he stumbled awkwardly forward. His shoulders popped loudly when he rotated them, finding their normal position once again, but not without considerable retaliation and a muffled grunt of extreme discomfort. He did take note that his eyes were more open now and cautiously felt the bridge of his nose. Whatever punishment they had inflicted upon him, they had not damaged his face any more than had already been done.

Ron steadied himself as quickly as possible and gauged the length of stride he could manage, chained as he was. His work toughened feet were immediately put to the test on the blazing, rough surface but he found it was not completely intolerable, especially if he stayed between the wagons' wheels where the dust was a bit thicker.

The next thing on his list of necessities was his already burned skin, which still had no barrier from the blistering sun since his captors felt no compunction to clothe him. He'd never spent much time in desert country when on Earth, but it didn't take an expert to realize he was going to have a terrible time of it out on that infernal plain if he didn't do something, so he decided to improvise. Over the next quarter-hoz he crouched quickly a number of times and scooped up some of the thin, sandy soil, flinging it about his body like he'd seen elephants do on television. It wasn't much but at least provided a slim bit of protection.

A close inspection if himself during that time also confirmed what he already suspected. Aside from the three latest arrow wounds, which the Kreete had sealed with their advance medical tech, he was covered head to toe with numerous deep bruises, minor cuts, and abrasions. The dark bronze shade he was accustomed to had been replaced by red and blue as the primary colors decorating his body. Obviously the guards had felt it necessary to be quite thorough in their abuse.

Those painful reminders joined the never ending waves of misery from his battered head and tortured joints to increase his previous discomfort tenfold. If he'd been allowed the luxury of compassionate medical attention, he surely would not have argued against staying a day or two in bed convalescing. However, his obstinate will refused to give in to his bitter enemies so he just gritted his teeth and buried it away. To his captors he showed no outward sign of distress as he strode as well as he could with the heavy chains swinging and banging against his knees and shins at each footfall.

The wide clasps at his wrists had already begun digging into his blistered skin and he was bleeding from each of the cuffs on his ankles, but he had no choice in the matter, so he just carried on and tried to be as smooth as he could.

Onward he marched, flanked at every step by the eighteen remaining Hellion foot-warriors, each prominently armed with either their swords or axes unsheathed...at the ready. The fourteen archers of the group were spread out beyond the main troops...arrows knocked...and there were an equal amount of outriders circling the procession in two counter-rotating loops. There was no complaining, no visiting, no laughing, and no joking around. Those soldiers were alert and prepared, and Ron seriously doubted they had ever been caught off guard. Their commander was undoubtedly a very fine soldier. This was indeed an elite team.

Ron tried to get his mind off his misery by taking in the surrounding environment, which was scant at best. He scanned the horizon that shimmered into obscurity less than three hoz away, finding it as barren as he'd expected. There wasn't a tree, a bush, or a blade of grass within sight. Next he searched the never-ending, cloudless, indigo sky, but there too was nothing to occupy his senses. Finally, he found a worthy distraction by watching the riders go about their duties.

Over the following few billots he studied them closely, and his opinion of their training rose even further. They all made a habit of changing their pace regularly, to deter any enemy from trying to take advantage of a predictable pattern. They even staggered their order in line at irregular intervals, keeping any kind of decipherable repetition completely undetectable.

They rode a creature that Ron was not very familiar with...a reenack. It was as large as a Clydesdale horse but had stout, broad feet instead of hooves and a shorter, thicker neck. The head of the beast had three horns sprouting from its cranial plate that spread out and a bit forward, lending exceptional protection from an attack at that end. The animal's legs were as long as a horse's but much thicker, to support the massive weight of its body and that of the rider. At its flank, it had a very short tail which stood straight up like a flag, with long hair sprouting from it to resemble a cheerleader's pom-pom. The mouth of the steed was much like that of a typical feline...short, wide, and fairly covered with whiskers, but the reenack was primarily a grazing creature, as strange as that might seem. It lived mostly on the thick underbrush of the wide grasslands of its home-world, but also would not pass up the chance to add some smaller animal's flesh to its diet if the opportunity arose. The beasts had little trouble hauling the Kreete soldiers, were apparently unaffected by the oppressive heat, and did not seem to tire easily. They were an excellent choice for the Vanguard.

A few billots past midday, at the very peak of the hottest time of the Caronian afternoon, Ron's senses were waning and his need for water and food was high. His outward appearance was that of total, stoic calm, but inwardly he was beginning to feel the gravity of his predicament. Every step was agony, and with no hope of a reprieve from the thirst and hunger, his mind began to wander. Soon afterward, the hair on the back of his neck began to prickle and a shiver went through his body. At first, he told himself that it was just a side effect of the heat...that he was slowly getting delirious, but then a change in his escorts became clear and his thoughts drew sharper and more refined once again. He caught one of the soldiers staring upward and followed his gaze while more and more began casting their eyes to the heavens as well.

There was something up there in the sky...high above the caravan of Kreete militia. He had to stare hard for a long while before he caught a glimpse of what the soldiers were growing more and more preoccupied with. Then suddenly he saw them...birds! They were very high and circling at a spot that kept them in nearly a direct line with the Caronian sun, using it brilliantly to mask their position. It was a flock of ceatarys.

Ron shook his head and the pain from that quick movement was enough to jolt his survival instincts back into full gear. One, two, four...no, seven gigantic birds were gliding overhead and dropping lower.

He saw a definite shift in the attitudes of the soldiers then, each one immediately checking his arsenal for freedom and accessibility.

"They're readying for an attack!" he told himself, now extremely alert again.

He studied the effortless flight formation of the aerial predators and waited for the inevitable battle. They seemed to have endless patience up there, giving the notion that they cared nothing for those below. The caravan never slowed, but every head now glanced often to the sky and everyone was highly agitated.

Another billot drifted by before the ceatarys made their move. Without a hint of warning, two of the great birds broke formation and swooped down to within a hundred feet of the troops before pulling up. When they did, they released an awesome screeching cry that was almost deafening. It was very high-pitched too...like hardened metal tines raking stone under extreme stress...and it sent shivers up Ron's spine, along with everyone else's.

The enormous hawks were easily as large as many light, earthly airplanes, with wings spreading ten to twelve peors across. Their feathers were colored deep blue on the bottom...nature's way to make them harder to see from their prey's perspective on the ground...and gray/brown mottled on the upper side. They each had a long, hooked beak, much like an eagle, and a tall, retractable fin atop their skulls...some aerodynamic aid, Ron guessed. The weapons they sported were impressive too...three huge, horrible looking talons at least a foot and a half long.

Several of the Kreete archers fired at the taunting creatures but they were always well out of range before the arrows could threaten them...their speed and agility being quite deceptive.

After a short while, all the birds were dipping and diving, some much lower than their brethren, and each was apparently trying to find some opening in which they could safely make a kill.

The Hellions were more guarded with their ammunition by then but dozens of arrows were lost with none apparently reaching their targets. Orders were sent up and down the lines of troops, maintaining order and discipline as best they could, but it was obvious that even those experienced soldiers' nerves were becoming taught.

Ron watched as he endured his misery of the march, hoping the giant hawks would somehow destroy the group, but inwardly knowing they would not. He could not be that lucky. But then, when it appeared to be a stalemate between threat and defense, a new consideration popped into his brain. It was a bold leap he entertained, and that came only because of the inconceivable relationship he had with Flash, but also, it was what other pack animals would do.

"No way!" he thought, almost chiding himself for the outlandish idea. "Could they really be that intelligent?"

He quickly tore his eyes from overhead and scanned the hot, baked ground around them.

All heads were looking up...a perfect time for...

"There!" he jolted his attention to a spec in the distance. Something was coming...and fast! It was hugging the surface of the highland inferno so closely that it looked like a mirage, riding the uplifting heat thermals of the plateau as if it were a mag-lev train...but it was a living thing!

"An ambush!" he mentality screamed.

Ron looked around hastily. No one else had seen it as of yet. He turned back and gasped for air as his chest seized up from the image he took in. A ceatary the size of a business jet was streaking along at what must have been a hundred hoz per billot, barely a foot off the ground, its wings flat out and not moving an inch. It was obviously using the momentum of one hell of a strong dive since it raced along from well beyond eyesight with no further need for a flap of its giant wings. Too, the creature was extremely clever, using the camouflage of the baking land's heat waves for cover. Ron surmised it was guided to its objective by those above...an aerial banner pointing to a target.

Just before the massive bird reached the caravan, it dropped its aft-most talons down like twin tail-hooks on a navy fighter jet approaching a carrier. They looked at least a two peors long and were evilly pointed. An instant later it struck two of the outriders with glancing, raking blows that ripped the huge reenacks in half and obliterated the riders completely.

That ceatary was a male...its bright red tail feathers clearly identifying it as did the blood red vertical fin sprouting from its head when it struck. Ron stood in awe of the gargantuan bird as it cracked open its curved beak and released an ear-shattering cry that made even the war-hardened Kreete soldiers jump like frightened children.

The magnificent winged animal continued through the group in a blur and decapitated one more creature (a rouker that towed one of the supply wagons) before its talons pierced another scout...one of the foot-soldiers...like he was a paper doll. Then, prior to it exiting the scene, it clamped down through another soldier's armor-plated body and into the reenack he rode, before soaring effortlessly back into the air with both in tow.

When the alpha-male of the covey reached the swirling flock above, it flared hard with his prize held out, allowing the others to rip apart the prey in midair, feasting as they flew.

The commander of the Hellions, not the Reaper Ron had seen a few days before, but a huge fellow in the blood-red uniform of a Master Killer, jumped into action instantly. His orders roared out loud and clear, saving at least four more of his men when the convoy was hit three more times by similar avian predators. Their weapons provided no protection from the massive raptors, nor were they any noticeable deterrent, so he ordered his troops to abandon their mounts, leaving them open to the incoming creatures. He suspected that those animals were what the birds wanted after all...a simple meal. The riders were not the primary targets.

Once they separated from the beasts, the danger was over in just a few more borts, allowing the procession to continue eastward. Some of the animals even managed to escape unscathed and rejoin the soldiers as the ceatary feasted behind them on the remains of the previous kills. They apparently had all they needed.

Even though the Kreete procession regained its order and plodded onward at a seemingly leisurely pace, everyone was wired afterward for the remainder of the day, especially Ron. Being shackled as he was left him at the mercy of just about any attacker since all he could do to save himself would be to fall over.

The soldiers constantly checked behind them and up above, but by sundown, it was all just a bitter memory. Five Kreete scouts were missing when the final count was made that afternoon, unfortunate victims of those winged assassins.

Ron heard their names mentioned around the fires at nightfall but no formal service was held in their behalf. That didn't surprise him since they lived for war and he naturally assumed such fates were one of the hazards of the job...that they had died with honor.

The caravan traveled eastward on that scorching road for two more days before Ron noted a break in the terrain. It was a dreadful hell of endless heat and pain...pain from the blistering sun, the heavy shackles, the burning ground, and his many other, older wounds.

Ron felt they may as well have walked completely across the high plains of Nevada. It was a span of stark desolation in which he saw not one river or tree during the entire trip. It was a harsh, agonizing, and pitiless trek, and he wondered often if he would survive it...and just as often hoped he would not.

He was given a cup of water at the beginning and end of each day, but not a single bite of food. He felt his body running desperately low on fuel, which meant his strength was swiftly draining away too, as well as his mental sharpness. It wasn't until the third day of such abuse that he realized they weren't being merely heartless or cruel. They were trying to soften him up for the upcoming round of questioning...and he also realized it was working.

As the lofty, sun-baked plateau on which they tread finally came to an end at a manmade pass to the lower country, Ron felt like cheering...that is until he caught a glimpse of what lay in the distance. It was perhaps twelve hoz away, but he could clearly make out the high walls surrounding the city of Huinrag, and that's when he began to consider what lay in store for him there.

The Kreete procession immediately headed down the winding path to the forest covered lower level, the entire company clearly eager as they quickened their pace. Even the animals began to get excited. And when they reached the shade of the trees at last, there was an obvious change in the company. Ron rejoiced at the much welcomed drop in the oppressive heat, and so did the scouts. There long strides suddenly shortened and slowed with each soldier releasing an audible sigh of relief.

That shadowy haven was an instant and substantial variation from the bleakness of the plain. There were spring-fed streams on both sides, birds, the calls of wild forest creatures, and even a brief shower before nightfall.

The day's trek ended barely two hoz down the slope in a clearing that was small, but protected on three sides by towering, sheer cliffs. The Kreete made camp without fire pits and posted their guards across the only two egress points. They were weary from the long, hot march and spent little time in preparations for the night, preferring to sleep in the open, on the ground with the coolness of the dark skies wafting gently across them.

When he laid down that night, Ron took in all the sounds around him and sucked in a deep draft of the cool, moist, evening air. His skin radiated heat from the awful sunburn but the chilly dampness of the grass mediated that fairly well. His battered body ached, spasms shot through him intermittently from everywhere, and the raw skin under his manacles fed his brain nonstop pleas for help, but somehow being back in the woods calmed him and allowed him a small degree of peace.

As he drifted off to sleep a few borts later, he did so with a new attitude. He couldn't really believe it possible, but he somehow felt a hint of hope.

### Chapter Four

### Huinrag

Day 7:

The city of Huinrag was of moderate size and was totally under Kreete control. The majority of the inhabitants were actually human, but they were subservient to their masters in every respect and provided the Kreete with all the day-to-day needs of water, food, bathing, laundry, entertainment, garbage disposal, etc. It was a sanctuary for the masters and a merciless slave camp for the Caronians.

The procession Ron was part of filed through two massive gates mounted in a gargantuan wall that totally encompassed the city. On either side of those gates was a large sign written in the native's language. The one on the left proclaimed the name of the city; Huinrag...and its governor; Meerstal Chardaal. On the right was a warning for all Caronians: "Through these doors live the rulers of this world and many others. Pay homage and live. Show defiance and die."

As they entered Ron took in what he could see of the layout of Huinrag's defenses. The ramparts of the facility were at least twenty peors high and had guards stationed atop the walls at every forty-nine peors. There were sniper stations along those battlements as well, with huge post-mounted crossbows that reminded Ron of machine-gun nests on Earth. The wall was made of hard granite blocks mortared together with staggered joints to form a safety barrier seven peors thick. The doors that closed off the city's portal were two feet thick, dual layered, and braced in such a way that they could work together. Ron doubted that even a bulldozer could breach them. Huinrag was no simple town...it was a fortress.

There would be no escape for him from this place, he concluded; his spirits dropping heavily.

The Kreete commander of the "Hellions" marched straight into a large, open courtyard. His weapons were stowed, but his eyes swept the scene like a radar dish. No movement was missed as dozens of onlookers quickened their steps to avoid any contact with the incoming band.

The soldiers gathered around as Ron's chains were transferred to a huge cylindrical post which sat in the exact center of that space. It was cut from a stone boulder that was literally the entire bedrock of the square, and it had seven distinct faceted surfaces that held written messages on each flat. All were stained red from countless souls' bloodshed and each was inscribed with demoralizing messages having to do with violating the 'Lords' laws. The iron ring his shackles were attached to was a loop as thick as Ron's wrist and had been formed through a metal post six inches thick that was driven into the rock cylinder.

Ron stood casually by as the transfer was made and gazed about the courtyard as much as he could. It too had seven distinct sides, one being the gated wall itself, and had narrow avenues open between each section, for wagon and foot traffic. It was two hundred feet across and several of the city's inns lined the space with wide porches overlooking the area.

The buildings were made of stone and wood, with awnings and balconies, signs and banners...just like any other town would look. The signs proclaimed lodges, cafes, and even a bank. It was colorful and bright, even cheerful in appearance. However, he suspected the façade of gaiety was as far as it went. He also guessed that this small section of Huinrag must have been set aside for human visitors to the area, merchants and such.

Ron noticed as he looked about that patrons of the various establishments had an excellent vantage point from which they could watch the courtyard scene, and he pondered at that. Was it for entertainment, or instruction? He saw a crowd of people ease out onto the porches and balconies to view the newcomer and wondered what they thought. Were they sad, frightened, curious...or excited?

The Hellions took their leave straight away and left Ron standing there alone, naked, exhausted, thirsty, and filthy. He scanned the cloudless sky for some reprieve from the seemingly endless sunshine but found none. His sunburned body was cracked, blistered, and bleeding at nearly every inch from the past few days grueling trek, but no one in the growing crowd made a move to come to his assistance. No one offered him water or food or clothing, or even conversation. He was on his own...a spectacle.

Ron thought over his predicament for a while and quickly came to a definitive conclusion. He wasn't going to be fed, and probably not watered either since they'd arrived at their destination, so his only choice was to try to rest. However, his chains were not long enough to allow him to sit down, much less lie down, and so he tried to figure out some position that would permit him some respite. Unfortunately, a change in his seclusion appeared straight away.

Seven new, fresh Kreete scouts filed out in short order from one of the alleys and promptly took up guard stations around his position...three watching him and four with their backs to him.

Ron then clearly saw the opposite of hope in the eyes of the human strangers that passed by and studied him. To them he was a dead man. There was no sign of compassion in the silver eyes of the Kreete, and no way to elude the steel that held him. All he could do was wait.

This situation of helplessness did one positive thing though. It put Ron back on alert as to what was about to happen, wondering exactly why the Lords had not immediately started in on his questioning. What game did they have in mind?

The sun set two billots later and the courtyard's lamps were hung and lit. The turquoise sky deepened to indigo and stars began to appear. Together with the soft light of the lamps, the mood surrounding him changed the look of the place considerably, adding an almost romantic air to it. Ron even allowed a fleeting thought that it could possibly be quaint if he were enjoying a nice meal at one of the cafés instead of being chained to the stone like a centerpiece.

The soldiers made no move as Ron searched the square time and time again, his keen eye for detail cataloguing every small nuance of the place. He memorized each door, the size of every window, the angle of the alleys, and even the distance between the buildings.

Citizens came and went, keeping their distance, but he never caught even a glimpse of the pair he so desperately wanted to see. After another long period of standing, he grew weary and decided to try to sleep. Apparently nothing was going to occur on that day.

The position of the heavy ring in the column, along with the short length of chain on Ron's wrists, precluded him from reclining at all, so the closest he could get to a restful state was to kneel and lean on the column. His hands would still be high, and would likely protest after a while, but at least his legs and feet would get a small reprieve.

As soon as his knees settled to the hard surface of the stone square however, the three Kreete soldiers watching him snapped into motion.

'Crack!'...'Crack!'...'Crack!'

Three reports sounded from whips popping through the air before striking Ron's flesh with excruciating results. One struck him across the back...the next across the waist...the last across the legs, all within a blink of time. He jumped to his feet once again, shaking and gritting his teeth to keep from crying out.

The intensity of the burning lash-marks was like a searing flame on his tender skin, and it lingered for a long while afterward. He even thought for a moment that the screaming in his head was actually vocalized, but when his body slowed its quivering from the blazing shock, he realized he'd somehow managed to hold his tongue.

The scouts did nothing further as he braced himself for more of the same, and then he understood what they were there for...he was not to be allowed rest. They had left him alone during the nights of the long march, probably because they knew he would not have made the journey without eventually having to be carried, but now he was at their home. Now the real fun would begin.

### Chapter Five

### Escape

Day 8:

Ron stood for the remainder of the night, his head bobbing up and down as he tried to stay awake, for when he did not manage that task, the sentries were sure to rouse him.

At midnight, the guards were changed, and then again after sunrise...and with the day shift crew firmly in place came the next step in Ron's agonizing ordeal.

His vision was blurred and his head swam from a combination of all the trials he'd faced recently, so he thought he was dreaming when a large contingent of human slaves marched out and moved straight for him. They emerged from one of the avenues across from him and set up a great amount of items.

First came four long tables, which were placed in a line about six feet from the stone anchor, directly across from Ron. Next came benches to surround those tables for what had all the makings of a grand picnic breakfast. And then, through another door that opened to the square from one of the eateries to Ron's left, walked a procession of beautiful, scantily clad women. They carried large platters of food; steaming meat of a dozen different animals, and breads hot off the fire. Fresh fruit of great variety and quantity were also placed on the long tables in baskets, and finally came the tall pitchers of wine, water, and several other beverages.

The smell alone made Ron's stomach jump to attention and his mouth water openly, which was extremely surprising since his throat was so parched.

At that point several Kreete officers filed out of their quarters and strolled easily over to the extravagant spread and sat down, immediately diving into the feast, drinking and laughing all the while. The rank and file troops arrived a short time later and joined in on the banquet...even the men on duty around Ron were beckoned to eat.

They all ignored Ron as if they were out at a state park enjoying a picnic and he was a nearby tree. They gorged themselves on the feast of plenty and exchanging raucous stories of different campaigns and battles for the next billot.

Ron's mind reeled from his torment, and his frantic, nearly incoherent thoughts leaped from one desperate plea to the next. His most primitive survival instincts surged to the forefront of his mind with a vengeance, eclipsing rational thought almost completely. His focus was shattered. His once iron willpower waned dramatically. All he wanted was food! His brain ordered his lips to beg...but somehow that's where he hesitated. He couldn't do it. Instead of speaking, his jaws suddenly clamped tight. His breathing became shallow and his whole body began quivering imperceptibly as he fought the internal turmoil...until...

The delectable breakfast was winding down by then, everyone leaning back from the feast, smiling and joking. The Hellions' commander calmly turned to Ron and looked him up and down openly.

Ron froze where he stood, his previously moist, glistening eyes quickly ice-hard again. Such was his automatic reaction to the foul, heinous Kreete.

It wasn't the Reaper class soldier who'd snatched the swinging anchor pin out of mid-air. Ron hadn't seen him again during the entire trip. It was the Master Killer who'd lead them across the highlands. Ron guessed he must be second in command. The fellow was a huge, horrid looking soldier who sported plenty of scars to show the amount of action he'd seen, and he seemed well at ease. Ron got the sense that he was formidable enough that none in his company would dare challenge him, even though there were five others of the same rank. That in itself was impressive.

"Would you like to join us?" he asked in clear, almost polite Caronian. That too was impressive. Most Kreete didn't bother learning the proper enunciations of native language, feeling it too far beneath them.

Ron tried to get his fragmented brain to kick back into gear. "What had he just said? Join them? Did he really ask me that?"

He shook his head hard, causing it to pound again. Then he stared at the giant Kreete from behind his blackened eyes and broken nose, filthy and blood stained as he was.

"Yes, you!" the leader of the Hellions said. "Would you like to join us in this fine meal?"

"SAY YES!" his mind shrieked with such force that he very nearly did...but somewhere deep down in his soul, an even more powerful voice kept him quiet. "Why?" was all it asked, but with so much suspicion and mistrust that it overwhelmed even his starvation drive.

"We simply want to know the location and strength of your army," the soldier explained easily, almost like he was trying to help Ron...to offer him a way out of his situation.

"So that's it!" the voice in Ron's head rang out loudly in a new tone...a growling hate-filled tenor that stymied his collapsing control...at least for the moment. His hatred for the Kreete shored him up a bit more, and so he hung on a while longer, still outwardly calm.

Ron said nothing...did nothing. He just stared blankly at the Kreete.

"As you wish," the fellow said, and then he returned to the banquet.

Ron's willpower was low. He didn't know if he would be able to keep his obstinacy up as he slowly starved to death. He didn't know what Kaskle had been through, what his take on the situation might be, but from the perspective of a man from Earth, who had always been free, he knew he was not suited for such treatment...not trained to withstand torture. But just then something occurred that bolstered his determination further.

Out of the corner of his eye Ron saw Roelantish and Cache walking up. The shock alone was enough to make him pause and wait. He turned and stared at them openly. Neither of them so much as glanced his way, as if he was invisible. They looked confident and at ease around the soldiers...another mind-blowing shot to his reasoning.

Roelantish was a large man with a barrel chest and thick arms. His beard was as bushy as ever and he sported his customary attire...animal hide boots, pants, and sleeveless shirt. His clothing was made from a yetsole cat...a large, dangerous, tiger-like beast from his mountainous home territory.

Cache was the one Ron focused on though. She looked even more petite than usual strolling next to Roe, her long, bright blonde hair shimmering in the morning sun. She wore a beige, mini-dress that exposed quite a lot of her and was cinched at the waist to accentuate her fine feminine figure. Her dark tanned skin made her bright violet eyes stand out stunningly and her smile was absolutely dazzling.

Ron took in the scene as if in a dream. It was too outlandish to believe.

"And here come the reason for this fine celebration," the leader of the Kreete announced when they were close. All of his men stopped their conversations and watched. "Make room for our friends," he said, and the Hellions slid down a bit, seemingly eager to accommodate them.

Ron found that even more bizarre.

"That is an excellent catch you brought us this time, Roelantish," the giant announced to the couple, motioning at Ron with a tilt of his head.

They didn't look over. Instead, they smiled and bowed slightly.

The Master Killer then waved his hand at the space on the bench, inviting them to sit. "My superiors are very pleased."

"It's all in the bait, Lord Brauchic," Roe replied lightly, his eyes flashing to Cache.

She smiled at the praise and nuzzled his arm adoringly.

Ron felt his gut twist. The shape he was in dulled his mind but left his emotions raw and so passion suddenly guided his thoughts. Less than a week before, she had given herself to him completely and pledged her heart solely to his. Now, seeing her fawn over Roelantish was confusing, hurtful, and humiliating. She'd told him she would help mend his shattered heart, crushed at the loss of his first love; his Earth wife, Angela. Now the bandage her words and actions had wrapped around his wounds began to tear and unravel.

The two betrayers then took a place at the table, near the head next to Brauchic. Cache sat with her side to Ron and Roe was directly across from him. Ron stared at the scene as if watching a horror movie where nothing was what it should be. His entire reality was falling apart.

His former friends sat there, no more than ten feet from him and joined in with the soldiers, talking and laughing as they stuffed their faces. Ron quickly began to feel the early stages of a rising tide of anger welling up in his soul...a feeling of hatred that was far beyond the norm, branding his psyche with its white-hot intensity.

Roe and Cache both appeared to be held in high esteem in that place, almost as if they were the Kreete's equals. Ron dismissed that assessment instantly of course because the Kreete truly believed they had no equals...so they were more like a pair of highly ranked allies.

The conversations at the table were about nothing important for the most part...the upcoming patrol, the Triad Games trials of last season and those of the upcoming one still two cycles away, and then as the meal drew to a close...

"Well, Roe," said Brauchic, the present leader of the Hellions, "we must congratulate you one last time before you take your leave of this place. You really came through for us this time! With the help of your little slut keeping him in one place, you tracked this flarge dung better than even I thought you could."

"It is always a pleasure to assist the Vanguard," Roe answered evenly, tilting his head in respect.

"And you, my lovely," he addressed Cache, "Just how was it that you managed to pin him down for such a long time?"

Cache just smiled her most sensuous smile and twisted her perfectly proportioned body this way, then that.

"I have my ways!" she replied, giving Brauchic a saucy, come-and-get-me look.

"I think I would enjoy you showing me...in private," the leader told her, staring long and hard at her.

She locked eyes with him and licked her lips slowly, suggestively.

Roe saw what was happening and his hand snapped out quickly, slapping her heavily across the face and knocking her to the stone surface of the square.

A week previous would have had Ron ready to kill him for accosting Cache. Now, to his surprise, he felt nothing.

"She is mine!" Roe roared as he jumped to his feet.

Roelantish Sonebane of the Chavarre Territory was a large man, over six and a half feet tall and broad across the shoulders, with well-muscled arms that could swing a sword with both power and speed. He would be a formidable adversary to any man...but he did not face another man.

"The territorial leader has seen to it! I gave you him," he growled, indicating Ron, "and in return, I get my reward and her. So you just back off!"

Brauchic stood up then, his eight and a half feet tall mass dwarfing Roe's as he regarded the man with his hand on the hilt of his sword. He was of the Master Killer rank and would need no assistance in most any brawl, but the rest of the soldiers stood as well...watching to see what Brauchic would do. The regional commander's orders were clear, but this human had challenged their leader and they would be with him if it came to battle.

Brauchic hesitated a long few moments as he and Roe glared each other down and Cache cowered on the ground.

"Hah!" the leader suddenly barked. "That is fine!" he added as he broke out in a large, hideous attempt of a grin, smacking Roe on the shoulder with his open hand, his grotesque face twisting about in a grand display. "She is too small for me anyway! I need a woman with some size to her!"

He then turned to his men and they all scooped up their glasses and drank heartily. Roe glared at Cache harshly and she crawled over and knelt at his feet, lowering her head in submission.

"I am sorry master," she told him as she began to nuzzle and stroke his leg.

"Get back to the room and get ready to leave," he ordered, shoving her away with his boot.

He then let his attention return to the Kreete.

"When can I collect my money?"

"At the bank...around midday," Brauchic replied easily.

Roe bowed his head then and followed Cache...neither of them having once regarded Ron.

"They betrayed me for money?" Ron asked himself in disgust, almost too astonished to comprehend that line of reason. He was surprised that Roe had done it, but he had only known the man for a brief time and granted himself the mistake of trusting too soon. Cache however was another matter. How could it be that she would be party to such an act?

He stood side by side with her after she'd torn him from his world, altered his body, trapped him in a battle to the death, fought through dozens of harrowing situations, and eventually saved all of Rauld; her people, from these Kreete monsters. They'd spent more than thirty days together...just the two of them...in the Darlile while he tried to make it back to Earth, and had grown extremely close. After finding his home world destroyed, she spent santaris at his side as she tried to help him through his grieving. He was sure that he knew her...sure about her motives to help the Caronians shed the chains of the Kreete's bondage...and sure about her heart's commitment when she professed her love for him. Could he have been so wrong?

The bandages tore further.

Brauchic watched Roe walk away and disappear inside the entry to the 'Outpost Inn', and then he strode up to the pillar of stone that held Ron fast. The column was three feet thick and the Kreete leader leaned down to meet Ron's gaze from across that anchor.

"What do you think about that?" he asked, tilting his head toward the direction the two humans had gone. Again he spoke in the Caronian tongue, and was overtly courteous. "They gave you up for a rise in their social status! It is a hefty sum to be sure, but that is pretty low...do you not think so?"

Ron just stared back at the gigantic being. He could feel the heat radiating off his skin...and it had nothing to do with the rising sun. The Kreete smiled at him, almost affectionately.

"I hope that little split-tail was good for you while you had her," he said softly...at least as softly as a Kreete could manage. "One thing that you will learn eventually...well in your case, you have no future with which to make use of the experience...but at any rate, to finish my thought; you can never trust a woman!"

The puzzlement must have somehow shown on Ron's face, even though he didn't realize his expression had altered, because the leader's eyes widened.

"You did not know?" he asked Ron glibly. "This whole thing was her idea. She said she was positive you would track her down if you thought she was in danger. She set up the entire trap!"

Ron's face turned to a mask of shock.

"I cannot believe it! You really did not know! That little whore has been clipping every rebel leader we could not find ourselves...her and Roelantish that is; they are partners! You see, we get word about a significant threat building in an area and we send in our spies...them. I can see why they trust her too...she is very fine! And I wager she also has some very fine skills! Eh?"

Ron didn't want to believe it. He couldn't. His mind wasn't sharp...he was suffering from dehydration, exhaustion, exposure, and starvation, so he shouldn't trust it...but what other explanation would fit?

He'd spent time with Roelantish only briefly out in the wilderness when he first arrived on Caron and yet Roe had asked a great deal of questions about where he was going and who he was meeting in Shavore. That meeting was supposedly highly secret...set up by Cache. And how was it possible he knew exactly where to find Ron out in the wilds? Ron had always assumed it was a chance encounter...but was it?

Cache had confessed to killing that other group of rebels, with due cause from her explanation, but how had her shipment of parts to their leaders always been intercepted? How could the Kreete have always known when and where the drops were going to be? Wasn't she from a more advanced planet? Shouldn't she have been smarter than that? His mind was suddenly running in overdrive, with manipulation and deceit lacing his every thought.

"They are working their way to the top," Brauchic continued. "The Caronian Leadership Council has been very impressed with Roelantish, over the cycles. He has always come through for us. Soon he will be made Governor of a territory, and if he continues his rise, maybe even Lord of a province...an unbelievable goal for a human since there has never been such an appointment made that I know of. But I think his success may have more to do with her than he lets on.

"She is extremely gifted, that one," Brauchic added lending more of an edge to his words. "She is accepted in any circle, no matter how careful they are. Her innocent, breathtaking appearance and remarkably affable personality never fail according to Roe. She is incredibly intelligent and able to read a person within moments...altering her persona to become exactly who, or what, she needs to be. 'That' is a devastating weapon.

"She can bend a man's will with three simple words."

Ron's heart lurched as he stared at that great brute again...his eyes now sharp and focused...his breath stopped cold. The bandages around his heart suddenly ripped free.

"I love you!"

In a split lita, that phrase changed Ron profoundly and solidified his resolve to a level that squashed every other need instantaneously. Whatever had just clicked inside the dual identity individual some knew as Ron Allison, transformed him at the very core of his essence. Suddenly he felt no thirst, no hunger, and no pain. He became the epitome of unmitigated defiance.

At that instant, the fortress city of Huinrag heard the deep, soulful, and primordial sound of the champion of the Aredanz Mountains as he released every ounce of hurt, pride, shame, and anger that was welled up inside him. He was a man pushed past the brink of rational thought...past the threshold that separated man from beast. He saw nothing and he felt nothing, his hatred of everything and everyone shown in the blackness of his eyes. He seethed from the totality of his wrath!

Brauchic stepped back at that, surprised at how powerful this mere human could appear after what he'd been put through. His men all turned, or stopped what they were doing to watch the prisoner, openly amazed by him...that he could still exude such intensity.

Ron practically vibrated with hate as he scowled at them all...daring them to meet his challenge. Brauchic signaled the guards to answer his provocation, and they let loose their whips against him.

They worked on him ruthlessly for ten borts before the leader motioned them to stop. The three soldiers streamed with sweat, having wanted to impress their highly regarded Hellion commander by driving the man to his knees...but they had failed. Ron showed no sign that they were there, even though his blood dripped steadily on the stone. His mind was fixed on the treachery he'd fallen for...on his foolishness for believing so readily...and on retribution for that betrayal. His eyes were locked on the leader...his thoughts on what he'd heard. He just glared at Brauchic.

The commander of the Vanguard force let out an audible huff and then walked away.

The Kreete soldiers were finished with their meal by then and moved away as well, back to their duties for the day. They left the remains of a still grand display of food out where it would antagonize Ron, as was their initial intent, but now it mattered not at all.

Three Kreete troops assigned to watch Ron took up their positions of sentry duty again around the central stone pillar, their superiors apparently not feeling the need to waste more than that on a condemned man.

The day was glorious as the sun cleared the high walls of the city and drowned the square in its brilliance while the temperature rose quickly to bake the soldiers posted there, along with Ron. The Kreete that guarded him wore no armor and were stripped to the waist for comfort in the heat, their skin not much affected by the white star above...one advantage to being of Kreete genetics.

Ron stood motionless for the following three billots, waiting as patiently as a lion.

When the next shift change came, the scout across the pillar from Ron turned his back for a moment to see his relief. The others broke their vigil as well, each welcoming the end of the boredom of their duty time.

Ron made a move then that no one could possibly have anticipated, or even believed conceivable. He held on to the heavy ring that secured his chained hands to the column and jumped. His body flew up and pivoted over the huge pin like an Olympic gymnast executing a precision move to wow the audience. His feet pitched up and over as well, and then whipped out and down, slinging the length of chain that linked them over the head of the guard across from him.

Ron's massive shoulders slammed down hard on the top of the stone column, and his body stopped as rigid as the rock that he was fastened to, flat out, until he felt the chain slap against the chest of the Kreete...then he recoiled with the strength of a greel, jerking the warrior off his feet like he was retrieving the morning newspaper. The eight-foot-tall scout had no chance to defend himself from the attack and his fellows were shocked into a stupor by the sheer audacity of the move.

Ron reeled in that fellow in a blink, up and over his own body to return to his previous side, where he landed on the scout with his entire weight, crushing his skull easily. That soldier's brown-tinged blood mingled with the red human fluid on the surface of the square, and a rumbling growl escaping Ron's throat like rolling thunder.

The guard over to Ron's left tossed his whip aside and attacked straight on, rushing at him with his broad ax lifted high and a war cry on his lips. Ron paused where he was to give the soldier a clear target, and the thought of letting it all end then and there blitzed across his mind, but his animalistic instinct for survival would not be denied.

As the heavy blade started down, Ron slipped his hands quickly apart...one up and one down as he pulled his body back in the clear.

The only thing left in the path of that ax was the chain that tethered the prisoner to the stone...and it parted with ease!

Ron's eyes turned to slits the moment he realized he was free. The prey was suddenly the predator! Now he would make them pay!

He gripped the handle of the ax that had cut his bonds and kicked its owner in the face with both feet. The blow was hard enough to lift the scout off the ground and drop him to the stone courtyard, dazed badly and the wind expelled from his lungs.

The other guard threw a quick glance to his oncoming relief who were still fifty peors away and deep in a conversation that held their attention. They meandered slowly to their duty without a care in the world, not yet aware of the bloody skirmish so close by.

The Kreete soldiers who were assigned such simple responsibilities were typically low level scouts, not yet having proven themselves in battle to allow them a more important assignment than guarding a chained prisoner, so they responded accordingly.

That third sentinel started to call for help, but then realized how that might look and paused. Then he dropped his whip and drew his sword, but for a short moment he hesitated to charge Ron. This human had just killed one of his partners and incapacitated the other in less than five litas!

Ron noted the fellow's indecision immediately, so the ax he still held was quickly put to use toward removing the chains at his feet as well. Like a bird taking flight, the pain from his abusive beatings, the whippings, the sunburned blisters, and even the recent arrow wounds, was gone. This was a fight to the death, pure and simple, and his adrenaline knew no bounds.

"He is loose!" came a frantic call from one of the three oncoming guards as they finally looked up and saw the battle. They each cleared their swords immediately and broke into a dead run.

Ron didn't want the ax. It was far too heavy for him to wield effectively in battle, so he got rid of it quickly, hurling it with all his strength at the last of his nearby guards...the one who'd frozen. It nearly subdivided him. Ron turned back to the dazed scout who had mistakenly freed him and used the beefy chain to return some of the mistreatment he'd received. He whipped the soldier with those steel links several times before he drew the fellow's own sword and plunged it through him with enough force to snap off the tip's last four inches as it crashed into the unforgiving stone on which he lay.

Ron dove back to the first man he'd killed and retrieved that soldier's blade as well. When the three new scouts closed, it was a fully armed and ready adversary that they met.

Ron leapt to the top of the stone pillar which had so recently trapped him and used its altitude to launch himself at his new opponents. He picked out one of the Kreete and virtually flew at him, smashing the scout's sword aside as he closed, and plowing into his face with his knee.

The soldier went down instantly and Ron struck him at his unprotected throat with the heavy butt of his stolen blade, destroying his windpipe as it collapsed against his spine. Ron rolled clear of his body, but stripped the soldier of his short sword as he did. He was up instantly and met the next two scouts with a whirling barrage of sharpened metal. His quickness and power beat them into a hasty retreat before Ron could slip in and rake one of the soldiers across the thigh, severing the large muscle there and eliminating him from the fight.

The last scout simply could not match the fierce onslaught that was Ron Allison. His blades were everywhere at once and could not be stopped as they hacked and slashed the outgunned fellow who finally lost his head to the demon-man.

By then though, the rest of the Kreete city was alerted to the battle that raged within its walls. The square which was designed to show the superiority of the masters over the lesser beings had been turned into a monument of irony, for it was they who lay dead or dying in that place, overwhelmed by a single individual...a mere man!

Ron spun about hastily, finding no more immediate threats within his swords' reach, and faced himself toward the door where Roe and Cache had last been seen. His lips intuitively curled into a vicious snarl.

### Chapter Six

### Treage Vitrauge

Far away to the north of Huinrag in Carthele, the most remote province of the known Caronian world, was the city of Pigonta...a city named after the first Kreete Planet Lord to rule over Caron, Gotliig Pigonta. He had discovered Caron over seventy cycles in the past and had conquered the peoples with the usual Kreete tactics...uncompromising cruelty and brutality. Gotliig was the ultimate authority of the planet, controlled his own personal armada of space-faring warships, and had seven Legions (twenty-four hundred troops in each) at his disposal. He answered only to the supreme rulers of his species...the Triad's Assembly of Elders located on their home planet of Kreete...in all matters having to do with his domain. As long as he generated the required tithe to their ruling body, he was free to do whatever he wished.

In this city of his, there gathered a contingency of warriors...Kreete warriors. They comprised the Caronian Ruling Council. That compilation of seven high-ranking commanders subdivided Caron's usable landmasses into an equal number of sections (although Gotliig had the largest and most promising) and oversaw the exploitation of the planet under the umbrella guidance of the Planet Lord. Aside from Gotliig there were two Master Killers on hand and an unheard of 'four' Reaper-class leaders.

Typically, soldiers who'd managed to survive to achieve the Reaper status were in charge of colossal spacecraft, or entire fleets of ships filled with thousands of highly trained combatants. They were brilliant strategists and highly accomplished soldiers, waging war for the Triad on a global scale, and were typically extremely ambitious. Such elite individuals typically pick their positions and have their own grand agendas. This particular collection of so many was very unique in their society and only manageable because Caron was anticipated to be an exceptionally important planet. Those Reapers were there for their own prosperity...figuring that when the expected full-scale colonization began, their lands, natural resources, and workforces would be extremely valuable.

Metropolitan Pigonta was completely governed and occupied by Kreete citizens...eight hundred thousand in all. It was a sprawling, technology rich, urban development, hacked out of the wilderness by fantastic machines that had decimated five hundred square hoz of rich forest to allow them to construct a thriving community. The result of their efforts was equal to the finest city on their home-world of Kreete...another heavy gravity planet which had been renamed by them after they totally annihilated the indigenous peoples they'd discovered there.

Pigonta was also a city forbidden to Caronians, not wanting any of their wondrous advancements known to the native masses, and was protected by an outer perimeter defense system that was state-of-the-art. That protective net was fully automated, and constantly scanned the half-hoz-wide "free" zone that kept anyone from approaching the city undetected.

The ground was intricately mined as well as having pressure sensitive probes at every step, the latter to guide the plasma cannon gun emplacements mounted on its high walls. Those cannons could obliterate an entire herd of roukers in litas...and had done exactly that once. Along with that incredible mesh of firepower, a seventy-foot high, forty-foot thick wall of gigantic blocks of stone and mortar surrounded the entire city...more than a hundred hoz in total. That wall was also guarded constantly with electronics of the finest sort as well as scouts walking the perimeter, although sparsely stationed.

If the Kreete Council's plans were seen through to fruition, Caron was soon to become the newest and most pivotal world of the Kreete Triad. With Pigonta built; those who wielded the power were poised to begin the next phase of their conquest and habitation of the planet...expansion on a grand scale.

Each of the seven provinces making up the inhabited continents was extremely rich in natural resources, and once full production was reached, Caron would dominate the Triad's commercial traffic of those raw materials. That was a fact not openly known to those outside the planet's confines. Gotliig and his underlings had managed to keep that news well in hand, wanting to get themselves entrenched in their positions before allowing the rest of the Triad's commodities brokers to know the true extent of the economic leverage they possessed.

Caron itself was well suited to their needs too, due to its size, its gravity, its location, and its indigenous labor force. Now that they had a fixed and nearly completed launch facility for space-going vessels, they were going to ramp up and start constructing warships and transports to replace the older crafts of their fleets. And woven into their goals was a plan to build additional ships for an increase in their own space armada because dominion over the fortune and influence they anticipated would surely be challenged.

New advanced cities like Pigonta were already mapped out and drawn up, ready for inception, as well as power-generating facilities, interconnecting transport tunnels, and more mines to harvest the raw materials to make it all happen. If all went as planned, a hundred cycles in the future would find Caron the most sought-after world of the entire galaxy...and each of the provincial leaders would be rich and powerful beyond their dreams.

On this day though, the attending commanders...six in all because Gotliig himself was absent, were not gathered to discuss such plans...at least not at that particular moment. Instead, they stood in a high-tech communications room watching a holographic image of another group of military men and one chained individual. Those soldiers and their prisoner were in a city far to the southeast of Pigonta...a city built in the style of a long ago era. It had oil lamps, not lights, no running water, no modern entertainment, and only the grimmest of medical capabilities.

A portable video transmitter broadcast the scene of a dimly lit room that was designed to instill fear and coerce cooperation from those escorted to its confines. The imprisoned fellow dangled in the center of that room, held up only by the irons that clasped his wrists. His blood spattered the walls and the floor around his feet. It was obvious that they had a very different reason for gathering than their northern counterparts.

"What progress have you made in finding this Raulden woman?" Graigo Porthan, a Kreete commander of Reaper status and the second highest ranked leader on the planet, asked of the men in the interrogation cell.

"None, sir," replied Norde' the Hunter class soldier who had been assigned to Mardesh to question the last person to have known the location of the Raulden spy. "We followed the information that our infiltrator here provided us, but when our courier failed to deliver the critical message to her...the one that would have led her right to our trap...her whereabouts were lost to us. As you are aware, all we knew about her was where she was staying, that she is Raulden, and a female...and with only that to guide us, it was highly problematic to discover her true identity without further assistance.

"In any event, since then, we have checked every room in every building twice and have recovered a wide array of contraband of various sorts, but have not found the woman.

"It now has been a full santari since her disappearance and we have reached the conclusion that she is not in the city. Either she discovered our ambush and fled before we could spring it or she left on some urgent business that we do not know of."

"Did you kill our informant for wasting our time?" Graigo inquired looking at the slumping form of their mutilated operative.

"No, sir...should I?"

Graigo considered that question for a long few moments while his subordinate stood at attention, waiting for his response.

"Has he given us accurate information in the past?"

"Yes, he is one of our finest spies. He has been in our control for more than five Caronian cycles."

"So you think his intentions were true to the Kreete's objectives?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Very well then, I suppose we will have to wait until she surfaces again...release the prisoner!" Graigo ordered.

The fellow that was in the employment of the Kreete, stationed in Shavore and set to pass along what information he could about the rebels, was immediately cut loose from his bonds. His body fell to the floor in a heap of bloody, ragged flesh...the resulting effects of Kreete interrogators repeatedly asking him questions with painful punctuality. He had answered all of them, for many billots, having each query repeated several times in different ways, and had managed to reply to every round with like results.

"Thank you masters!" he cried as he groveled on the floor of the stone chamber, his body racked with pain so intense that he could barely collect his thoughts.

The Kreete Council members cut off communication at that point and a specialized, cybernetic med-team which was kept on standby for such needs was called soon afterward. It hurriedly began the process of repairing his extensive and excessive injuries while the tortured soul was finally allowed to pass into unconsciousness.

"What of the news of this man who killed our scout and crossed the Gruinshawe pass?" Graigo inquired of his entourage as they strode back to their normal meeting hall, up a long, spiraling staircase of fine marble steps. "The one that she had been apparently waiting for."

"We have only a rough description of him," replied Hreem, the Reaper in charge of the province that was being discussed, "but we combed the forest from Shavore to the pass and found nothing we could claim as a viable trail. We have presumed that he is an experienced woodsman, so we had little real chance of finding him. Perhaps they made their rendezvous and are together with their allies."

"No," Graigo mused, "I think I would have heard something about that by now if they had joined forces. The Caronian rebels are not as secret as they think. We have men in every town who would be more than willing to earn favor by routing these miscreants out of their little dens."

When they reached the top of the stairs they found someone there, outside the Council chamber. He was pacing back and forth between two statues that guarded the huge, double doors emblazoned with the crest of Gotliig on them.

"Sir," spoke the waiting fellow...a former member of that privileged council. He was a warrior of the Reaper status as well; one who had fallen out of favor and was removed from his high position. "I have information on that very matter to discuss," he told them eagerly. Since his downfall he had been desperately hoping to ingratiate himself back into better standing.

They entered the grand chamber with the interloper in tow. The walls of the meeting hall were lavish and bejeweled, with fantastic paintings depicting some of Gotliig's most famous campaigns. The members went to their seats at a long table made of natural red obsidian, a rare stone from the Kreete homeworld. It was shaped into a half circle and faced a huge chair resting on a raised dais...one befitting a king. The entire throne was constructed of a substance similar to platinum and was impeccably polished to a brilliant shine. They all sat except for Graigo and the former member.

"Get on with it, Treage." Graigo asked gruffly as he paced about the large room, irritated at the intrusion. "And it had better be good!" He disliked Treage very much and had been quite pleased when his rival had been removed from the Council in disgrace. They were both of the same esteemed rank, but the Planet Lord now held Graigo in much higher regard than his one-time associate.

"At about the same time as this woman went missing," Treage began, "the Vanguard unit, the Hellions, captured a man in the wild country south of Mardesh and I have been following the reports of that matter closely. I believe him to be at least partly responsible for the destruction of the Flouret guard-post, and more than likely the assassin of our Gruinshawe scout."

"And just what guides you to those conclusions?"

"He was identified as the person seen in the surveillance record of Flouret's command center. As you know, protocol dictates that a recording begins automatically when any communication device is rendered inoperative. In this case, the leads to the unit were severed and the man in question was shown inside the room with the dead officer on the floor behind him. Then shortly after that, he was seen again dragging the deceased scout from the room. The very next dactrai, one of our way stations' attendants spoke with a man matching the description of this fellow just north of the post that was destroyed. He was riding one of our heavy chariots and had weapons from the post. We transported this attendant to the detention facility and when we showed him a holo-image of the prisoner, he recognized him immediately. We also confirmed, through sources in Mardesh, that he was seen in that city, trying to locate a specific fighter who just so happens to have since escaped."

"Where is this traitor being held?" Graigo inquired piercingly, his interest quickly peaking.

"The last word I received was that he had arrived at Huinrag, sir."

"Well, if he is there, we should hear everything he knows by the end of the first torjourne (one Kreete week). What is his name?"

"They do not know as of yet, Reaper Graigo. He has refused to speak and has proven to be extremely resistant to our interrogators thus far...but I am of a mind to think that this is the same person we lost in the forest of Shavore...and the same man who has eluded us for cycles, and eventually aided the Rauldens in the destruction of our fleet that was sent to Rauld."

"Really?" Graigo asked, his attention now sharply on his peer and his suspicions of political maneuvering rising. "What leads your reasoning down 'that' path?"

"He assassinated three of the Hellions before they could get him to Huinrag...while he was shackled! What other man has ever been able to defeat our troops so easily? It all fits. He is the assassin from Flouret, clearly identified, meets all the parameters of the fellow from the high pass, and was heading for Shavore, probably to meet up with the Raulden spy. I am convinced that he is the escaped slave, Kaskle Dangarth of the Aredanz. I think he has come back to Caron, probably in that super-ship that destroyed our Dreadnaught, and has the allegiance of the Rauldens on his side, hoping to thwart our rule over this world."

"Hah!" Graigo barked, now certain that his rival was grasping at straws to get himself reinstated at the right hand of Gotliig. "That is quite the theory, Treage! One that I would very much enjoy if you were correct, because if it is indeed him, we will have the ship, his accomplice and her technology, and then he will die without further embarrassment to the Triad. That might at least relieve you of the burden of failure that has followed you for these past many cycles.

"Have his DNA tested immediately and bring me the results."

"It has already been ordered, sir."

"Good! Perhaps we may yet find a bit of fortune after all. Was he alone when he was taken?"

"No, Graigo, he was not. He was with a woman slave who is the property of a bounty hunter of the southern territories. He and whatever army he has managed to assemble destroyed a caravan traveling from Mardesh to Huinrag, killing nearly everyone and taking the female for himself."

Graigo's expression grew strained at that bit of news. "Could this just be a coincidence," he mused, "that they were hunting for a pair such as this...a man and a woman...in the same locale...and then just stumbled into them?

"Have we spoken with this woman and bounty hunter?"

"They went with the Vanguard unit to Huinrag, for the reward payment. They were questioned briefly by the Hellion's Second, Brauchic, stayed one night, and then left with the reward the next morning. Presumably, they have set out for their own territory on the western side of the Greishere Plateau."

Graigo's rising hopes dropped as he heard the report of them collecting the fugitive's bounty. If they were those whom he sought, they would surely have avoided the fortress city for fear of being discovered and captured, or killed. His fleeting hope that they had at last imprisoned Kaskle all but slipped away at that moment. He knew the man's file well, and was confident he could not have been taken so easily.

"Keep me posted on both of these endeavors, the identity of the man and the search for this Raulden spy.

"If, by some miracle, we can finally announce the capture of Kaskle and make an example of him to these stubborn natives, we can get on with our expansion plans without further headaches. But if the Guardian truly favors us and we can collect the female traitor as well, I can only imagine the fortune. Once we rend from her the desired information for this advanced fighter spacecraft and planetary transport device, we will be able to name our rank and position!"

The group disbanded at that point and left Treage to find his way slowly out of the Council building alone with his thoughts.

"Kaskle Dangarth...the blade in my side for the past seven cycles. Perhaps we have you at last."

It would have been much better for him though if he could have been the one to have captured the renegade, but nonetheless, if it was the Aredanz champion who was chained in Huinrag, hopefully his own reputation would begin to improve again. It had suffered greatly since Kaskle's betrayal and escape, and Treage wanted retribution for his shame and disgrace, as well as for the death of his younger brother, Kale.

Treage was still, technically, Kaskle's owner, and would very much like to question him personally. But, since Huinrag was not his designated area, for the time being he would simply have to await the results of the tests.

Treage's memories could not help but be jogged at that moment...jogged all the way back to the first time he'd seen Kaskle Dangarth in action. He now cursed the very man who had, at one point, helped elevate him to the second highest position on Caron.

It was on the western side of the Taerdrasseg Mountain range, on the sloping meadows of the foothills of the treacherous Aredanz territory. Treage had been inspecting one of the raiding parties in that area during a 'recruiting' campaign for new slaves and witnessed a scene that he would never forget.

One of his underlings was making an example of a woman who would not comply with his orders to be his pleasure girl. There were hundreds of Caronians on hand and he wanted to show the rest of the community what would happen to anyone who might dare defy the Kreete's decree...a typical demonstration of their ruling credo.

She was standing in the center of a large corral, unarmed, crying and begging for help, but no one would step up to aid her because the animal pen was surrounded by ten Kreete soldiers.

"Release the beasts!" the Hunter Tusepten ordered to his human assistant.

The fellow raised a gate and allowed three large dogs into the corral. One of the creatures would have been plenty enough to rip any man...much less a woman...to pieces, but three added to the horror. The beasts were easily the height of Earth's Great Danes, but were thirty percent heavier, with rolling muscles on their shoulders and long, vicious-looking fangs. The woman screamed as they circled her. The fierce creatures were all growling deeply, drooling, and snapping their wide jaws together before they attacked, seeming to enjoy the smell of fear they instilled.

Off to Treage's left, where the edge of the corral was within twenty feet of the dense vegetation of the neighboring forest, one of the guards slumped to the ground suddenly, drawing the mighty leader's attention instantly. Before his head could fully pivot around though a deeply tanned man blasted from the foliage and leaped the shoulder-high fence of the corral as easily as if it were a fallen log. The fellow then immediately engaged the maddened creatures circling the woman without a moment's hesitation about the danger. With bared teeth and bestial growling sounds emanating from his throat, he brandished his crude weapons fearlessly, ready for the clash.

He was a fellow of good size, with shoulder length black hair, short trousers, and moccasins on his feet. He wore no shirt, had only a strap running diagonally across his chest to hold a quiver of arrows, and a pair of scabbards dangled from his hips...the unsheathed weapons being gripped firmly in his large hands. His musculature was thick and defined and his demeanor was clear...he meant to fight!

This newcomer landed directly beside one of the snarling animals and his sword instantly pinned that dog to the soft ground, skewering it through the heart and shoulder like a giant nail. He rolled away and clear of that brute to leave it writhing in its death throes, trying to fight the stationary steel anchor that held it in place...but it could not escape and so was forgotten.

The next animal came to its ally's assistance in a leaping assault that led to its own hasty demise at the end of the man's short sword...up through its throat and jaw and into its brain. It was a quick and sudden death, but the weight of the beast bore the man to the ground and away from his weapons, them being firmly lodged in the two dying creatures' bodies.

The third dog sped past the woman and attacked the man as he tossed the second creature's carcass aside. The lady's savior was on his back when the crazed beast landed across his chest, its fangs barely an inch from his face. The man's reaction was unbelievably quick, getting his forearm under the jaws of the dog with one hand before he punched it hard in the throat with the other. The animal let out a huge coughing gag and instantly tried to reverse its charge. That's when the fellow made a move that astounded everyone in attendance. He grabbed the foaming jaws of the great canine as they gaped open for air, and encircled its body with his legs. With a tremendous roaring grunt...one that drowned out the snarling sounds of the dog, he spread those deadly jaws apart until he snapped off the creature's lower jowl as the animal tried desperately to escape. The man's legs squeezed and squeezed until its ribs collapsed under the pressure and the fierce creature slumped to the turf...a broken, mangled mess.

The fearsome champion rolled again swiftly and kicked the dog away in disgust, his body glazed with a sheen of the animals' blood. As soon as he stood once more, he raised his face to the sky and roared out his victory call while the astonished townsfolk first cheered and then cowered at the bestial sounds he uttered.

That show of courage and chivalry infuriated the Hunter class commander who was running the demonstration of Kreete dominance, so he tore open the corral and strode into the ring, his own blade naked now.

"You will pay for such insolence, flarge!" he growled.

He was intent on teaching this upstart who the true rulers of the world actually were.

The wild-man collected his swords and faced the oncoming Kreete passively, calmly, as if he would be sparring with an old chum. Treage glanced over at the scout who had fallen to the ground when the man first appeared. He had not risen...and there was a dark handgrip protruding from the base of his skull. A well tossed knife, no doubt.

"This man has real talent!" Treage told himself in that instant.

The Hunter was the leader of a forty-nine man Strike Team, but was not particularly well skilled with the blade by Kreete standards. He still needed seasoning in real combat, having fought mostly untrained opponents in his short career, yet he stood more than a foot taller than his adversary and had even more advantage in his reach.

Treage soon found out that the man was extraordinarily quick on his feet and amazingly strong for a human. He quite easily bested the Tusepten and took his head.

Treage quickly stepped into the scene then, as his troops were about to riddle the man with arrows. He could tell this wild fellow was an exceptionally gifted fighter, and his thoughts about how much fortune he could make from staged bouts went skittering through his mind.

"Hold!" he ordered. "Stand down!"

The band of scouts lurched to a stop at the sound of the Reaper's command and held their fire while Treage attempted to meet with the man.

"We are the Kreete!" he said in a rough form of Caronian, bellowing it out with his most menacing voice, loud enough for the entire group to hear.

He was standing ten paces from the interloper whose blade still dripped the blood of his Strike Team leader.

"We admire bravery, skill, and ferocity in battle!" Treage continued in the same booming, announcer voice. "We seek out such traits at every opportunity...and we reward those who have them! This man has performed superbly and shall receive no punishment from us! In fact, he has just secured the freedom of all citizens of this community!"

The crowd looked shocked, as did his own men. The villagers had been hearing about the coming tide of the Kreete...the slaughter of many innocents and the enslavement of all others...and they couldn't believe what they now heard.

"This is no trick!" Treage added as he saw the distrust in their eyes. "I am Treage Vitrauge...ruler of this province and commander of the Siege of Kreete troops that now occupy it! I give you my word, that you will be spared any further visits from my men for the next seven cycles...what you call 'years'. That is what your champion has earned you this day by his abilities as a true warrior!"

"I am not their champion," the man said easily, showing no fear of the enormous creature that stood before him.

Treage Vitrauge was nearly nine feet tall and the man's eye level was barely even with his chest. He carried a sword that was two feet longer than the human's and a battle-axe that would be difficult for the man to lift, much less wield in battle. He wore battle armor of steel to protect his chest and chain mail for ease of movement.

"You show no alarm of me," Treage told him incredulously. "That is curious."

"I am Kaskle Dangarth of the Rokore Clan, of the Aredanz Mountain folk. I am not afraid of death, and I will not bow!"

Treage studied the man for a few moments before raising his hands and grinning a horrible, Kreete grin.

"You need not bow, young Kaskle. In fact, I have a proposition for you. Come, let us eat!"

That was the beginning of a growing bond between the two of them. After a huge feast that lasted all the rest of the day and included the townsfolk, Treage carefully spent the following week with Kaskle. He offered the young warrior the chance to see the world...to go places that no Caronian had ever seen, and to become famous, rich, and adored by thousands. He offered Kaskle the world...and the young, eager, brash young man took it...for a while.

### Chapter Seven

### Word gets out

A santari after the meeting in the Council Chambers of Pigonta, another gathering occurred in the town of Wreetage, a moderately sized community at the fringe of the Caronian wilds. It lay far to the south and west of that peaceful little cove Ron had found and taken Cache to, before he was betrayed by her and Roe and turned over to the Vanguard. This congregation was not Kreete however. It was made up of men and women who represented roughly ten thousand fighting souls who had secretly drawn together in an effort to collaborate news and plans for a massive uprising against the Kreete's rule of Caron.

There were fifty people in the group, two-dozen individuals of which comprised representatives from across the entire province. They were all leaders in their own communities and territories and were resolute toward freedom for their people.

The meeting was being held in a large building that was originally designed for the manufacturing of rope. The structure was long and wide and capable of producing five thousand feet of braided cord a day...heavy-duty line for towing barges up and down the river as well as the common, everyday-sized rope for animals, wells, etc. The building had many windows around its long walls, to give some relief for the workers inside the huge, hot facility, but they were all closed this day for fear of their business being overheard. Guards were stationed at every side, constantly pacing the perimeter, and four large fellows stood at the entry doors.

The gathered assembly was having their midday meal while they discussed many matters that were connected with the plans for the impending campaign. Topics on the agenda included things like where to stash supplies, how they would stay in touch across the wide-ranging lands where they lived, who would have which assignments when the time came, and on and on. Many on hand had never even seen a real army in action and the coordination of feeding and supplying such a force was staggering to them...not to mention the fact that they had to keep it all secret from the Lords. They were finding out it was a truly daunting task, and several even questioned if they could chance being party to it since any discovery by the Kreete would be disastrous to them and their followers.

Into this town rode a horse, wild-eyed and heavily lathered from a very long and arduous trip of great urgency to the group. The small rider atop the beast flew right up to the steps of the large building and leapt from his exhausted steed as six armed men rushed forward to block his passage.

"I have urgent news for General Crogan! Stand aside!" shouted the young man, perhaps twenty cycles of age and slight of build. He was unarmed.

Six swords jumped clear of their leather scabbards before one of the men recognized the boy messenger.

"It's all right men," he said quickly. "I know this lad...he is a courier for the cause...stand down."

The harried young man then rushed passed them all and they immediately tended to his mount and returned to their posts.

"It is confirmed!" shouted the dispatch rider as he burst into the make-shift dining hall where sat Crogan Sevraign, the general of the southern forces of the Garthinn Province, and all of his twenty-three lieutenants...one of whom was his wife, Lilea. "Ronin has been captured!"

"No!" Lilea gasped, her face suddenly turning ashen. "It cannot be true!"

"I am afraid that it is, mistress," assured the young man, Pertus Urian.

The group at the table each stopped his or her meal to contemplate what such news might mean.

There had been a rumor, passed along nearly a santari ago, about the capture of a great warrior...someone who had wreaked great havoc on the military might of the Kreete in the northern part of the province. The story said he alone had destroyed three Squads of Kreete soldiers and killed several more individually...and that he had given freedom back to a dozen towns and hundreds of citizens.

Now it was confirmed that he'd been taken into custody...a certain death sentence.

Those sitting at the long table murmured, speculated, and worried about what to do. Could they continue without such a vital spark to their cause? After all, it was the results of his daring, defiant actions that had led to this meeting in the first place.

After a short while, Crogan came to a decision.

"We will have to move the camp!" he said in a disappointed tone.

"We cannot!" came a conjoined reproach from many of the others.

Jarle Raidene, of the city of Lampsh, spoke in behalf of that group.

"The rally point for all the troops is already set. If we change it now, at least half will not get the new coordinates. They will be left scattered across the face of the province with no understanding as to why they have been abandoned. We must wait!"

Crogan took his time at that, knowing the truth of what his longtime friend was saying...but there was more to it than that.

"If this man, Ronin, alerts the Kreete to our position, this town will be obliterated and we could all be taken or killed," he explained. "The entire army we have built will be destroyed. That is too big a risk for us to allow."

"There is no risk, Crogan!" Jarle told his commander, his voice solid and steadfast. "He will not break!"

Crogan's expression was one of stark incredulousness. He had to pause for a moment to keep from openly offending his boyhood chum.

"Jarle, I know that you have great respect for this man," Crogan said gently, "so do I. He managed what I would have thought was impossible in my escape, but believe me when I say...there is no one who they cannot break if they so desire."

Lilea shook her head then, not wanting to go against the decision of her husband, but not ready to sit idly by either.

"My darling," she said as she held his hand firmly in her smaller ones. "This man, Ron...Ronin to many of us...is not like any you have ever known. The people who have seen him in battle will all agree...he can do things that are not possible. He took on Criege and his entire squad of trained soldiers, took multiple arrows in his body, and never flinched. You knew Criege...you knew how good with a blade he was. This man battled him to the death one handed, with an arrow through his shoulder and one in the leg, and still defeated him. He did all that through his determination and resolution to be free. He would not bend then...and he shall not bend now. His will 'cannot' be broken!"

"That's preposterous, Lil!" Crogan told her gruffly, feeling his aggravation growing with such misguided beliefs. "He is a man as are we all. He bleeds and he dies just like the rest of us. You have not been under their control as I have, my love. You have not seen what they are capable of. They will punish him in ways you and I can't even imagine, and should never try to. They will go so far beyond cruel that there will be no coming back...and they will be relentless. Even if he can survive that, he will not be a man anymore."

"I know he's not some sort of...Guardian. I know he can be injured...I've seen it. I also know that if they so choose, he can be killed...but there is no way I will ever believe that they can make him betray us!" She shook her head slowly, her emerald-green eyes piercing with fire. "You don't know him."

"Lilea is right, Crogan," Heath Sarvand said at that point. "I stood by him at the battle of Lampsh. The fellow knows no fear...he knows no opponent who can beat him, yet he was willing to give himself up to save our people...to save the innocents who had been caught up in his affairs. No, my friend, this man may die under their tortures' tools, but his resolve is stronger than that black sword he carries. He will not bend to their will...and he will not break."

Fully two thirds of the men at the table had seen Ron Allison in battle and their faces were each as unwavering as was Lilea's, Heath's, and Jarle's. Crogan was duly impressed. He also was intelligent enough to see that his was a vastly one-sided view amidst many, and that he must acquiesce.

"Very well then," Grogan submitted. "I suggest we at least set our own sentries to watching the roads from the north. If the Kreete begin to march, we will surely need to have some warning. Otherwise, we will continue with our plans as they are. Agreed?"

"Yes," swept up and down the throng.

"What about Ronin?" asked Janson, Jarle's younger brother who sat at his brother's shoulder. "We should start working on a plan to free him!"

"That is out of the question!" Crogan replied with a sharp edge to his tone. "Any attempt to remove him from Huinrag is pure foolhardiness, and would result in even more losses. That place is impregnable. There are a thousand Kreete troops in that fortress with weapons we can't even begin to defend against. No my young man, if he is indeed who the populace believe him to be...Ronin of Erthania...the unstoppable, immortal champion of the people, he may live through this ordeal, but he will have to manage on his own."

"Do you know how long he's been captured, Pertus?" Lilea asked the courier, her voice trembling with worry.

"When I was there, they said he'd been in Huinrag for nearly a santari, but hadn't been seen in many weeks...not since his recapture."

"Recapture?" Crogan questioned the young man...the amazement clear on his face. "What do you mean, Pertus? Had he escaped?"

The entire group was sitting forward now. Forgotten were the meal they had been engaged in and the plans which were the primary subject of the meeting. No one spoke, no one ate...they barely breathed.

"I met with a dozen people; five of which witnessed this skirmish first hand, all the way through. The others came in after it had begun.

"They say that a large man with long, black hair was brought in naked and barefoot, from a march across the Greishere Highlands, and that the Kreete chained him to a large column of rock in the inner courtyard. He was already bruised at every point, his eyes were both blackened and his face was swollen badly. Lash marks striped his back and wounds from arrows could be seen in several places, yet he stood like a king, surveying the town as if on holiday..."

Lilea felt a rush of adrenaline sweep through her body. It was true then...it was Ron. No one else could exude such majesty under like circumstances. Her heart began to race. Fear, hope, and dread all fought for control of her thoughts as she listened.

Pertus went on to describe to the group, in extraordinary detail, the first day of Ron's arrival and the miraculous escape of the man they all called Ronin. Then he went on with the story of what had happened next.

"When Ronin dropped that last guard, he had the fellow's ax in his hand before he hit the ground and he sent it through the remnants of the chains between his feet twice, leaving just the shackles clamped to his body. He dropped that heavy weapon and hastily grabbed what he could from the table full of food, scooping it all into one of the baskets that lay about. Then before you could blink he hurtled the two-peors-wide table in one smooth leap. He even snatched up a pitcher of parc cider as he cleared it.

"The man who presided over the Outpost Inn that Ronin barged into...Laar Brant...said he saw him coming at a dead run, sword scabbards swinging wildly as he downed the entire pitcher while he ran and was gulping food when he crashed into the inn. He slammed the door shut, threw down the cross bar, and then grabbed a thick slab of rock that served as the counter where the guests checked in.

"Now let me say that I saw it myself, because they had put it back by then, and it is as thick as my hand is wide, wider than my shoulders, and longer than I am tall. He snatched it from its mooring in one grunting motion and piled that against the door as well."

The listening group all nodded and grinned as they each recalled some tremendous feat of Ron's strength they'd personally witnessed.

"Yeah, that sounds like Ronin all right," was the unanimous agreement.

"The patrons of the place all began screaming and running as he forcibly checked each of the twelve rooms that were there, tearing several doors from their hinges in the process. The two whom he sought were already gone though, and by then the Kreete were battering down the entrance, so he jumped from the lobby up to the second floor like hopping up on a chair.

"Two scouts met him there, having climbed in from the neighboring building's balcony, and he growled intensely and attacked them like a wild animal, destroying them quickly before moving on.

"Now he added two crossbows and both quivers of those last soldiers to his naked person.

"Through a second story window he went where he jumped outward, grabbed the edging of the overhang, and then flipped up to the roof like a deep forest monkey...his weapons, food, and all. From there he tore across the rooftops, outpacing the foot pursuit easily, even though according to the witnesses, the arrows that followed him looked as if it was raining wooden missiles. But they said it was like the Lords were shooting at a ghost.

"After leaping across four different streets, he was forced down into another building when the expert snipers manning the high wall began getting too close to him with their more powerful weapons. As he made it to the street again, another clash with the Kreete ensued. Once again he hacked his way through them and on he went.

"The chase continued all day, racing from building to building, blades clashing and arrows whistling from everywhere. Ronin eluded them all until dark, when he finally found himself pinned in by a well-formed skirmish line of the Vanguard, checking house-to-house and room-by-room.

"At that point, he was compelled to try to make it over the outer wall.

"The entire city had been alerted to the incredible set of events taking place and not a single person was asleep as all watched for a glimpse of this demigod of a man. So many torches were set ablaze along the walls that they looked like burning fence posts, and the streets were filled with firelight as well. Not a single lamp lay unused as the slags swarmed about. That is how the rest of the story is known.

"When Ronin finally made his dash for freedom, he carried one of the Kreete's powerful longbows, and his aim with the arrows was unbelievable. He fired twenty three times...every projectile that he carried...and not once did he miss, but they were alerted to his position and converged quickly. When he finally scaled that outer defense and stood atop its summit, he carried four broken arrows in his body, but on he fought, taking down three more scouts at the end of his sword on the upper surface of the great wall.

"At last he cleared the way and was over the wall, slipping swiftly down a stout rope to his liberty, but an unlucky stray arrow from one of the heavy emplacements cut the line and he fell twenty peors to the hard packed ground, knocking him unconscious.

"A billot later he was seen being carried back through the main gate on a litter, blood running from his body heavily. At that point they all thought he was dead, but one woman I spoke with assured me he still lived because she'd helped the doctor patch him back together and care for him.

"When last she saw him, he was gaining strength again...but was scheduled to begin the questioning. Five weeks had passed by the time I spoke to her, and it has been two more since I was there."

The group all remained silent at the conclusion of that tale, each deep in thoughts that held dire outcomes.

"Typically, their interrogations last less than a third that amount of time," Crogan said objectively. "If nothing has been heard of him for that long, he is most likely dead by now."

No one wanted to believe it, but none ventured a more promising notion.

"Did you receive any indications that we have been exposed?"

"No, General. The talk was of nothing save Ronin."

"He is not dead!" Lilea then said defiantly, with supreme confidence and tears dribbling down her heavily flushed cheeks. "We must dispatch more men to find out his status!"

The rest of the gathering all jumped to life at that, agreeing to her suggestion immediately, even though they felt it was only grasping at a mere prospect of hope.

Crogan sat quietly and listened to them all; these people who were once solely his supporters. He was truly amazed at what a devout following this stranger had gained in such a short period. He knew that this assembly of rebels would all look to him in the end, since his family was seen as almost royalty in the province and his leadership was well known and respected by all in attendance. Nevertheless, this foreigner had left an indelible impression of such amplitude on each of them...from Lampsh, to Shavore, and on to Mardesh, with many of their own followers in between, that it astounded him. This inexorable man had finally done what he, nor any other man since the Kreete's first arrival, had been able to do. He had joined the strength and determination of the Caronian people.

They called him Ronin, after the legendary warrior from Erthania who came out of a remote region of the Taerdrasseg Mountains to stand between the grand army of the warmonger, Garnmole Trealnian and the peace loving residents of Heraitey Fremaal, the grandest city of the highlands of Breemdorn.

Like an impenetrable shield and an inescapable blade, he slew all men and beasts that challenged him or threatened the citizens...but that was just a myth. No such man ever truly existed...or did he...for if enough believe in something; does that not make it a reality?

Crogan let what he'd learned swim around in his brain for a while as his army's captains all recited stories of what their personal encounter with Ronin had been. He'd heard all the tales told by their owners previously and felt certain they'd each embellished this man's abilities quite a lot since he knew no Caronian could possibly accomplish what they claimed he had. But now that he thought about it further, it occurred to him that perhaps he had not considered every possibility. Maybe this man was not of Caron!

Crogan himself had fought in the arena against beasts he was told were not from his world. The Kreete claimed to be from a distant planet...why not this man as well? And if that were true, then conceivably these stories need not be dismissed so easily. If this man had actually done all that was boasted of him, would he not be the perfect one to rally behind? If all of Caron believed the legendary warrior lived and that this man was he, they would fight! Furthermore, if what this Ronin had told Lilea, Heath, and the other members of the Lampsh contingent was true, that a more advanced group was going to aid them, then there might actually be real hope in lieu of false. And if they would eliminate the Kreete's tremendous advantage of their flying machines and long range communications with their comrades, the Caronians might actually stand a slight chance in the outcome of the war.

"Crogan!" shouted Lilea.

The leader snapped back to attention with that...his thoughts returning to the matter at hand.

"What would you have us do?" she repeated, her eyes pleading with desperation.

He looked calmly and intently from one face to the next, down the left side of the long table and up the right.

"I only met this fellow for a short time," Crogan began, "but I feel I know each of you well enough to take you at your word. This man certainly sounds extraordinary, and should he somehow prove to live even still, he would be someone who could enhance our efforts a great deal."

The entire assemblage vehemently agreed.

"Then I propose we each dispatch orders to our most trusted officers to ascertain the fate of this man, Ronin. The leaders themselves should not go since we have much work to accomplish within our own realm, but send whom you can spare. I strongly urge you caution on one matter however...you must not travel the road to Huinrag as the Kreete do. The wasteland is too open, and our efforts will assuredly be discovered. We will have to journey the long road around the southern frontier. That is a santari-long expedition of hard riding, and should only be ventured by experienced men. The way will no doubt be fraught with danger, and the couriers will be completely alone in this quest...able to trust no one."

"Sir," piped in the young messenger. "My captain had greatly hoped your decision would be as you have made it and has given me a secure rendezvous point where we may gather on a certain day. He has a contact of substantial authority on that side of the Greishere Plateau."

"Excellent!" Crogan replied. "Now, with that said, we must also stay alert for any change in the disposition of the enemy's soldiers, for our own safety...agreed?"

Everyone concurred with that unanimously and leapt to their feet to tend to their part of the plan.

When they had all left, and Crogan and Lilea were alone, she turned to her husband.

"You are not convinced that this is the right action, are you?" she questioned him softly, knowing him so well that it made his smile.

He paused a moment and then looked into her eyes. "You believe in this man, do you not?"

"Yes...absolutely!"

A sudden twinge of jealousy pricked Crogan's conscience when he saw the zeal in his wife's eyes, but his reason pushed that impulse aside almost immediately. Lilea was his...completely. He'd never questioned it, and firmly knew he would never need to.

"Then I do too," he told her, placing his large, callused hand across her dainty ones. "I'm just sorry that I know so little about him."

### Chapter Eight

### The games

Incarceration: day seventy-seven...the Retribution Games.

Ron staggered out into the hot, sun-drenched arena, his feet chained together with a three foot span of stout steel links and a long staff harnessed across his back which was lashed to his outstretched arms. He was still naked, as he'd been since his capture over a santari ago, and his masters had no mindset to change that. The 'Lords' had found out the hard way that he could make a weapon out of virtually anything, and they were in no way going to encourage that.

He felt extremely sick and weak, and the glare of the sun was making his head pound relentlessly even though his Caronian shades were doing their work well. It had been a very long time since he'd last seen the sunshine of the outside world, and would normally have been elated, but the sad shape he was in was too much for his mind to overcome so easily.

His body bore the outward reminders of every moment of his confinement. He oozed blood from dozens of minor wounds that cracked and opened when he move...old stab wounds, spear wounds, scrapes, cuts, etc. His body was striped from head to heel from too many whippings to count. His hair was clumped in numerous spots from dried blood, and had grown long enough to hang down over his eyes. His beard was thick and wiry, and it too lay plastered to his skin in places...from the same gory adhesive. He looked like he'd spent the last santari in absolute hell...and felt much worse.

He'd been whisked away from Huinrag in the middle of the night after his last beating, which had left him unconscious and badly injured with a lung collecting blood. The Kreete medical team mended some of his worst internal damage, but they halted at that.

The interrogators' superiors were very disappointed at the lack of information they'd received from such a long, fruitless questioning. That fact led those trained torturers to want to kill Ron for making them look so inept, but an order from high up in their command ruled that out. He was to begin his punishment in the Games, and that was final.

Someone had made sure he would live...at least until he got to the arena.

Ron heard the crowd gasp as he walked into the ring and wondered at what they saw. His time in the lower levels of Huinrag was past him now, but the affects lingered poignantly on his person, and would for a very long time. He glanced down at his body and couldn't even see his skin...couldn't even tell that he was a human. He was a walking scab of dried blood and dirt...with only a few spots where one might possibly get a glimpse of what he once looked like.

If they could have penetrated that crust, they would have found his skin more blue, green, and yellow than his usually smooth, darkly bronzed persona. He also knew that he was carrying himself on two fractured legs, somewhat healed now, but still painfully knitting themselves back together.

His normally fast-working recovery system seemed to have run out of juice some weeks back when his body's starvation response had kicked into full gear to keep him alive. In the last three weeks, he had only been fed a sickeningly weak broth of something that he was sure he didn't want to know the contents of. It was just enough to keep him from stumbling through death's portal...but only barely.

A full third of his weight had been left down in those torture chambers and now he felt he was less than half the man he once was...but that thought really didn't even register anymore. After the first week of the "questioning", he'd turned off his mind and just focused on his hate. They could coerce nothing from him if he didn't allow his brain to think. That accomplishment alone had pulled him through the unimaginable agony he'd suffered.

The result of his strategy though was that he was now reduced to the animal essence from whence his species originated...a beast of pure survival. His thoughts were no longer in the form of speech...but rather in physical reaction...to touch...to sound...to threat! His captors had found out all too often over the course of his imprisonment that if he were allowed enough room to move, the result was very often lethal. He was like a tightly wound spring...ready to jump at every slight opportunity...and he no longer cared if he died. In fact, they'd begun to think he would have preferred death to his confinement...and rightly so after what they'd done to him.

Before his capture Ron had heard of the Retribution Games in conversations between men who he'd spent time with, and even between the Kreete soldiers at night during his trip to Huinrag. Everyone...man and Kreete alike...all feared them.

Now, as he stood in the center of a situation that made every other being cringe, he was probably the first person ever to relish the thought of being sent there. Anything was better than where he'd come from.

Ron scanned the arena as he was unchained from his tether to two huge Kreete guards. He saw that he was in a ring which was about two hundred feet across, had a firm dirt floor, and was well crafted with smooth stone walls.

Only two ways in or out of the arena existed...the one he'd just walked through and another, directly across the circle. Ron found no one else there...only the remaining blood stains from some living thing on the ground in several places, apparently from past bouts...so he peered up at the stands.

There were banners with dozens of differing insignias hanging from poles that protruded from portals just below the upper lip of the walls, some fifteen feet above the floor. Half of the coliseum's seats sat empty, and the audience members that were in attendance milled about haphazardly, unconcerned about this early bout. After all, the really good fights were always held toward the end of the day.

He caught the glorious scent of food the patrons carried with them, as well as the smell of cooking meats and baking bread from off in the distance. It was enough to drive his senses mad with desire.

His stomach roared loud enough for a boy hanging over the railing behind him to hear it.

"Are you hungry?" the lad asked innocently.

Ron hadn't heard speech directed at him that didn't involve an immediate payment of some sort of pain, so he reacted the only way he could...he clenched his jaws and braced himself. When nothing happened though, and the weight of the tether fell away, he was shocked.

He paused a while and then finally looked up at where the boy was, and found him holding a large piece of bread. Ron couldn't help but be fixated by that simple, common item. His eyes watered heavily at his craving.

"This condemned man," shouted the announcer of the coliseum, "is to begin paying his retribution for the attempted insurrection of the Kreete rule of Caron. He is a confessed murderer and conspirator against the peaceful coexistence between the Lords and our humble people. He will be punished once a day until he is either cleansed of his heinous ways, or dead!"

The boy looked around quickly, but nobody was paying attention to him. He didn't feel he was in any danger because the stands were easily twenty feet from the floor of the arena, so he stared back at the filthy man below him without concern.

"Are you hungry?" he asked again.

The innocence of a child was the only thing that could possibly have felt pity for the hideous, squalid, stinking, naked man that was there. Even the women in the audience were revolted by him. That was a complete turn of perspective for Ron since on more than one occasion he'd been told he was the most beautiful man many of their gender had ever laid eyes on.

Ron didn't react to the boy's question, or the crowd's repulsion. It simply meant nothing to him. His brain couldn't even sort out the answer to the child's query.

The Kreete scouts went back through the heavy iron gate they'd led Ron through and closed that entrance. The boy watched the scouts carefully and when they were out of sight, he tore a good-sized piece of the bread loose and flipped it out to Ron.

The child, the arena, the pain, the crowd, and the Kreete all evaporated in that moment. Ron's entire focus drew down to a mere speck of his world. Another gate screeched upon its corroded hinges as it opened directly across from him, but that didn't register either, nor did the three armed men who stepped through it. The beauty of the cloud-mottled sky and the relatively fresh air were gone as well. There was solid food dropping toward him...that was all he could comprehend.

Ron didn't think to reproach the boy for his poor aim, nor feel pity for himself when he landed flat on his back, slamming his head on the ground in the effort of recovering that single morsel of nourishment. He just gobbled it down as fast as he could. He didn't even care that the broken remains of his teeth sent shockwaves of pain sprinting toward his brain when they gnashed together. It was warm and fresh...and good!

The men coming at him were a mere one hundred feet away when they finally registered to his tear-filled eyes. Something so simple, so wonderful as that chunk of wind-dried bread had brought him to the brink of weeping...but now he did see them...and his reaction was quite different.

Ron drew his knees to his chest quickly and snapped his back upward sharply, regaining his stance in a blink. The sickened, weak state of his body and the agony of that move on his torn and battered flesh simply faded away as he then set his focus on the three muscular fellows approaching.

They each held a two-foot-long length of wood that appeared similar to a child's baseball bat, but each had a strap at the base of the handle which looped around their wrist so they couldn't easily lose the weapon. They wore high boots and trousers but were shirtless. Each was darkly tanned from much exposure to the outside elements, and each was well scarred, undoubtedly from numerous bouts with more dangerous devices.

Ron instinctively poised himself on the balls of his feet and collected his balance, the needles of jabbing pain from his injuries swept away like shedding a cloak. He studied the men, knowing immediately which of the three was the leader and which was the weakest. He stepped to the side, to see how far apart his feet would go before the shackles would rein him in...feeling the weight of the chain that he drug and judging how much it might hamper his movement.

Ron struggled to free his arms from the wooden staff, but they were fastened well and so he bent and flexed this way and that, finding the range of his movement while so encumbered.

"Jira, you take the left," the leader of the trio said as he stood his ground. "Shean, you take the right."

As they flanked Ron's position, he began to growl at them in a deep, hollow, grinding tone. It was meant to be a warning to stay away, much as an animal would do when in the company of a threat. He just wanted to be left alone.

The headman of the group, Mersle Uinstan hesitated. He'd been told that this was a man who had run a rampage of murders across the territory and brutally killed several men and their families. He hadn't been informed that the fellow was insane however...regressed to the mind of a beast.

Mersle's focus returned to his duty then, driven now more than ever to wield the hand of punishment against such a fellow, although he had to admit by the looks of the convicted brute, he'd already been through a tremendous amount of castigation.

Mersle felt he was a just man and had worked as an enforcer of penalization verdicts for many cycles in this facility. He was a capable warrior and was dedicated to his task. He believed madmen such as who stood before him now should be put out of their misery before they hurt any more innocents.

Ron watched them like a spider, feeling the tremors of his web. He waited until they were within his snare...and then he moved.

Just as the man on Ron's right was about to charge, Ron leapt to the left with a sharp jingling of the chain. He whirled his body rapidly, bringing the long staff around with enough force to crush the defensive parry Shean threw up, and knocked him completely off of his feet as that three-inch-thick length of wood smashed into his skull.

Shean tumbled limply against the nearby wall and fumbled around in a stupor for a brief time before collapsing.

The crowd all jumped to their feet, shocked at what had just occurred. Then they broke out in a moderate cheer and immediate discussion...not as they would for a hero, but more at the sheer amazement of the move they'd witnessed.

Ron landed on his feet nimbly after that and took up his defensive stance once more. Jira stared at him like he was some kind of magician.

"This guy is real trouble!" he told himself. "Nobody can move like that!"

He studied Ron for a long few litas then. He saw a pathetic creature in front of him; a grimy vagabond who was sentenced to inevitable death in these games...yet there was something more.

Mersle slid off sideways, to gain a more powerful position, taking care this time to be prepared for a much more formidable enemy than he'd been lead to believe. This was no common criminal. This man was well trained...and extremely dangerous!

Ron kept his eyes on Mersle, his breath still rumbling with warnings from within. He just wanted to be left alone. He didn't speak to the men, his weeks of questioning having trained him not to try to communicate with his enemies. It was them or him...period!

Ron stayed on the move, forcing the two men to follow him and trying to find an advantageous moment in which to spring at them. Finally it came.

Mersle slipped in close enough with his heavy club that Ron had to jump back, giving Jira the chance he needed, but when he swung his own weapon, the target was gone, and then he felt something sweep around his neck before he was jerked from his feet and thrown forty feet away to the loose gravel of the arena floor.

Ron landed on his shoulders, rolled smoothly, and regained his feet facing Mersle again, fifteen feet away. He had leaped up and back over Jira while letting the chain droop enough to catch the man on the fly, and then used his superior inertial mass to fling him like a catapult. Jira was quite lucky too because those links had passed under his right arm, which had kept them from snatching him up solely by the throat. As it was though, he was dazed badly and his shoulder was no longer in its socket.

The crowd didn't hesitate this time as they roared with exhilaration at such a miraculous scene. The milling about that had been continuous at the beginning was now done. Every head was turned to the arena.

Ron had recovered smoothly and stood in a semi-crouch as he waited for Mersle to attack. Mersle was in no hurry now though and planned his strategy much more carefully.

He went over to Jira and added that man's weapon to his own, never letting his eyes leave Ron's form, and then he began whipping the pair of batons around smoothly and swiftly. He felt their balance and regained his composure as he moved toward Ron again. He was well coordinated and Ron could see that he was confident and strong. When he finally charged, those clubs were blazing around in a blur.

Ron was at an obvious and severe disadvantage, and he knew he would have to clash with this man. No more tricks and no fancy moves would do. It was time for battle. He set his own body spinning, having to be extremely quick with his feet to keep from tangling them in the chain, and slashed that staff at Mersle time and time again.

Mersle dodged and blocked and lunged and swung as fast as he could, but feared he was not fast enough. It took a great deal of strength to deflect that heavy staff as it whistled at him over and over, and he was amazed that a man could twist and whirl at such a rate...especially while in chains!

He was able to strike Ron a couple of solid blows before one collided with an already damaged rib that instigated a heavy, whimpering gasp from the battered captive...and Ron's anger spiked sharply. He'd had enough, so he jumped at the man feet-first, spun instantly while pivoting on the end of the staff he planted in the turf, and then hauled the fellow to the ground. Mersle tried to block the attack with his clubs, but Ron had anticipated that maneuver, so instead, his arms became tightly entangled in the chain.

Ron landed on the man's chest before he had time to react, forcing the air from his lungs in a painful expulsion. He then tumbled backward smartly, the chain still ensnaring his adversary's arms, which forced Mersle to roll on top of him. Without a lita's hesitation, Ron kicked off and launched Mersle into the stone wall of the arena which stood just behind him.

Mersle was not a small man but he felt as light as a feather as his body arched up and over...until he collided with that wall. He dropped to the ground in a heap and lurched forward only once before finding his left leg was snapped and his left wrist was wrenched around badly.

He faced Ron in a heavy daze...shaking his head hard to let him regain his focus.

Ron rolled to his feet effortlessly and rushed up to his broken adversary with his teeth bared, ready to continue the fight...but then he stopped. There was no more threat from the men. It was over. However, just as the energy of a powerful storm must release its charge in the form of a lightning bolt, so was the adrenaline-fueled anger expelled from the creature in the ring.

Back flew the squalid, matted, shaggy head of the victor of the contest, and out poured the pride and legendary prowess of the Piercellione. The wild and haunting cry of a fighting man of the Aredanz Mountains soon echoed around the arena, standing every hair on end as it did.

The audience halted their clapping and cheering and stood in shaky, uneasy wonder at the ragged looking soul who had so easily vanquished the stadium's representatives.

Some in the stands recalled another famous fighter who concluded his business in the arena in much the same way...but he was dead, was he not?

The massive iron gate Ron had come through squealed and groaned once more as it was shoved open again and seven Kreete warriors entered the place; agony wands drawn and at full power. One of them was carrying the heavy tether they used to secure Ron, and as they made their way toward him, he braced himself...his hatred of them clearly visible.

Up above and behind Ron came a voice that broke his train of thought just then though.

"Hey, Mister!"

It was the boy who'd tossed him the bread earlier.

Ron looked up to see that he was now above and to his right, hanging over the railing again with an offering that removed the Kreete completely from Ron's thoughts...meat!

Ron immediately stole over to a spot under the youngster and waited like a pet dolphin, not caring a bit at how quickly he'd been trained. Food took precedence over pride!

The little man then dropped a slab of hot, roasted pravort straight down at the hapless soul below him. It was as big as Ron's opened hand and he caught it like a seal catching a fish, his entire mental capacity so enthralled that he nearly laughed. The few remaining teeth in his mouth were merely jagged shards of his once perfect set, so broken and shattered that none matched with their mates, but he didn't care a bit.

"FOOD! REAL FOOD!" he screamed inwardly, ignoring the searing pain once more.

The guard unit was almost on him then so he gulped it down, hardly chewing it at all...and his body rejoiced. His tongue shot out and licked every spec of juice that it could reach as the Kreete surrounded him.

"Stand here!" ordered the Septenant of the squad.

Ron's inner urge was to fight, but he'd learned the hard way that they would get the tether on him one way or the other, so he resigned to allow them that without a fuss, as long as they didn't attack or abuse him when they did. Besides, he knew he needed time to heal...to recover some of his previous strength...before he could make a real challenge to their authority over him.

The "tether" the soldiers utilized was actually two ten-foot-long rods secured to a thick collar which was latched around his throat. That way, two scouts could have a firm control over his movement without being within his reach. They'd learned a valuable and painful lesson from this human in the past; do not let your guard down when handling him.

As they clasped the thick collar around Ron's neck, a medical squad ran out into the arena with litters and carefully gathered up the wounded men.

A moment later they were all slipping out of the arena, but the Kreete guards who flanked Ron kept their wands fully powered and their attention sharp.

Seven other Kreete warriors glared at the prisoner being led away, but they were not down in the arena. They sat in the comfort of their private box seats at the other side of the pitch. That area was reserved for Kreete alone and was walled off from the rest of the crowd, having its own entrance and waitresses to attend the VIP guests. They enjoyed watching the matches very much and tried to see any they felt would be particularly interesting. Although only seven sat now, the section was large enough to hold twenty-one soldiers, and held seats which were specially constructed for their particularly large frames.

Five of those in attendance were highly impressed by the new man's abilities, making notes on a bid-card to be sure to see his next bout. They also intended to tell their friends about this attention-grabbing vagabond. Two of the group however had other things on their mind.

"What are we to do with him?" asked Theerts Briine.

"For now? We will just wait and see," replied Treage Vitrauge.

Treage had done his homework concerning that wretched man and had taken leave of his own post to be able to attend the fellow's premier bout. He'd been impatiently waiting for Ron to be released from Huinrag for many weeks, hoping to verify his identity and see him in person.

After his initial accusations at the Council meeting over a santari ago, Treage quickly found himself completely blocked from obtaining any information about the status of the prisoner. He cursed and ranted at the outrage, but eventually had to accept it. Huinrag was not his jurisdiction and the sovereign ruler in charge did not welcome his input at all...bad blood between the two being quite evident.

It hadn't been easy, or cheap, to obtain a copy of a dispatch holding the findings of the DNA tests that had been performed on the prisoner while incarcerated in Huinrag, but he managed it, to his chagrin. The sample did not match. His hopes of finally locating his most hated enemy were crumbling quickly, and it had further shamed him in the eyes of the Caronian High Council.

As he sat in the arena's box though, watching the condemned man being led through the gated entrance toward his cell, he fumed about his misfortune...but he wasn't totally dissuaded.

Treage had read every report that came from the ill-fated attack on his ancient home world and knew all there was to be known about the Raulden catastrophe that resulted in the death of his brother, Kale. He didn't care what anyone else said or believed, nor the results of the recent identity tests. He was positive that Kaskle Dangarth, of the Aredanz Mountain clans, was to be held accountable for his loss...as well as the destruction of the entire fleet sent to assimilate the technologically advanced world of Rauld.

Those reports had spoken predominately at first of the nearly impenetrable planetary defense shield the Rauldens had developed. It was truly remarkable. Gradually however, those reports shifted to concerns of a new ship. Their intelligence was sketchy at best, but extrapolated a supposition from what they managed to learn with what level of advancement they saw in the defense shield, and they'd grown extremely worried about that vessel. The Kreete scientist built up a preliminary hypothesis about the warship...a theory that was regrettably realized during the final battle above the planet.

This new ship was one that was blindingly fast, had incomparable weapons, and could not be stopped by the powerful armada they'd assembled. But Treage was more concerned with the reports that cited death after death of Kreete soldiers at the hands of a Caronian and a Raulden.

At Kale's demotion hearing more than a cycle in the past, on the surface of Rauld, he claimed the man to blame for that failed mission was Kaskle, a one-time ally. His superiors willingly accepted his word since their own search party had never found the outlaw's body in the forests of Caron, and the Redalion Tracker that was sent to kill him had gone mad and run off.

No actual confirmation of the man's identity...the fellow on Rauld...had ever been made, but Treage was now certain this Caronian he just watched fight was he who had murdered his brother. The Raulden accomplice on that mission was immaterial. Rauldens were weak...brilliant, but weak. His brother's demise was, in his mind, linked directly to that man...this man...and he meant to have an accounting of that crime.

However, he was baffled by certain undeniable facts. The identification tests they'd used were repeated four times at Huinrag and clearly showed this man was not Kaskle; in fact, it declared he was not Caronian at all. He possessed many markers that were identical to the people of this world, but his molecular density was off by a third...which wasn't possible for a native. Also, he had some odd traits that didn't concur with the older data they had on file for Kaskle, from the days when he served the Kreete Triad.

Treage spent the past week pouring over everything about Kaskle from his records and knew the data pointed to them being two different men, but he could not completely dismiss this man's uncanny resemblance of that ferocious warrior.

"He is incredibly strong; Lord Treage," said Theerts, "and even our most experienced interrogators were unable to make him give them even his name. I think he is a threat that should be eliminated immediately."

"Your opinion is duly accepted, Theerts, but at least for the present, he is beyond our reach."

Treage used every favor he could to get the information he eventually received, but had been formally rejected when he asked to have a go at the prisoner himself, while Ron was still being held in Huinrag. The Reaper didn't let that completely deter him though...pursuing the man to this city of Sartsisen...counting on something new to present itself.

"We have been ordered to leave him to his fate in the Games," Treage added. "But we shall follow him closely, and I am certain we will find out who he really is in due time."

"Well, if that is the plan, I think I will begin wagering on him," Theerts returned. "I have a good feeling about this one. He will be very difficult to kill. He might even set a new record."

Treage just smiled a gruesome Kreete smile and nodded.

### Chapter Nine

### Rash decisions

The following bout began a bit differently for Ron, but it had nothing to do with his treatment from the Lords. He was still prodded out into the arena by a pair of Kreete scouts, still secured at the end of those two metal poles, and still flanked by five other Kreete soldiers with their agony wands drawn and powered up to full force. The change however had everything to do with the stadium. It was filled to capacity this day, even though it was overcast and dreary with a strong wind swirling around the coliseum threatening rain at any moment.

Ron found his mind was much more alert this time as he caught the scents of a thousand different recollections of his past life. The most prominent ones were flowers, burning wood, the forest, perfumes, various foods both cooked and raw, and the sweat of the crowd. That all mingled together with the pungent aroma of his captors, as well as his own disgusting, acrid stench.

He separated, categorized, and stowed away each of those smells into his memory before he began his scanning of the arena. The floor of the ring was barren for his match, as it was on the one previous, but he was not restrained the same way today. In fact, he thought he wasn't going to be restrained at all when his escort began unlocking the shackles at his feet and then moved to his right wrist. At that time he heard something trundling out behind him but couldn't turn his head enough with the tight collar still in place. It wasn't until a small, low-riding wagon rolled by that he understood. His wrist was freed but the manacle was transferred to a thick ring secured to a huge block of stone which rested on that little wagon.

Two eight-foot-tall guards stood at either end of a chunk of pink quartz rock and gripped the handles that had been chiseled into the smooth face of the weighty anchor. They coordinated their timing and lifted the stone while a third fellow removed the wagon from under it, and then they set it down roughly with loud grunts emanating from both of them.

Once Ron was secured, the scouts that held his tether released its clasp device and backed away...their wands now at the ready as well. Ron rubbed his neck where the collar had chafed him and stretched his legs for the first time in a great while.

This small additional freedom of movement raised his spirits greatly, and he took a moment to suck in a deep, refreshing breath of air while extending his long legs first one way and then the next. He didn't even mind the fact that he'd been whipped twenty-one lashes after yesterday's victory just because his handlers didn't feel he'd been fairly penalized during his match.

Pain had long ago become such a part of his daily life that he hardly noticed it anymore.

When the Kreete guards were safely out of the arena, and the gate closed, one of the soldiers reached through the thick bars and flipped a sword out in Ron's general direction.

Ron always watched them intently until they were out of sight, and saw it hit the firm earthen surface at least twenty feet from him. He peered at the stone and the three feet of chain that held him, and wondered at this latest development.

Ron then turned about the arena again, searching for what was about to happen...until the gate across the way opened and three new men strolled through. They were very different than those he faced on the previous day, and he quickly dissected their demeanor. Each was a large fellow and was adorned with breastplate armor, a sword, a shield, and a helmet.

Ron looked at the trio, then at the weapon still fifteen feet from his outstretched grasp, then back at the approaching men. They were taking their time, limbering up and swinging their blades to adjust to the armor...to get the feel.

Ron bared his teeth and let out a growl...low and menacing...but it was of no consequence. They were too far away to hear, and he was obviously no threat to them even if they could. His mind worked frantically for just a split lita, and then he grabbed the chain with both hands and pulled. The anchor he was attached to was a foot and a half thick, three feet long, and two feet wide. He had no luck with that so he braced himself better and tried again. It moved!

He repeated that maneuver several more times until he could just reach the sword with his foot, which he utilized deftly and soon held that weapon. The men were only fifty feet away by then and they began to part in order to surround their quarry.

It was a typical attack strategy that they took, not really concerned much with a haggard-looking man chained to a fixed location. They were experienced, trained fighters. It would be an easy assignment.

Ron's pulse quickened as he gripped and swung the sword, finding its balance to be blade heavy...it was designed for a Kreete scout who outweighed him by twenty percent even at his previous, healthy size.

He watched the way the men moved and handled their own weapons and assessed the danger of each. By the time the first man engaged Ron...he had a plan.

The audience was on their feet in anticipation of the impending fight and a loud murmur swept through them...bets and opinions abounding at every level. Down in the pit of the stadium however, the combatants were out of earshot of the crowd, and so one of Ron's opponents addressed him.

"You are condemned to die," he told Ron gruffly. "But we are not without mercy. Someone in the stands has paid us a great deal of money to carve you up slowly and drag this out, but it looks like you've already been through enough. We are willing to take it easy on you, friend," said the man in front of Ron as he watched the other two with his peripheral vision. "We'll fight a while and bleed you a little so that the crowd will get their show, and then we'll kill you quick!"

Ron just glared at the man and his throat automatically began to rumble as it had on the preceding day. His lips curled up and quivered like an animal and his brow dropped to a piercing, threatening appearance through his shaggy mane of hair. His internal systems were functioning much better than before and his adrenaline was surging, sending his heart racing to deliver blood smoothly through his arteries to swell his once vivid muscles that were now hidden under the crust of filth.

If his adversaries had seen him prior to his interrogation, they would no doubt have been much more apt to take caution. As it was though, they felt far too superior to his vagrant, homeless facade for their own good.

Ron gripped the weighty blade hard...the leather handle creaking under the pressure. He would not submit like a calf to the butcher. If they were going to 'bleed' him, they would have to earn it!

Porst Weddall saw Ron's determination and read his intentions in his body language.

"Have it your way then. All right boys, let's take him apart!"

The men finalized their preparations a few moments later and when their spokesmen engaged Ron, he met stiff resistance. Ron slapped his weapon aside easily and very nearly slashed the man's sword arm. Porst fell back quickly...visibly shaken. Ron didn't stop there though, but instead jumped back and over to the left...using the chain's anchor as a pivot point to bring the fight to the fellow there, Myka Erskine. Three powerful swipes hammered his shield aside, and then Myka was chasing his own sword down from where Ron launched it.

Lestor Oleander, the third opponent, didn't even get the chance to lock blades with Ron. His eyes flew open wide as he watched the disheveled beast of a human overwhelm his partners so easily it shocked him and held him back. And then before he could kick himself into motion, Ron simply whirled and threw that heavy Kreete sword completely through his armor and chest. Its hand guard slapped against his rib protector with enough force to carry him off his feet and back ten steps.

His face was a mask of surprise that quickly turned to a dazed, glassy expression as the focus in his eyes faded away to nothingness.

That blow was so forceful the man's own sword was ripped from his dying hand and dropped to the ground at the far edge of the massive block. Ron dodged the charging first swordsman and leapt the stone anchor in a diving roll, retrieving that weapon as the audience erupted into raucous cheer.

That blade was much more suited to his size...a bit lighter than the blade he usually wielded, but in his 'less than perfect' state, he was grateful for the difference.

Ron snapped into a defensive stance quickly, but not before Porst had lunged again, raking him across the left ribcage and opening up a nasty gash that flooded his side with crimson fluid.

Ron was unable to get his own blade around in time to parry the strike but Porst was close in to him by then so his knee shot up instead, driving the edge of the man's armor into his own gut. The powerful blow folding Porst up like a crumpled soda can...and cleared Ron's personal space enough to swing his blade. Ron's first stroke was blocked by Porst's shield, but glanced off his helmet with a commanding, ringing chime.

Clearly Porst was dazed as he spun completely around, staggering away and clutching his head while wildly swinging his own sword to thwart any further attack from Ron.

Myka had recovered by that point and charged in with his shield better positioned and his sword at the ready. Ron clashed blades with him several times, able to stay away from that sharp edged weapon but unable to get a clear stroke at the man. The soldier was taking the fight much more serious now and Ron had too little freedom to move.

Porst soon recovered his composure and joined in the fray with his shield and blade well attended too. They pressed Ron hard at that point, managing to cut him at numerous locations...minor nicks, but enough to force him to take the fight to the next level.

Ron's battle drive was at full froth by then and he finally decided he'd better do something drastic or they would eventually wear him down and chop him up.

With a loud roaring attack, he crushed Porst's blade down and kicked his shield hard enough to clear the area immediately around the block. Then in a sweeping motion he forced Myka to jump to avoid his sword whistling at his feet while he charged in like a football lineman. Ron's shoulder slammed hard into that man's shield, throwing him harshly to the ground; clearly out of reach as well.

Ron then hurled his own sword toward the nearest gated opening, where it bounced in the dirt and slid to a stop against the wall.

The crowd let out a massive gasp.

"What is he doing?" many asked as they all stared frantically at the scene.

In response to that rhetoric question, Ron turned to the massive stone keeping him pinned down and at the mercy of his enemies, and attacked it.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!" he roared as he bent his back against the tremendous weight that was the stone. It slowly lifted free of the ground...first to his knees...and then he quickly popped it up to his chest...every muscle in his body shrieking at his brain to stop.

His opponents were up again and could have attacked, but they hesitated as they watched the awesome show of strength that Ron put on. Then, before they could move, he set off toward the opening sixty feet away, stutter-stepping at first but then quickly building momentum.

When he finally reached his goal, he was at half speed of a dead run and his entire body vibrated from the strain. He finally heaved the block with all his might at the very corner of the arched opening of the exit portal, falling off to the side to avoid any possible spring-back if his plan didn't work.

That monstrous anchor exploded as it hit the sharp angle of the arena wall and fell into three pieces. Ron was thoroughly winded from the maneuver, gasping deeply in the dust-cloud his body had created, but he picked himself up at once from where he'd landed and gave a firm yank on his chain.

Inwardly he smiled.

His gaze quickly shifted to his adversaries and his body drew up to his full height, rolling his shoulders once to loosen them. The piece of boulder still attached to him was no larger than a couple of bowling balls. He could have dragged it along behind him but feared the hindrance, so he decided to take a different approach. As the arena men closed, Ron promptly set about whirling that hefty mace around his head.

The first challenger to reach him was Myka...the second swordsman and the lesser skilled of the remaining pair. He timed that flying weapon as best he could and charged straight in, attempting to drive Ron against the wall with his shield, but his plan was foolhardy to say the least. Ron knew exactly what he was thinking and regripped the chain in a flash, bringing that chunk of translucent quartz around in half the time it had been. It collided against Myka's shield with so much force it shattered his arm at the elbow...but it didn't stop there. The momentum of Ron's homemade mace crushed the shield against Myka's helmet so hard that he flew fifteen feet away, falling limp and unconscious to the packed turf.

Ron collected his devastating weapon quickly and set it spinning once more, waiting for the other swordsman to come...but he would not. Porst knew better than to challenge that bludgeon in the hands of such a maniacal creature, so he stayed back.

The act of keeping so massive a chunk of rock in the air was too much for Ron to continue forever though, so another alternative sprang to his mind. After making sure the last of his antagonists was at a safe distance, Ron slid over to the entryway again and smashed the remaining fragment into the same corner he'd just utilized to break the original anchor. He was rewarded with another sharp explosion that left him grasping nothing but the chain and the anchor pin.

Ron then smiled a foreboding smile at his opponent as he felt the prize of that maneuver...freedom! His chest was heaving mightily from his exertions, but he immediately felt renewed of strength just the same. He stepped away from the wall coolly and twirled that chain one more time, allowing it to encircle his wrist and coil all the way up to his elbow where he stopped the wrap and laced the anchor bolt back through the chain...positioning it to lay across his palm. Now he had his own shield...a stout barrier of steel links!

Ron then calmly stepped toward his adversary, the sword he'd thrown down now recovered and his right arm encased in metal. Porst began to retreat. The two of them slapped blades a dozen times as the arena representative tried to back away, keeping his shield well out in front of him. He no longer desired to take the offensive in a man-to-man battle, and his brain fairly whizzed as he tried to come up with a way to survive the duel.

Ron tested and prodded the fellow all the way across the circular field, getting a little payback for the damage he and his pal, Myka had done to him, but not charging too hard because his body was so gravely drained. Though his position was stronger than it had been in a very long time, he still felt weak and sick from those ghastly weeks in the dungeon, and the business with the block had used up much of his reserve strength. He needed time to replenish.

When Ron finally felt he was ready, he rushed in, bashing Porst's sword from side to side as if it were the man's first attempt at swordplay. He hammered the fellow's defenses down abruptly and then hit him squarely on the shield with a two footed flying kick that slammed him against the arena's wall hard enough to rattle him badly.

Ron pounced at the dazed fighter instantly, pinning Porst's sword arm against the stone wall with the tip of his blade, sliding it neatly between the bones of his forearm.

Porst let out a grunting scream as his grip on that weapon evaporated. Then he felt Ron's free arm press the steel links harshly against his throat, to the edge of collapsing his windpipe. And all the while a continual snarling utterance issued from the wild man who'd just bested him and his allies. It was enough to send Porst's mind reeling with terror.

After stripping him of his blade, Ron pulled back abruptly and threw one punch with his chain-wrapped fist. That weighted jab collided with Porst's helmeted cheek violently enough to drop him like a sack of flour.

The crowd erupted in a round of cheers that vibrated the entire stadium for an entire bort.

Ron stood over the fallen man with his sword at the ready and his drive for conflict high, carefully scanning the arena. When Porst showed no signs of coherence though, Ron lifted his face to the gray skies above and let loose his war cry once again, ending it with fire in his heart and a keen eye for any takers.

That primal utterance surpassed even the screaming crowd, and many of them shrank back in fear once again.

"What type of man was this?" they queried while goose flesh burst from their skin. Then, like many uneducated cultures, wild theories began racing through the throng.

"I heard he was raised by a band of hrudianes (Caronian gorillas)," one fellow said.

"He was found in the deep jungle and can only speak to the beasts!" another ventured.

The perspective answers were flying rampantly as the focus of them defiantly scanned for more battle.

Ron perceived no further threats so he bent over and retrieved Porst's weapon and started to walk off toward the center of the battlefield, where he knew the Kreete would come for him.

"Hey, mister!" came a voice through the bedlam of the roaring crown.

Ron recognized it instantly and turned to peer wearily up into the stands. With the battle over, his body was shedding the adrenal rush fast, leaving him tired and weak again.

The same young man from the day before was there, leaning out over the railing again. Ron stared at him without expression, but with high anticipation. The boy held a huge meat sandwich; much like the one Ron had indulged in back in Gruinshawe so many santaris ago, and his mouth burst into heavy salivation.

He moved toward the boy, but saw three guards pull their crossbows up to their cheeks, so he paused. It took a few moments for him to realize why they did that, but when he did, he tossed the two swords far out into the center of the fighting space. Once he was unarmed, the guards in the stands assumed a resting state again. When they did that, Ron ran over to the area beneath that little fellow.

The boy dropped the sandwich down to Ron and it had barely struck his hands before he shoved all he could into his mouth and chewed as if a pack of hyenas were about to attack him for the meal. His eyes darted about with frenzied rapidity, anxiously searching for any rival who might molest him for his heavenly treat.

From across the arena there drifted a sound then...banging and yelling. The posse of Kreete scouts were trying to shove open the door, but a large, jagged chunk of that stone block had fallen in the path of the door's arc, digging into the ground enough so that they couldn't get it cleared, nor the gate opened.

Ron had the sandwich down moments later and looked up into the stands again. The boy was holding something new...a bulging bag. He dropped it down immediately and Ron knew what it was as he caught it...a water bladder made of some animal hide. He tore the cork free and guzzled down the liquid until every drop was sucked out, his eyes constantly craned over to see if the soldiers were near. He was pleasantly surprised too because it was parc cider...his favorite drink!

Ron tossed the bladder back to the boy and almost grinned at him, so thankful was he for the gifts this young man had given him...but then:

'Fffttthhhunk! Fffttthhhunk!' Two arrows slammed into the wooden frame of the bench that the boy stood beside, one directly under the youth's armpit, and the other at his waist. They were so close that they literally pinned him to the seat, having passed through his shirt and trousers.

"Get away from there!" a guard screamed at the boy as he and his partner began reloading their crossbows.

The guards that had threatened Ron earlier looked confused now, not understanding the provocation against the boy, so they held their fire.

The sentries who had shot were fifty peors away and to the left, around the immediate turn of the curved wall of the arena.

Ron let out a profoundly hateful growl and took off at a dead run. The Kreete security team was walking through the gate by then but was a good seventy-five peors away in the opposite direction and didn't know anything about what was occurring in the stands so they moved slowly.

Ron detoured enough to recover the two swords and then returned to his objective. When he was twenty peors from the guards he saw the men were ready to fire again and so he cut loose with his own aerial assault.

"No one is to feed the prisoner!" shouted the closest of the bowmen as he took careful aim at the frantic boy trying to free himself from the first two arrows. Another figure had come to his aid and snapped off one of them, placing himself between the guard and the lad while he struggled with the other. The guard just smiled at the scene. "No one defies my authority!" he grumbled as he squeezed the trigger.

He thought Ron had run back to the entry gate to avoid him and his partner's wrath. How wrong he was! A sword Ron threw suddenly ripped through the stock of his crossbow and buried itself into his chest. To those next to him it appeared out of nowhere and the momentum of that weapon carried him three steps up into the stands, showering the nearby crowd with his blood.

The contemptuous fellow beside him had just enough time to see his buddy lifted from his feet and to turn back to Ron before the second two-foot-long, three-inch-wide dagger pierced his body as well and propelled him into the nearby swarm of screaming onlookers.

Ron followed up those throws with a loud, bellowing roar that bespoke his disapproval of the men's actions. He cared not about what his personal punishment would be; just that no one should harm the boy who had so selflessly aided him.

The Kreete team came at a run then, surrounding Ron and ordering him to stand down. Ron looked back at the youngster and saw that he was unharmed, just shaken up. The boy gave him a quivering wave as another figure, hooded and slightly larger than he, swept a cloak about him and urged him safely away.

Ron then assumed the position the Kreete had ordered; his chest heaving and his anger clear to all in attendance.

As they led him out of the arena and through the iron gate, on his way down to his new round of lashes, he felt contented.

### Chapter Ten

### Shartae

After that last match, the human guards in the stands showed no signs of threat when Ron finished up a battle and his fans wished to show their support. Subsequently, he received gifts of food from the crowd regularly from then on, but he always looked for the young man who had initiated the new tradition first, and tilted his head in thanks. It was the closest thing his abuse-ravaged brain could manage to actual communication.

A few of his Kreete guards were even allowing him extra time to finish off some late-gathered morsel before shackling him up again. He didn't exactly know why that was, but took advantage without bother trying to figure it out.

Truth be told, they were either impressed with his abilities and hoped to see him fight anew, or they feared what he might do if they infuriated him...although they would never have admitted to the latter.

Because of his admirers' generosity, Ron grew stronger by the day and actually gained weight over the next couple of weeks. He still looked like a horrible, mangy animal...and smelled worse...but beneath it all, he was returning to his old self, at least physically. He still did not think in words though, only "attack", "defense", and "hate".

Following the first few days of his arena exploits the multitude of screaming devotees grew to a staggering number and would cheer with riotous fervor at the mere sight of him, referring to him as "Shartae". None of that registered to Ron of course. He was too busy surviving.

His new moniker was the name of a particularly cunning and vicious animal that resided in the untamed country to the southeast. It resembled a cross between a Wisconsin badger and a North American wolverine but was easily twice the size of its Earthly counterparts. It was widely known for never backing down, no matter the adversary, and fighting to the death with any animal foolish enough to bother it...and it usually won. It had thick, black, wiry fur and long claws that it used for digging and defense. It was extremely quick, with needle-sharp teeth that could rip open any animal's hide, and no other beast on the planet sought it out as prey.

Word of Shartae spread from Sartsisen like a billowing storm, carried by common letter, by sealed courier dispatch, and by word of mouth. Over the following santaris his reputation eventually reached every small town, every community, and every village, until it had completely encompassed the known civilized region on the eastern side of the great mountains.

In the small, southern village of Wreetage, where the rebel leaders continued their preparations for revolt against the Kreete, Crogan and Lilea Sevraign sat at their usual table in the largest eatery of the town. On this particular day they were enjoying an excellent meal of roasted grentille (a large bird similar to a chicken), fresh bread, and leafy vegetables. They went there nearly every day and had spread the word pleading with everyone not to interrupt them. It was their one attempt to separate themselves for a few billots from the nearly constant barrage of plans and changes to plans that filtered in each day from all over the province.

How many of the heavy crossbows and steel arrows should be moved to what location? What arrangement did they have in place for support lines for the armies when they eventually would march? Where were the arms...weapons, armor, shields, and so on, going to come from and be hidden? It was a full time job for the two of them, even with the help of their many transient associates.

Following word of Ron's capture, the tension surrounding everyone involved with the rebellion spiked for a long few weeks, nearly derailing the entire uprising. However, when the Kreete showed no signs of knowledge about their plans Crogan decided to settle in Wreetage permanently. He and his wife, Lilea, her sister, Sharlene, and his closest friends from Lampsh, all joined him in the move so they could be more centralized in the Garthinn Province. Also, it would keep their families who were not involved as far away from the potential backlash as possible.

The settlement was fairly secluded and each of its inhabitants was cautious and tight-lipped about what went on in the surrounding area. Too, Wreetage was an old village that had grown little over the cycles after the Kreete took control, and almost everyone there was some relation to the others. This left a minimal chance that outsiders could possibly infiltrate their ranks, and whenever a stranger was in town, everyone watched him or her like a hawk...constantly suspicious and standoffish.

On this particular day however, a stranger did drift into town, heading north...one who had an immediate and unusual effect on the townsfolk. He eventually started a near riot with a tale of a fantastic fighter that was driving everyone into a frenzy on the far side of the Greishere Highlands.

This wandering fellow was a large, barrel-chested brute with thick arms, a heavy beard, long braided black hair, and a drooping, wide brimmed hat. He wore boots, trousers, and a vest of animal skins, and was of a very jolly nature...so much so that the normally introspective villagers were all clamoring to be gracious and social with him at the onset.

"He was so ferocious that even the Kreete seemed to cater to him," this traveler proclaimed to the growing crowd. "When I last heard tell of him, the fellow had survived nearly two santaris in the Retribution circuit and only grew stronger. He is a fiend of a man, and neither beasts nor bands of men have even come close to thwarting his reign of superiority in the arena."

The townspeople continued to gather about the traveler as they either overheard his fantastic claims or were drawn in at the sight of their interested friends and neighbors. And when the crowd had grown to a sizable mass, the fellow feigned that he was wearied from the long road, and parched from too much talk...that he needed to rest and replenish.

There were several fretful looks sent around the group before the attendees suddenly began offering the fellow drink and food for his telling of more of the man called Shartae's matches. That seemed to agree with the gregarious man very much.

Further up the street which ran straight through the little village, Lilea and Crogan sat back in their seats and reveled in the quiet of the fabulous day, watching the few clouds in the cerulean sky sail past overhead. A strong, cool wind was blowing in from the west and brought with it recollections of many happier times. It felt and smelled much like the high-mountain drafts that they were accustomed to out at their farm, deep in the foothills of the Taerdrasseg Mountains, back when they were younger and only responsible for their crops and their small family.

They both let out a simultaneous sigh and then chuckled softly about it, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to get back to our..." Crogan began saying before the first glimpse of the approaching crowd reached his view. "What the...?"

Lilea turned to see what had startled her husband and her eyes widened as well. Such a gathering was extremely bizarre for Wreetage, and since this town was the center of the rebellion, she immediately became alarmed. Thirty people, all moving as one, were slowly heading in the couple's direction.

Lilea's heart leapt into overdrive and she glanced about hastily to find a fast retreat that would get her and her husband out of sight as quickly as possible.

"Hang on, Lil," Crogan said softly. He was unusually calm as he stared ahead at the group. "Let's just stay put a moment. This might all be totally harmless, or a disaster in the making, but we need to know which."

And so they held their seats and each other's hand to witness what would come next, Crogan fingering his sword's hilt with his free one.

The congregation made its way to the very café where Lilea and her husband sat, and overwhelmed the place with its swelling numbers as it did. Instantly, they had the shopkeeper hopping like a rabbit to serve such a mass, and he fell behind quickly as nearly half the remaining townsfolk raced up to see what all the commotion was about.

The stranger was at the very center of them, and barely was given time to take a drink between long and detailed recounting of a couple of the stories of this "Shartae's" prowess.

If Crogan and his spouse had not been familiar with just such a man, one that would have fit this wild fighter's description perfectly, they would have been thrilled to have such an accomplished storyteller in their midst. As it was though, each of the death-defying matches he described made them cringe and hold their breaths as they listened. Lilea was of a mind to beg him to stop, unwilling to endure more knowledge of pain and punishment for her friend, but the storytelling man just continued on at the beckoning of the mob.

After a deep gulp of ale made from fermented murge (Caronian plums), he started a new one.

"At the beginning of the thirteenth day of his reign in the coliseum of Tuniag, his second city on the Retribution Games Circuit, Shartae was released inside the arena and his cowardly attendants backed away from him slowly. They held those swords of fire in an interlacing barricade to protect them from his potential attack.

"They claim it's for his protection because he's demented and unable to restrain his bouts of insanity, but we all know the real truth! It was fear I tell you...nothing more!"

The crowd of townsfolk all grunted in agreement, each despising the Lords with equal fervor.

"Anyway, Shartae strolled about the circular field and watched the gates for signs of movement while he surveyed the monstrous contraption that filled the center two-thirds of the space.

"It was a high, wooden platform...at least ten peors from the ground...and had seventy strands of chain hanging beneath it, each one looped at the bottom to its sister drop. The platform was supported on seven heavy wooden poles, each linked with more chains through a complex series of cogs and gears to a central mechanism that raised and lowered the entire structure.

"He stood their naked and unarmed as he watched the platform, detecting movement from the upper surface due to the creaking planks of the structure. He couldn't see the guards who manned the upper surface, so he didn't know how many there might be, but he knew someone was there.

"'Shartae', screamed the crowd, calling to the great warrior who looked like a dark and filthy hrudiane (Caronian gorilla), from the deep forest. Hearing no threat coming from the four closed gates that broke up the smooth walls of the large, ringed pitch, he began searching the audience like he did at the start of each match. It didn't take him long to pick out his young friend from the stands."

"A friend?" asked Bursha, a waitress of the café. "How could he have a friend if he is such a madman?"

"It was a child...no more than a boy. They say he is too young to understand the danger so he is unafraid. Whatever the reason, somehow he's struck up a relationship with Shartae...from his very first bout, from what I gather. The lad tosses food treats to him as if Shartae is his friend...or a pet. Many believe this young fellow has some special connection with the fearsome foe, but what that connection might be is unclear. Others think he's the warrior's good-luck charm. Some even proclaim him the Guardian's messenger, sent to bolster the awesome fighter through his battles, but that's just wild talk. Believe me though...whatever it is, no one wishes to try and disrupt it!

"Anyway, as Shartae plucked food tossed to him out of the air and had a quick feast, the announcer bellowed out his commentary.

"'Ladies and gentlemen...and of course our Kreete Lords...today we have for you a marvelous bout between the notorious 'Shartae'...a haggard miscreant of a man...a condemned murderer and killer of women and children who's sheer luck has saved him countless deaths in the ring...and his equally loathsome opponents who will be along shortly.

"The device in the arena this day is called the Tamarai Rocharter...the 'sinking doom'.

"The name of the game is survival! And we shall see who is the finest at it!'"

"At that time, three out of four of the rusty iron gates in the arena shrieked as they opened, and a raucous, high-pitched squealing sound came ripping out of those tunnels.

"The sounds gave me goose-bumps," the story-man said, rubbing his arms as if a chill had suddenly struck him. Several in the crowd copied his motions, so caught up with him were they.

"Then ten enormous roikas (hogs) were prodded from the darkness of their underground lair and out into the glaring Caronian sun."

The listening crowd gasped as one, all knowing what the giant wild pigs were like.

(The Caronian boars were the size of bison, had foot-long tusks shooting from their snouts, as well as six, four-inch-long teeth across the front of their gaping mouths that were used to shear away underground roots as they foraged. They were much like Earth hogs in the fact that they would eat just about anything...plant or animal...that they could catch.)

"They squealed again at the sighting of their prey and thundered at him straightaway, expecting to make an easy meal of the tiny man.

"Shartae immediately ran for the nearest hanging chains and started up one of them, getting clear of the wild boars easily and quickly. The only problem with that was the fact that as soon as he began climbing those suspended links of steel; the dangling chain he clung to began to drift to the ground.

"You see, the chain pairs were on a huge pulley that had a preset amount of drag...each pair differing in the speed at which it moved, and each sister strand too far away to grab both at once. It was a never-ending climbing machine!"

The crowd at the café was still increasing around the storyteller, and they all moaned at once, realizing that Shartae could not climb forever and could not hope to survive the wild animals beneath him. It seemed an impossible scenario for the ominous warrior.

The stranger paused at that time to take a long drink and have a few bites of a grentille sandwich that had been provided to him...free of charge, of course.

"Tell us what happened!" shouted an annoyed man from the Wreetage group.

The stranger gulped down the food as he waved his hand to the populace, indicating for them to have some patience. After another gulp from his tankard of strongly brewed ale, he continued:

"Shartae sped up that length of metal links like a girtey (Caronian monkey), outpacing the slipping mechanism handily until he reached the wooden platform, where he paused, drifting back down swiftly but scanning the underside of the deck with intense concentration.

When he reached two thirds of the way down, he headed back up again until he was nearly at the top once more, at which time he began to swing his feet hard. He rocked himself until he could release his hold on the one chain and fly to the next.

"Now, believe me folks...it was absolutely amazing to see! The audience all held their breath when he turned loose the first time, and then went wild when he caught the next one. He did this three times successfully as he moved in a direction toward the center of the huge platform. But, when he made his fourth leap, the chain he caught out of the air was a fast mover and he was sent hurtling to the ground at near free-fall."

The Wreetage crowd whispered, "NO!" in mass unison as the visitor took another swig of his dark drink.

"There was a massive beast at the base of that chain drop, and its friends were milling closely about, all watching their meal as it quickly headed their way. But as Shartae's broad-shouldered form sailed toward certain death at a furious rate, the creatures below could not foresee what would come to be, for if they had, they may have fared better.

"As it was though, the dumb boar that waited below found itself under attack as the demon-man, Shartae the Invincible; they call him, released the chain, two peors above the beast and dropped like a stone."

The café's audience all popped open their mouths, fearing the certain outcome of the tale, but did not speak.

The story-teller suddenly leaped from his chair and stomped his boots hard.

"The stands of the stadium rumbled like a clap of thunder as every soul leaped to their feet, thinking he'd fallen...that he was surely doomed...but I tell you this; he did not fall," he said, easing back to his seat. I was barely twenty peors from the man and clearly saw him release of his own accord.

"He dropped that last distance with a shrieking roar on his lips and landed squarely on the back of the waiting creature, plowing it to the ground and forcing a surprised, panicked squeal from its ghastly mouth.

"The rest of the pack all jumped clear of that one, not understanding its fright, and retreated a short distance before turning back to the scene. By then though, Shartae was headed upward once more at another point, moving quickly back in his original direction. His haggard-looking, crust-covered body was glistening sweat from the tremendous exertion he placed upon it and no one could even imagine how he could still be moving upward. He'd already made that trip too many times for any normal man, only to slide back down and be forced to start again...but on he went until he reached a point just to the side of the platform's center.

"He flew up the last few feet of chain with enough momentum to allow him to smash his palm against the underside of the wooden assemblage where a well camouflaged trap door lay."

The traveling story-teller paused for a long moment and smiled a great smile.

"That was the only point on the deck where he could gain access to the upper side!"

The Wreetage crowd all grinned with him, admiring the wit and cunning of the condemned creature, Shartae. Then the man broke back into the story with added zeal.

"The latch tore free and the door flashed up and over to slam solidly against the decking with a loud report. The instant the door flew open it was drilled with two arrows from crossbowmen manning that station. Their duty was simple...keep him from gaining their position, but Shartae was already drifting downward again, well clear of the obvious trap.

"Another burst of energy got Shartae within reach of the opening again, and he quickly switched his grip from the metal links to the wooden planks surrounding the doorway. There, he hoisted himself up to have a look.

"The two guards were reloading their weapons and Shartae just hung from his position while they did that task. We don't really know why, but assumed he was resting because his chest heaved hard from the arduous workout.

"A moment later, the guards started toward the hatch and Shartae popped his head up again, locating their placement on the wide platform. The men were extremely anxious by then, no doubt due to the reputation of the brute they now faced, so they fired again hastily...choosing to do so from a safe distance. One of the bolts missed its target but the other did not, skewering Shartae's left hand and pinning him to the heavy decking!"

The audience cringed as one and Lilea couldn't help slamming her eyes shut and burying her face in her husband's shoulder. The thought of such danger, pain, and cruelty was too much for her.

"Shartae didn't even flinch, hauling his body through that opening in a blink. He snapped off the arrow abruptly and jerked his hand free before he attacked the bowmen.

"The two men hastily dropped those empty weapons and drew their swords, but then another change in the action occurred. The platform itself began to slide toward the ground...and the waiting animals.

"The swordsmen tried to work as a team, but Shartae was too quick for them, too powerful, too vicious. He feigned an attack that drew one man's blade into his reach and he gripped that fellow's sword hand in his unforgiving grasp and yanked him from his feet. A lita later Shartae sent him up and over his head to fall with tremendous force to the hot wood decking. The guard's arm was broken and dislocated before he ever struck the boards, and he was totally unconscious once he did. But by then the man's blade was in Shartae's hand.

"Now Shartae the Invincible was armed!"

The throng of the town's inhabitants all jumped with excitement and smiled, easily taking the side of the condemned soul against that of the guards.

"The next fellow's resistance was of little matter as Shartae slew him in four quick moves that crushed his defense and cost him his hand.

"The demon-man who was supposed to die that day then grabbed the guard by the throat and tossed him from the wooden deck, rolling thunder escaping his lips all the while. His throw was aimed pointedly at the largest group below, to give the animals a distraction, no doubt.

"By this time the platform was only three peors from the ground, so Shartae hurried around and retrieved the crossbows and all the remaining arrows. He glanced at the support towers that balanced the entire contraption as if he considered climbing them, but did not. He undoubtedly knew he would not be allowed to leave the arena until his adversaries were all dispatched, so he returned his attention to the matter at hand.

"Now, most of you know the force it takes to load a soldier's crossbow, right? An average man needs to use the foot-hold straps to stand on and both hands to cock the bowstring. Shartae merely held the weapon with one hand and yanked the string into position with the other...having them both ready in rapid succession."

A murmur of disbelief ran through the group as they listened. Many of the men familiar with such weapons seemed unable to accept that part of the story.

"I swear it's true," the story-man told them, holding his hands up as if in testimony. "He then gripped the loaded bows and rushed to the edge of the deck where he promptly sent their feathered missiles into two of the prowling beasts...both excellent shots that produced mortal wounds in the roikas. He repeated this act two more times until six of the hideous creatures were grievously hurt or dead and he was out of ammunition. Then he ran back and recovered the two guards' swords.

"When the platform reached the ground, there were four uninjured animals waiting for him and two more that were bleeding badly but completely enraged and still quite mobile.

"Shartae took the body of the first guard he'd subdued and flung him to the remaining group of hysterical beasts as a further distraction...clearly to buy him a bit more time.

"It was a ghastly sight," the large fellow said while grimacing and shaking his head. "The man's screaming wails easily reached the upper seats of the stadium and made several in the stands wretch as he was torn apart. Some of the fans looked away from the carnage but quickly turned back to see if the mighty warrior would somehow manage to triumph yet again.

"As if in answer to their unspoken question, they were shown a miraculous display of agility and swordsmanship that astounded them all.

"Shartae attacked the maddened creatures without hesitation, leaping over one while plunging the blade of his sword to the hilt into another. Then, as if in some horrific ballet, he sent his body spinning in midair and sprung up again when his feet touched the ground for a mere split lita. He struck again and again, sometimes using the roikas' own bodies to bounce off of...to redirect his momentum as well as that of his hoofed adversaries.

"He lost one of his blades when it wedged between a wounded animal's ribs and was ripped from his grasp by the writhing creature, but he never paused.

"To those of us in the stands, the beasts seemed to fall as if by magic, and we all just stared unblinkingly at the carnage...too shocked to move.

"A few borts later Shartae stood face to face with the last two roikas; one slightly wounded and the other still whole. They were shoulder to shoulder and charged the lithe wild-man with their own ghastly weapons flashing red in the sunlight.

"They'd gotten the taste of blood from the guards and were crazed for more.

"Shartae met their attack with his own battle cry...and a more ominous and spine tingling sound I have never heard. We all thought he would leap the duo again, to evade those massive beasts, but instead, he merely danced to the side of the one to his right and let its mindless charge bury his sword into its shoulder. It thrashed violently and knocked Shartae to the ground, the blade still jammed in its tough hide, but it couldn't do much else as it fell to the ground and perished. His strike had been too perfect...straight through the heart.

"Shartae rolled to his feet, his leg torn open by the sharpened tusks of that animal, but he once again acted as if he hadn't been touched and readied himself for more battle."

Lilea's stomach flipped hard enough that she thought she'd vomit, but she clenched her teeth against it and held back the urge...the metallic taste of bile strong on her tongue. She badly wanted to leave...to simply run away from the mental pictures the fellow was painting...but she couldn't bear not knowing the outcome, so she sat white-knuckled, waiting for the end. Crogan glanced down at her fingers embedded in his arm and patted her hand lightly.

"The last creature tried to maneuver around its fallen comrade in order to get at Shartae, but the wild-man knew better than to allow that, and kept the corpse between them. His head whipped back and forth quickly, searching for some weapon...knowing he could not face the creature barehanded and hope to survive. The enraged roika backed up a few steps, preparing to leap his massive brethren to get at the retched man who'd just slaughtered his entire pack, but that demon man had other plans.

"Shartae moved quicker than the beast then. He took the legs of the freshly killed animal...the largest of the group, mind you...and hoisted it to his shoulders with a horrendous roar.

"We, in the seats, all fell deathly quiet. Even the Kreete Lords were stunned and leaning forward. No one could believe a man could show such strength, but there it was right before us...and I swear to you all, it was no illusion!"

The crowd in the café shook their heads wordlessly, not fully able to believe such a feat, but none argued the matter.

"When that last roika came at him, Shartae used its own ally as a weapon to crush it to the ground, pinning its head under the larger creature's mass. He then retrieved the embedded sword from its shoulder and used it like a stake, simultaneously finishing off his final enemy and keeping it from getting at him."

The Wreetage group let out a long huff of relief, many of them having held their breaths at the climax of the story. Lilea trembled violently and had to force herself to relax once more, her breaths shallow and fast.

"Shartae then staggered back from the scene of the bloody massacre, his chest heaving and his entire figure now dripping with the sticky red stuff. He threw his head back and released a blasting wail of inhuman noise that shook the rafters, and convinced every soul in the audience that he was far more than human...and far less. He was truly a savage, ferocious beast with the cunning of a man."

It took a moment for the listeners to absorb the entirety of the tale, and each person wondered silently at the validity of it, but a few comments began to build into something more.

"I'd sure like to see this wild-man in action for myself," one fellow said, followed by a dozen others.

"I'd cheer for him!" said the café's owner. "Anyone who can make the Lords quake in their boots is worth my support."

"Here-here!" cried the group.

Before a bort passed, the Wreetage crowd broke out in a roaring cheer as if they'd witnessed the stunning event themselves. They'd been won over completely and spoke to one another in hurried tones and nervous chatter that showed their heightened level of excitement.

Lilea vibrated again in her husband's arms as relief from the strain of worry and the elation of Ron's victory surged through her...and she made a drastic decision at that very moment.

The storytelling man finished his meal and allowed many of the town's citizens to buy him drinks as he went back over the details of the matches he'd recanted, giving Crogan and Lilea the opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

Lilea waited until they had returned to their secluded workplace where their closest friend, Janson Raidene, and a few of their new acquaintances were still sorting and compiling information, and then gathered her thoughts. Just before Crogan could dive back into the matters of the rebellion, she spoke up.

"Darling, I'm going to find Ron," she told her husband in an abrupt, point-blank manner.

Crogan locked his gaze with hers and saw in her expression that she was set...he would not be able to dissuade her. He'd seen that look before and was absolutely certain about that.

"Lil," he said to her softly, reaching out to take her hand. "I know that you feel responsible for his getting apprehended...that we should not have abandoned him when he went back to search out his friend, but we cannot undo that. I cannot escort you and you cannot go alone...it is simply too dangerous. And how will you even find him? And if you did, he is surely going to be the most guarded prisoner in the history of the games. What is it that you think you can accomplish?"

"I do feel responsible! We should not have left him all alone," she acknowledged with tears welling in her deep green eyes. "And I don't expect you to leave your duties here to travel with me. This work...the preparations you're coordinating...is truly more important than one man. I don't plan on traveling alone though, as I'll be taking Janson with me. I'll ask the stranger where to find Ron...I mean Shartae...and I have no idea what I'll do when we find him...just like when we went to get you...but I'll come up with something."

Crogan just stared at his beloved wife...not jealous of her desire to help this man that he hardly knew...he understood her too well for those types of concerns. She merely cared for the fellow like an old friend, or a brother, and couldn't stand by and do nothing while he suffered such cruel injustice. His mind ran scenarios that put her in danger of a thousand different sorts, but he would not stop her. She was brave beyond her abilities and as impetuous as a teenager...and that was a large part of why he loved her so very much.

"When things are settled here, I shall come and find you," he told her.

Lilea smiled at him warmly, leaned over and kissed him lingeringly, and then spun about to speak with Janson.

That young man had been sulking for several weeks, ever since his older brother, Jarle, and Heath Sarvand had left on the treacherous southern road in search of Ronin. He begged to go with them, but Jarle overruled him with sound logic. Crogan would need his support more than he could help them in their quest...and so it had been, until now. Recently, they were getting much needed help from neighboring territories, and their plans were well along the path to completion.

Janson nearly dropped the items in his hands when he heard Lilea's request, and then set off at a dead run to his temporary home where he immediately began packing and assembling his accouterments for the journey.

Lilea went back to Crogan, and together they finished up the specific plans they'd begun that morning, and then she went out into the town in search of that storytelling man...Roelantish...she thought she'd heard him say.

### Chapter Eleven

### The treochy

Incarceration: day 456

"Get up!" the guard roared in the gravelly, guttural voice of the typical Kreete soldier. He spoke the language of Caron, but his foreign accent was heavy and nearly unintelligible.

His voice echoed repeatedly down the long, dark, stone-lined corridor, giving it even more of an alien resonance. There were seven doors in all along that narrow hallway, and the third one on the left held his present attention.

He stood at the entryway of a dark, cold chamber that reeked of rotting flesh, vomit, feces, urine, and sweat. A light snapped on as he growled his orders through a metal grate, behind the safety of a heavy wooden barrier that separated the inhabitant of that cell from him and his partner. That barrier was a door, six inches thick and banded with steel. It was a cage built to contain a greel...the Caronian version of a bear. Those beasts were as large as the average Kreete scout...seven and a half feet in height, but twice as strong and ten times as fierce.

Inside the cell, a hulking form shifted on the floor...turning over slowly to face the intruder. The animal that was inside this cage was not a wild beast though...at least not technically. It was a man. The fellow was large by human standards; almost six and a half feet in height, lean, but heavily muscled and broad shouldered. He moved slowly, as if he were in a great deal of discomfort, which of course he was, due to his horrendous treatment and pitiless schedule of events.

He appeared to be clothed in clingy, ragged, dark fabric but he was actually naked. The outward visual covering was in fact a disgusting, crusted layer of dirt mixed with a heavy coating of dried blood from innumerable wounds he'd sustained in the past several weeks. Luckily for him at least was the fact that a good deal of that blood was not his.

He was, and had been incarcerated now for almost seven Caronian santaris. He hadn't had the pleasure of bathing for the past four of those, and then it was only because the adversary he'd been pitted against was a water dwelling creature, so the normal combat field had been flooded. The closest he got to "clean" was that half-billot bout in a revolting, stinking, mucky, brackish liquid.

The man was a slave...condemned to death. He was a gladiator in the 'Retribution Games' of the Kreete Triad!

"Open the door!" shouted the second guard that made up the team who'd been sent to retrieve the prisoner. He held two long, metal rods which were secured to a thick steel collar that could be operated from the end of their lengths.

Down the long, damp, stone hallway a third watchman triggered a switch that released the heavy bolt on the cell's door.

The first guard saw the size of the prisoner and then grunted his disapproval.

"A mere man?" he scoffed in contempt.

He then set his tether pole against the wall and moved to enter but was immediately stopped by his partner.

"Are you mad, Fraiten?" he asked the massive fellow. "You are not following the protocol!"

"I was sent to escort this walking dead man to the last event of his life, Horpon. That 'protocol' Trevene recited is a waste of my time and patience."

"It is for our own good!" Horpon told him, speaking in their species' language and hissing it in low tones that were not meant to carry to the prisoner. "He does not tolerate being touched! We are ordered to tether him, manacle him, and then guide him to the arena. I have done it many times and he will cooperate."

"That is ridiculous! Why do you fear this man?"

"Fear and caution are not the same. Do you not know who that is?"

Fraiten took immediate offense to his partner's attitude.

"Some Caronian scum that is due to die in the arena," he replied with a huff.

"That is 'Shartae the Invincible' you fool! Have you not heard of him? The Caronians believe he is some kind of 'Guardian' warrior...sent straight from the Creator himself. They think he cannot be killed, and I am beginning to wonder that they might be right."

"That he is an emissary from the Guardian?"

"No, idiot...that he cannot be killed! I have seen him do things...survive things...that I would never have believed possible by a Kreete, much less a human. And it is obvious to me that he could not be sent from the Guardian...he is a pure demon!"

"Do not be so gullible! That is some fantasy they have devised to give them hope."

"Possibly, but he has been in the Retribution Games for almost six santaris! Have you ever heard of anyone surviving more than one? It is said that he has no equal! He is as wild as the Yetsole cats of the southern mountains and as strong as a Reaper class Kreete!"

"Well I just transferred in from Trinardeen...the class ten-point-two world at the far edge of the Triad, and I think I can handle one puny flarge!" Fraiten boasted with the typical confidence of his kind.

After all, was he not of the supreme race? Was he not at least a head taller and twenty percent heavier than the human? What was all the fuss about?

"He killed three of the Vanguard unit, the Hellions...while he was chained to an anchor pin!" Horpon added.

That gave pause to the aggressiveness of Fraiten, but only for a moment.

"Pure fabrication!"

The new man shoved his partner aside and stepped into the cell. It was a perfect cube...ten feet at all dimensions with smooth walls that had a layer of smeared blood all around the room from the floor to eight feet above it. That putrid coating was purposely never cleaned off, being a constant reminder of the cycles of suffering that had occurred there. The cell floor was decorated in filth from santaris of neglect, and smelled of a combination of foul odors that coalesced into a singular, nearly overwhelming, impression of death...and worse. There was no window, no bed, and no washbasin...just a single four-inch hole in the floor at the very center of the room...for the prisoner's excrement.

The immensely stout door swung inward to the cell with recessed hinges that were totally covered when closed. The strike of the frame was chiseled out of the two-foot thick solid rock wall, and a substantial iron bar secured it on the outside when latched. There were two holes in the surface of the door that allowed the jailers to look inside to see the prisoner and to slip a pan of food into the space. One light panel was recessed into the ceiling of the room and was the only means to illuminate the cell...a feature that was utilized only when they wished to retrieve him, or torment him.

"At least put the collar on him before approaching!" Horpon suggested nervously.

Fraiten disregarded his advice with a loud huff.

As the guard entered, Shartae stood away from the wall enough to allow the scouts to secure him in his restraints...long ago foregoing the recurring battle of resisting their "protocol". He had eventually found that fighting in the arena after being wanded was only going to get him killed, so he relented...unless provoked.

The new guard stepped directly over to the captive and struck him a solid blow in the face. The prisoner recoiled from the power of that strike and smashed resoundingly into the far wall.

"No! Stop!" shouted Horpon at the doorway, still outside and refusing to enter.

The prisoner in the cell, the man who appeared so weak, so pitiable...who had just risen so slowly, so painfully, sprang off of the wall at Fraiten with such quickness and ferocity that Horpon jumped back out of pure reflex, barely suppressing a scream. He recoiled sharply from the portal of the door and retreated well out into the hallway.

"CODE SEVEN!" he bellowed at the watchman down the corridor. "CODE SEVEN!"

Shartae pounced at the abusive guard like a tiger, gripping the much larger man by the throat with a growling rumble from his inner self and a seething need to vent his anger. Fraiten was taken completely off guard by the strength and speed of the slighter being but reacted quickly, his enormous hands flashing up and grasping the forearms of the prisoner. He then tried to break the man's grip with a half-hearted maneuver, one that normally would have worked well against a human, but was astonished when he was unable to do so. He shifted his weight to gain leverage on his smaller assailant but found that he, himself, was being lifted from the grimy ground. His silver eyes tried to meet Shartae's but his chin was locked in a maul of iron that would not give, and was being forced upward as his body's weight hinged heavily on that point.

Shartae capitalized on the Kreete's surprise and shoved him back with bone breaking force against the nearby wall. The arrogant scout's thoughts scrambled instantly when his head crashed into the stone and his stunned senses offered no defense to the ferocious onslaught.

Shartae's knee followed that body-slam immediately, smashing into Fraiten's gut hard enough to lift him off his feet again and expel every bit of air in his lungs. When Shartae stepped away from the Kreete to allow his limp form to fall heavily in a crumpled heap, he sped it along with a two fisted hammering blow to the soldier's back.

The larger being wheezed loudly as he tried to reinflate his lungs, and was obviously bewildered because he threw a feeble jab blindly in an attempt to defend himself. Shartae gripped that flying arm at the wrist and twisted it over viciously to drive Fraiten prone to the floor.

The confident, superior being crashed face first into the squalor of the cell, his tusks scraping two grooves into that crusty layer and his blood merging with all the others that had preceded him. Shartae then dropped with all of his weight onto the Kreete's shoulder, shearing the tendons and cartilage that made up the man's appendage like a chicken's wing.

The Kreete let out a howl that echoed away down the corridor, searching for anyone who might hear it and respond. That wail was indeed heard, and then was quickly drowned out by the sound of several more of the giants thundering toward the cell.

"So much for your superior race!" Shartae told him as the injured soldier weakly tried to struggle. "The next time you touch me you had better kill me!" He didn't realize it at the time but those were the first words he'd spoken since being captured.

The large group filled the tiny room quickly, but not before Shartae's left fist crashed into the wounded man's temple and left him unconscious on the floor.

Three Kreete guards armed with agony wands set at maximum power locked the devices together in a blinding, blue-white barrier and forced Shartae back to a corner. He would have attacked one scout armed as they were...maybe two, but there were seven angry warriors ready to beat him to death in a room that allowed him almost no mobility, so he didn't resist their orders.

"What happened?" demanded the head jailer, Trevene Monsel, when the commotion was quelled and the unconscious guard had been removed.

Horpon explained the sequence of events, and the leader cursed harshly at the stupidity of his men.

"Where has this idiot been that he does not know who rots in this cell?" asked the jailer. "I would not have believed that there was still someone so ignorant in my command. Take him down the hall and leave him there until he wakes up...then we shall see if he can make it to the regeneration facility...with no assistance!

"Now restrain the prisoner and get him moving!"

"And, YOU!" he barked at the dark figure in the corner, the one who glared back at him with loathing and disgust clearly evident. "Do as you are told, or I will have every inch of you wanded as soon as the match is done!"

Trevene strode off defiantly at that point, intent to make it to the next death match on time. He was wagering heavily on Shartae.

Shartae allowed the soldiers to tether and shackle him without further incident, and they were much less gruff with him than the last guard. The shackles they secured his hands and feet with had evolved over his time of captivity and gave him almost no mobility whatsoever. They locked his wrists inside steel manacles which were riveted to a heavy, metal-reinforced leather belt that encircled his waist. His feet, in turn, had a two-foot-long solid bar between the two clamps that encircled his ankles.

That arrangement left him walking very slowly and looked much like a duck's waddle as his feet had to swing way out at each step...but the guards did not prod him. They learned over a santari ago that they could not hurry him along faster than he was willing to go. The last Kreete scout who shoved him forward hard enough to cause him to fall on a cobblestone street was dead before he knew what happened.

That incident had occurred in the town of Grodincy...one of the seven cities that held competitions in the 'Retribution Games' circuit. Shartae was on his way to a match with a Luirgon...a large, extremely vicious wild dog from the planet Haygrot...another median class-nine planet like Caron.

The guards that escorted him that day were running behind schedule and so had neglected the use of the tether restraint because it added too much to the prisoner's restrictive accouterments...it was too cumbersome.

They were bringing him through a narrow, brick-walled alleyway that had no entrances that were not secured, so they felt it was not necessary. The transport team was impatient at his progress through the passage and didn't take into consideration that it had a very uneven surface, which made it difficult for him to navigate. Shartae was being extra cautious not to fall over, and that vigilance deterred his speed. Bound as he was, he would be unable to catch himself with his hands and didn't care to eat the grit of the walkway.

One of the Kreete soldiers lost his patience and goaded him forward forcefully.

"Move your sorry hide, flarge!" the fellow said gruffly.

The condemned prisoner fell hard, with his right knee slapping the stone walk harshly in an attempt to slow his downward plunge...then his chest smashed against the unbreakable surface, followed immediately with the side of his face.

"Now you've cost me even more time!" the angry soldier growled at the sprawling man, kicking him over to lie on his back so that he could more easily get him up again.

Injured and offended by those blows, Shartae's temper flared instantly and as the fellow who'd pushed him down stooped to haul him back to his feet, he coiled his shackled legs and then snapped them upward as hard as he could. The Kreete guard was caught by surprise as that solid bar struck him in the throat, just under his chin, with enough force to lift him off the street and propel him back a good twelve feet where he landed on his head, crushing two of the vertebrae in his neck. He was dead straight away.

One of the other guards was nearly bowled over as his partner's body flew past him and he rushed to the downed man's side, checking him for vital signs. When he found none, he drew his blade and rushed at the prisoner, ready to kill.

By then, Shartae had managed to slither his body over to the nearby wall and right himself, once again heading off to the arena as if nothing at all had happened. When he heard the dead scout's partner approaching, he calmly turned his head and threw a warning glare to the distraught warrior.

"You know Reaper Dekin's decree," another of the security team growled, "If you kill him, you will take his place."

Shartae then merely turned and continued on in a calm, unhurried manner. He really cared not, either way.

The Kreete soldier stopped his attack abruptly as the truth of what he heard registered in his mind. He knew all too well what the Retribution Games were about...and no one in their right mind wanted that.

The fellow gripped and re-gripped his sword for the next several moments, and then Shartae heard him slam the blade back into the scabbard...and he smiled.

Back in the present; Ron Allison...Ronin to his many friends who'd met him out in the world, and Shartae to the arena crowd...stepped out into the blazingly bright sunlight with his eyes closed.

The brilliance of the white star made a dramatically stark contrast to the dark, dank, subterranean space in which he normally resided, and it was always a shock to him.

He knew he was about to experience something horrible, as he had every other time he'd been escorted into one of these rings of demise, but he loved the feeling of the open air anyway. The kiss of the sun on his face always brightened his mood. It also brought back flickering bits of memories from a carefree, wonderful past life...and of freedom. For a brief time he even felt a thin, fragile ray of hope.

The crowd in the stadium roared as they sighted their champion. "Shartae! Shartae! Shartae!" was chanted in a rising chorus, drawing the patrons in until the seats, the aisles, and even the overhanging structure of the small roof that jutted out at the uppermost point of the coliseum was jammed with patrons. Each attending member of that raucous crowd was frantically vying for the best view of the upcoming event. As with every other time, this bout was expected to be spectacular!

Ron opened his eyes and began scanning the individuals in the crowd. Most could be seen with anxiousness in their faces...be it for his safe survival or his bloody demise; he couldn't tell and didn't care. Many simply wanted to see what they expected from their wild-man champion...total mastery of every opponent. In their minds Shartae was faster, quicker, fiercer, more unstoppable than even the legendary, invincible, Ronin of Erthania, who some claimed he was. Nevertheless, whatever they called him, the undeniable faith of the public coalesced into the one singular concurrence...he was the greatest fighter who had ever lived!

That consensus also mattered not to him. What did was the driving desire to survive...no matter what was unleashed against him. His sole motivation was to live to face his betrayers one last time...so that he might elicit his own retribution.

Ron had nothing to fear at that particular moment though, since the match would not begin until all his escorts were safely out of the arena. None of the "fearless" Kreete wanted anything to do with what he was about to face.

Today was just as it had been for the past six santari, thirty six and a half days, since his capture back at the little river...where he thought his life had finally come together. His existence balanced precariously on a thin edge of luck, determination, and ferocity. Over the next billot, he would either live or die. His fate was in the wind.

As soon as he was released and the Kreete guards moved away, Ron was pelted with food from the crowd...not from anger or disrespect...no, quite the opposite. They flung the finest meats and breads to him so that he might keep up his strength. It was the only time he was allowed to eat real food...and eat he did.

He hadn't thought about it in a great while but the return of his teeth was something miraculous that had brought him back from the brink of desperation during his second santari of the games. His body had grown whole again by then, regaining almost half of the weight he'd lost in the dungeons of Huinrag. That was due solely to the crowd's indulgence toward his dietary needs because the Kreete had no hand in it whatsoever.

In those days he ripped the food apart well enough with the broken nubs of teeth that remained fixed in his jaws, but one day he felt four of those sharp stumps wiggling fiercely and they dropped out at his next meal. Over the following week several more released and he began to fear he'd end up starving after all, simply unable to take in solid food if they all left him. He was certain they were all dead too, because he hadn't felt the pain of exposed nerves in a long while. The very next day though, when he bit down hard, trying to crush a large chunk of meat into swallowable size, he felt something that made his eyes burst open wide. There were brand new teeth pushing through his gums! And they were sharp!

Before the end of that santari a completely new set of teeth had sprouted and filled his mouth...and he didn't hesitate to put them to use, for nutrition as well as defense.

Ron stood still and gazed about. He always sought out a certain young man in the audience, not understanding nor even contemplating how the boy could always know where he would be. Whatever city Ron was moved to at the end of his time at a particular venue, the youngster miraculously appeared...be it a week's journey, or two. And how he could afford the price of admission day after day, especially as Shartae's bouts became more and more popular, he could not have fathomed if he would have pondered it. He located his young friend during each bout nonetheless, and bowed his head in respect when the lad dropped him some food and drink. After that, he took his pick from the rest.

As the citizens slung their offerings to their demigod champion, he wolfed down all he could while he strolled about, surveying the arena. His eyes missed nothing and his mind raced along at a furious clip to find anything he could use.

Birds swooped into the open-air stadium, diving at and fighting for the morsels of sustenance that Ron didn't defend. They caused quite a racket with their raucous chirping and numerous excited calls, but no one noticed. All eyes were on the squalid figure of the man they'd come to see.

This contest began much as many others. Ron walked out into the arena naked, with no weapons, and looked around. He knew it was either another man-to-man fight or his means of defense was somewhere in the odd array of equipment out in the ring. He saw and heard nothing besides the commotion of the crowd as they hurried to their seats, so he knew he still had some time. Whomever or whatever he was to clash with hadn't entered the stadium just yet.

He'd been fighting in this arena for one day short of a santari so he knew every inch of the place. He also knew he'd be moving on again, if he survived, to a new battleground, with new deadly games to test him. Four other coliseums had preceded this one in the four previous santaris...each serving the same purpose, yet each also having their own unique feel and flavor.

A quick glance at the VIP box the Kreete used showed it was filled to standing room only, like every other time he fought since that first, horrid week in Sartsisen. His gaze swept around the coliseum and he saw the seats, the aisles, the vendors, the patrons, and every avenue that might lead to the outside world. He memorized his surroundings every day when he was sent out into the ring.

"One day, I will get my chance!" he thought to himself each time.

Ron looked about now at the weathered barrier of the pit he was in and noticed the banners that normally adorn the upper section of the walls in such a place were all gone. Only the holes where they insert were left, and they were at least twenty feet up the vertical, smoothly formed structure that kept the participants in the 'game' away from those in the stands. Those banners were removed, he noted, as they were from all his matches since his sixth week in the games...after his short-lived escape attempt from Sartsisen's arena by utilizing those very decorations.

Five human guards died on that day and the entire ordeal caused a drop in attendance for three following days. The Kreete escort detail caught him before he could get out of the high security stadium though and his whole body had been thoroughly wanded, but that was nothing he hadn't already been through...and much worse.

Also, that close call cost the owner of the arena his license and a hefty sum of money...not including the loss of his gate commissions. The place opened two days later with a new managing authority who positioned extra guards with crossbows in each aisle and removed the banners...only during Shartae's events of course.

As Ron approached a strange contraption which had been constructed in the arena for the current bout, he heard an announcer bellowing to the crowd:

"...survival of three hundred and fifty seven consecutive matches...Caron's unconquerable champion...Shartae the Invincible!"

Ron paid no attention at all to the fellow's boasting words, but instead, turned his concentration to the mission of survival. What was he to battle this day?

"This match will pit our most famous gladiator contestant against a foreign beast from the class 9.9 planet of Haimcroe! It is a cunning and fearsome hunter on the scrub plains of the southernmost continent of that world...the poison dart treochy."

Ron's ears perked up at that bit about the poisonous dart, and he made a note of it as he stepped from the shadow of the barrier wall out into the intense brilliance of the midday Caronian sun again. After a quick pause to check the entrances to the enclosure, he strolled about the ringed arena once more and studied the event's setup while the entire place filled to, and then well beyond, capacity. The crowd screamed and roared and cheered at a deafening level, but his concentration blocked it all out.

The sporting field was two hundred and ten feet in diameter and had been designed to allow for changeable scaffolding, harnesses, poles, and such. Each setup was designed to give the opposing contestants a fairly equal chance at survival, although he was confident each of his matches tilted incessantly one-sided against him.

After Ron's first santari, the Kreete had seen his constant winning as a threat against the intent of the Retribution Games. Those very events were designed to prove to the native masses that defiance of the Kreete rule would result in a bloody, horrible end. But when their plans were foiled again and again by the truly remarkable abilities of the man, they began to view him differently...almost in admiration. After all, in the doctrine of their kind, they respected the strong and fierce in every species.

Eventually they gave up trying so hard to kill him as his resistance to death became abundantly apparent. Too, the attendance of his bouts grew maddeningly with so many people begging to watch him cheat his assumed demise. The profits from his contests were staggering, so the pressure to have him eliminated sifted away to leave a more lucrative arrangement. His adversaries were still tremendously lethal but he was allowed at least a hint of a chance.

Ron quickly surmised that his foe was causing some sort of delay since he normally had to jump right into the task of survival, so he walked about the ring once more...careful to watch each of the seven gates of the stadium for movement.

The contest's requirements this day called for bridgework-type scaffolding. It was built tall, with a ladder up to the summit on one end and a rope hanging off the other. That rope was tied to a shorter, heavy post forty feet away and looked a bit like a heavy-duty clothes line, only one going downhill. The horizontal part of the structure was at least twenty-five feet from the ground, made up of a three-foot-wide assembly of cross poles pinned to long support rails. The rails lay parallel between four supporting posts that were angled slightly to promote stability. It resembled the framework for a train trestle that went nowhere, but too, it reminded Ron of a large "monkey bar" set like the ones he'd played on in grade school.

This contraption was basically centered in the stadium, but there was another, apparently unrelated device setting fifty feet off to the side of one end of the 'trestle'. It stood opposite the pole that the rope was attached to. It was two upright posts with a single crossbar, reminding Ron of a gymnast's high bar, but its purpose was unclear.

That was all he had time for though as one of the heavy iron gates swung open just then with a loud, telltale screech from its dry metal hinges.

Ron quickly took up a position under the ladder of the scaffolding and waited. He'd seen no weapons anywhere in the ring so he assumed that this would be hand-to-hand combat. His pulse began to quicken.

After another lita he heard a high-pitched squeal from the opening before a creature came tearing out into the arena. It stopped abruptly when it stood in full sunlight to repeat its ear piercing cry.

The crowd then became as quiet as a church. Each of the spectators studied the creature intensely with differing degrees of anxiety...some hoping it was vicious and would promote bloodshed, while others, especially those who knew Ron, desperately hoped their hero would be able to thwart it.

The creature had a thick, dark orange coat of fur and was a feline type animal approximately the size of a large cougar. In stark contrast though, it also grew heavy scales, or plates, all along its back from its neck to the base of its tail. It had a wide head with prominent eyes, long powerful legs, and its feet were tipped with hooked, vicious-looking claws. Ron watched it fixedly and saw it bare large canines when it howled. Its tail was stout and long, and ended with an unusual looking bulge.

The beast scanned the scene quickly and spotted Ron without delay, leaping into motion as soon as it did. It raced at him with impressive speed, and he watched it carefully before making a move.

The arena had a hard-packed turf floor which was covered in a thin layer of dry, porous gravel for good footing in the rain, and the beast churned up that material violently as it moved.

Ron burst into action then. He raced up a few rungs of the ladder and launched himself upward to reach the scaffolding, slipping his legs through the latticework and hanging up there inverted like a monkey as he observed the reaction of the animal.

The beast slid to a stop in the spot Ron had just vacated and glared up at him, letting go with another shrieking call as it angled around the ladder to a spot directly beneath him. It then leaped up swiftly, and would have mauled him had he not released his handholds and let his body pivot around from his knees to grab the crossbar structure at a new location. As it was though, he took a powerful blow to his head and felt at least two claws rake against the back of his skull.

That narrow escape forced him into further action, and he scrambled up on top of the scaffolding before the creature could regroup for another jump. He felt the warm ooze of blood sliding down his neck but could tell it was just a flesh wound...no vital muscles had been hit...so it was immediately forgotten.

The beast then paced around the end of the structure again and began nimbly climbing up the ladder. It was apparently quite intelligent...or had been through this game before.

Ron hastily proceeded across the length of the scaffolding on his hands and knees, testing each of the cross-poles as he did, hoping to loosen one and make use of it, but found them well secured. Only moments later, he stood at the opposite end from the ladder and quickly searched the arena once more for some type of weapon.

The crowd began to come to life then as the creature gained the height of the man and they squared off. Ron had nothing with which to match or defend against the animal's claws, and since he'd found no loose planks or bars he could wrestle free, he turned on his heels at the other end of the structure and leaped. Down he dropped from that point to the rope, six feet below, where his grip on the heavy, braided line redirected his momentum to allow him to shoot out and away from his former perch as fast as he could.

The beast charged after him in a flash, leaping out dexterously and certain of success. Its eyes glinted in the bright sunshine and another attack call ripped from its throat, but when Ron's direction changed, it came up just short of his flesh with its outstretched claws. The treochy hadn't see anything other than its prey during its attack, but when Ron escaped, it was caught in the chest by the rope, just under the fore shoulders, and flipped instantly upside down. There was little distance to the ground and so it couldn't make adjustments fast enough to right itself, landing hard on its back with a loud thud and a billow of dust.

Ron reached the ground right in front of the disoriented animal and raced off for the other end of that rope, untying it as swiftly as he could. It was a heavy line and difficult to dislodge because the knot had been tightened securely, but Ron was desperate enough to get it moving in good order. Due to his haste, he had one of the knots broken down before the treochy recovered from its fall and was after him again.

Ron abandoned that and set off at a sharp angle away from his adversary to the high bar setup and sprang up powerfully to gain its wooden cross rail. He hauled his body up quickly, pivoting over it at his hips before pressing his arms outward at the apex to a perfect handstand, and then allowing his body to continue on until he was plummeting back toward the ground...and the treochy.

The beast squatted down in preparation for another leap but never got off the ground.

Ron let his heavy-worlder weight assist him in his goal and slammed solidly into the side of the beast with enough force to send it crashing to the stone wall twenty feet away, where it slumped down, visibly stunned again.

He wasted no time at all as he returned to the rope and attacked the next knot with his hands and teeth.

The creature struggled to its feet and screeched again; shaking its head and swiping its four-foot tail this way and that. It began a more cautious approach at Ron then, and circled completely around him before closing. That gave Ron enough time to finally free the rope and gather it up as he cautiously slipped backward toward the scaffolding where the other end anchored to it. He hurriedly tied the end of the cord again, to get a nice, heavy knot, and when he reached the tall structure, he had a good fifteen feet of slack to play with.

As the treochy slinked up at him, Ron set the rope whirling over his head and used that knotted end like a whip, slapping the animal between the eyes twice and forcing it to retreat to a distance out of his range.

The crowd cheered exuberantly as the treochy backed away and screamed again, slashing at the air with its claws bared.

Ron knew this was not going get the job done however, since the match would continue until one of the contestants was dead, so he began some maneuvering of his own.

He worked his way back over to the ladder and shot up it again with the free end of the rope dangling from his teeth. When he was up on top once more, standing on two of the cross supports, he fashioned the rope quickly into a slipknot with a good-sized loop...and waited.

The animal carefully circled around to the ladder again and began its climb...that thick tail swishing back and forth. Ron leaned over the edge and started twirling his makeshift noose like a cowboy readying to rope a calf.

The treochy suddenly snapped its tail around like the whip Ron had used against it, and Ron felt several sharp pricks in his left thigh and chest, and heard something whistle by his ear.

He recoiled away from the ladder another step to examine himself as the pricks began burning intensely, and found six long quills sunk deeply into his flesh. There were three in his chest and three in his thigh. The area around each was turning flaming red fast so he grabbed the thin darts one at a time and yanked on them firmly only to be rewarded with a substantially painful result. The quills came out after quite a bit of effort and with a good deal of his flesh, and the holes left behind bled profusely.

He examined the weapons carefully and found they sported some nasty looking barbs which had the unwelcome tendency to work the device deeper into the victim.

Ron backed away a few more steps as fast as he could, balancing on the cross-bars, and twirled the rope once more, wanting to make his move before the creature could get him with that tail again. He didn't know what effect the poison from the darts would have on him, so he assumed he had little time.

As the treochy's head cleared the top of the contraption, Ron let fly with the noose and thanked his fortune that his aim was true because his injured leg was beginning to quiver. The toxin from the quills was working swiftly to interrupt his muscular control, and he didn't know how far that was going to go.

Ron pulled back on the rope as hard as he could, knowing the cat would try to go the opposing direction just by sheer reflex...and he was right. The treochy back-peddled frantically, trying to go back down the ladder while shaking its head side to side ferociously, but Ron would have none of that and bent his back into the task.

The startled animal squirmed and writhed violently as it scrambled for better grip, its eyes wide with fear and a wild, snarling whine issuing from its mouth. It was frantic to escape.

When Ron felt the creature was exerting its maximum force...he turned loose the rope and watched the treochy panic anew, as that reversal was too much for it to endure. Its claws couldn't sink into the time and wear-hardened wood of the rungs so Ron watched it tumble off of the scaffolding, forcing it to drop all the way to the arena floor.

When the cat thudded solidly on the ground he snapped back into motion at the same instant and was able to maintain enough tension on the rope to keep the creature from shaking it loose...and then the real tug-of-war began.

Ron held on like a champion fisherman with a trophy swordfish on the line. He was nearly pulled off the scaffolding three times as the treochy used all its muscle and weight to shake itself free of that ever-tightening line, but slowly Ron managed to gain an advantage of leverage and began hauling the twisting creature up off its feet until it hung in mid-air, six feet from the turf.

His leg was beginning to shake more and more and his breathing was becoming strained as the neural venom did its work, but he fought on with the rope nonetheless, trying desperately to secure it to the framework of the structure on which he stood.

Ron pulled back until he was sitting down firmly, and then fished the loose portion of the line around the heavy support beam a couple of times. He swapped his hold quickly to that new anchor point and the treochy dropped a foot, causing it to reinitiate its frenzied attempts to escape, shaking the entire structure in its mindless, desperate terror.

Ron quickly tied off the rope securely and gripped the taught line once more. The animal was now violently attempting to shred the rope with its claws, and was doing a fair job of it, when he began to haul it upward again. The muscles in is arms and back surged together like an Olympic rower on a gold medal run, yet his struggle against the weight of that huge cat was infinitely more harrowing. He heaved the flailing beast up enough so that it was just scraping the scaffolding with its claws, being very aware of the danger of that tail...and then he dropped it!

The treochy plummeted to the end of the rope and abruptly stopped its thrashing as the noose did its grisly job with a resounding "crack".

The tall scaffolding lurched hard to one side, nearly throwing Ron from his perch, but that didn't slow down his signature response to the end of the blood sport. A moment later he was on his feet and roaring out his natural reaction to a victorious battle while the stadium erupted in an earsplitting bedlam of cheering.

Their champion had done it again!

When his triumphant call was gone from his system however, Ron instantly collapsed back to a sitting position and stared down through the structure at his deceased foe. He felt a bit sad at having killed the magnificent beast, but his body was still on fire from its darts, his blood still dripped to the ground, and his head ached from the swat he'd received.

With all that still plaguing him though, he allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction for his victory, not knowing what would come next.

As he got to his feet to climb down, Ron felt queasy and tired, no doubt a result of the creature's weapons he guessed, and then he noticed several more of the slim quills stuck to the underside of the scaffold supports.

"I guess I was luckier than I thought," he told himself, before he observed something else, something which had eluded his detection until that very moment.

The "high-bar" contraption was fairly close to the arena wall!

### Chapter Twelve

### Escape!

Ron heard the high-pitched screeching sound of the iron gate being opened again and looked in that direction. The Kreete guards were moving into the arena but still had at least thirty peors to the ladder. He glanced hurriedly at the human guards assigned to the stations around the high walls and found them already beginning to disperse with the crowd, their attention misplaced from their duty and jammed between the paying patrons.

A last sweep of the sky for his directional bearings and he was off, tearing across the top of the scaffolding like a cheetah after a meal on the open Serengeti, and thanking the coliseum's carpenters for building such a sturdy structure.

His body's incredible survival drive overrode the sickly feeling he was experiencing and answered his commands with their usual marked precision.

Ron reached the end of the scaffolding before any of the guards noticed he was on the move and then launched his body out into space as if he could fly.

It was a fifty foot leap from the end of the structure he left to the cross bar that was his target...with a ten foot drop in elevation...and he wasn't completely sure he could make it.

As he left the solid footing of the structure, he heard a cry from one of the Kreete behind him.

"Come back here!"

Ron soared across the gap, snapping his hands open and shut twice, preparing for what was about to be a brutal assault on those appendages. His figure was moving very fast and dropping like a rock in the heavy Caronian gravity, and for just a split lita he doubted he would be able to keep his grip. But then that thought was gone because he knew he would...he would not fail...this was his chance at escape and he would make it work, no matter what it took!

A few dozen patrons were still in their seats, discussing the brilliant fight and they stopped speaking in mid-sentence to watch a scene that was extremely puzzling to them. Numerous gasps and grunts of dumbfounded surprise murmured through the throng in a fast rippling wave before one teenage boy cried out, "Look!"

It was all moot to Ron however as he sailed across the span of space that defined the world of his present...his existence in captivity...in search of a better future; one of freedom.

Ron's adrenalin-charged system was so amped that time seemed to pass at quarter speed. As he flew for what seemed like a full bort, his entire focus drew down to a single slim length of wood. He knew of nothing but that bar. Would it hold his weight? Would his impetus be enough? He was going to have to stretch for it. His grip would not fail.

The Kreete guards below stopped their approach to stare at the man, not even considering what was to come. Why was he jumping? The fall was surely going to break something in him badly, especially the way he was stretching out his body. Was he trying to kill himself...or to injure himself to the point that he could not fight? He should know that his schedule would not change, just as it hadn't in the past when he'd been grievously injured.

The bar struck Ron's hands with the force of a professional warrior wielding a heavy staff, and he clamped down on that rod of timber with every ounce of strength he could muster...and held on.

His body's momentum continued downward, in a sweeping arc that tried to separate his torso from those vises clamping onto that wooden pivot point. The well-used, hardened pole bent as his body's weight threatened to snap it in two, but it did not break. Then the combination of that bending rod, with the two support poles leaning in as well, created a powerful rebounding force he could utilize.

Ron rode that wooden spring around, feeling his shoulders trying to separate and his spine popping noticeably as he was stretched over an inch in length from the G-forces of his action. But when the pull of Caron could not subdue him he was headed upward again at a fantastic rate.

As his body reached a ninety-degree angle in relation to the arena floor, he released his hold on the crossbar like a champion gymnast on a dismount of phenomenal proportion.

Ron traveled upward in a steep arc that put him on a direct collision course with the upper rampart of the arena wall. As his body traveled, he continued rotating so that when he reached the lip of that retainer he was facing outward again. That enabled him to grab hold as he slammed into it with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

He took that jolt harshly but did not slow down, scrambling over the wall in a flash and falling into the aisle way with a thud before inhaling again. He heard several arrows clink against the stone wall as he cleared it and stayed low while he regained his breath and his footing.

Ron smiled suddenly when he found one of the long wooden poles that normally held the banners resting right at his feet. He stripped it of its flag with one hand and had a course plotted before it could even flutter to the ground. Without further hesitation he dashed up the stairs toward the top of the stadium.

'Shartae the Invincible' was armed once more!

Just then, an earsplitting blast from a horn blew out into the hot morning air from one of the many Kreete guard towers.

"To your stations!" roared the Kreete commander. He was fighting his way through the densely packed crowd, violently shoving humans aside in his haste to regain control of the situation.

The audience immediately stopped its exit of the facility as more and more attendees turned to witness the impossible...an escape...or at least an attempt at an escape. All eyes searched the stands for the focal point of what the Kreete were screaming about.

A moment later Ron popped up carrying his staff and an enormous cheer erupted like a thunderclap.

Three Kreete guards within crossbow range took hasty aim through the milling population of the crowd. One swatted a confused couple out of the way with a powerful backhand, and then they all fired their weapons at the fleeing man. They didn't lead the target well enough though, and two innocent bystanders were skewered with the missiles.

Ron flew up twenty steps to the next level but then was slowed by the spectators jamming the aisles.

"Move!" he ordered in a frightening tone...his voice unusually rough from lack of use over the long santaris. "Get out of the way!"

The crowd had never heard him speak and hastily gave way, but not fast enough to keep one Kreete soldier from catching the fleeing prisoner.

Ron faced his new assailant with a rampant lust for blood that always attached itself to him when he fought the Kreete. His utter contempt for their species and their methods of ruling the less powerful and less advanced peoples was endless.

The grime-covered gladiator stopped the Kreete's approach cold with a blazing wave of that length of wood in his hands, spinning it like propeller blades at the taller, larger man. Ron was fortunate that the soldier didn't have a bow and he capitalized on the fact at the onset.

The banner's pole was a seven-foot length of weathered hardwood and it was pitted against the four-foot reach of a steel sword, so Ron quickly made the scout back-peddle down the steps faster than he could manage.

The staff was a literal blur, and hit the Kreete's sword, hand, arm, and head so fast the astonished Lord could mount no defense before he tumbled down the stone stairs and landed in a heap at the next level.

Ron stared after the fellow in disgust. They had watched him hone his skills to a level that no man and, as of yet, no Kreete could match, and then this fellow dared try to stop him with a pathetic show of swordplay? A Master Killer couldn't stand against him so how could this lowly scout?

Ron swung around for a second time to find the way clear, and he bounded up the steps quickly until he stumbled at the next landing. He couldn't believe it when he fell, and paused for a moment to slap his leg. Blood still flowed from the dart wounds there and it was not responding as it should...and was swelling noticeably.

"The poison!" his mind screamed. "Hurry!"

His adrenaline was speeding the neurotoxin through his system and starting to shut down some of his key survival systems, namely his coordination.

"Two more flights and I'll be there!" Ron growled to himself, trying to bolster his reserves to meet the demands of the moment.

He plowed his way through the receding mass of souls that were both cheering him and wishing to see him fight more, and then he saw two more arrows clatter against the stone of the stands mere inches from his person.

At the next level two human guardsmen, employed by the stadium's owner, rushed in and threatened him with their spears. Ron met the blockade ruthlessly, sweeping one of the men from his feet to land on the stone walkway, and crushed the other's elbow with his staff before smashing the man in the skull to send him off to dreamland.

Ron stood above the first man with his partner's spear tip just touching his chest before the dazed guard could respond. He couldn't believe the power and quickness of the man-beast that now stood over him.

Watching 'Shartae' in the arena had not fully prepared him for this personal confrontation with the undefeatable demon from the mountain country.

The guard had worked the stadium security duty for ten cycles and had never been put down, yet this man had run over him and his partner as if they were a pair of unruly children.

"Please," he begged, "I yield!"

Ron pressed the point into his chest enough to penetrate the leather armor and draw blood...and then he growled a deep, hateful sound that turned the prone man's blood to ice.

"Men should not support the Kreete!" was all he said, and then he was moving again, up the next section of steps...the staff discarded and both spears firmly in his hands.

The guard lay there for several borts, too shocked to move. He'd heard the talk of countless attendees saying that they were convinced that Shartae was known in the west as 'Ronin'...the Caronian warrior of justice. They all believed that Ronin would one day escape and lead his armies against the Kreete, and that the scourge of their rule would be driven from Caron forever. He vowed to himself at that moment that he would join the resistance. This devil of a man was the true Ronin...he doubted that no longer...and he would follow that maniac-man to the gates of Pigonta if he ever found him again. No army could fall with him at the lead!

Ron stumbled up the last of the climb and ran out onto the upper veranda of the arena complex where the poorer patrons made their way from the seating area to the long side-stairs and out of the stadium. He felt the wind whipping through his matted, blood-soaked hair, as it was quite blustery up at that level, and it gave him a renewed surge of hope...even as his every step left a pool of his life fluid behind.

The area was thick with people who eventually all turned in an ever-expanding wave to regard the demon-man who was loose among them...and then they fell away from his intrusion as quickly as they could. The women who'd just screamed in support of him were screaming for a different reason now, hauling their children away from his frightful visage.

Ron gave them no thought as none were either armed or impeding his movement, and went back to his surveying of the vicinity.

There was a chest-high wall of stone around the entire area and he pressed his body against it to check his position. A hundred feet below were the exiting masses of the fans of the games, and they all seemed to have reversed their routes, frantically trying to regain entry to the facility. Apparently the news of the escape attempt was out!

He saw what he needed instantly and leaped up onto the crest of the wall.

A spear tip slammed against the stone next to his left foot and Ron promptly returned fire. The Kreete guard that was rushing in was a fool. His sword was drawn and he tried to deflect the heavy spear but Ron's throw was not to be denied, taking him off his feet and down a flight of steps to his death.

The escaping prisoner clambered along on the peak of the foot-thick safety barrier rather shakily; his left leg responding only partially and that slowed him down. But it was a far cry from stopping him. His goal was near and as he approached it he glanced hastily about for more enemies. Finding none, he slipped over the outer edge of the wall and dropped ten feet to a heavy wooden support beam that was jutting out right there.

This two-foot by two-foot shaft of fine, straight, rot-resistant boogda wood was used to brace up the cantilevered awning which protected much of the upper spectators from the intense sunlight and any rain that might fall. It also did double duty to stabilize an enormous piece of ornamentation that was unique to this particular venue.

Spaced seventy-seven peors apart, all the way around the stadium, were enormous replica spears that reached upward from the base of the structure to well over the highest point of the stands. They were very ornate and kept highly polished as well as sharp...designed to imbue the might and power of the Kreete. From a distance they made the coliseum resemble a giant crown with majestic spires, the way they leaned fourteen degrees outward from vertical. They were held fast to the massive beams, like the one Ron stood on, by huge clevises. Those metal loops pierced the wooden shafts near the very ends of their lengths, just below where they attached to the giant metal spearheads.

Ron hastily scrambled across the thirty-foot long support beam and promptly dropped to his belly on the rough, hot wood. Once prone, he used his own spear as a drift to pound on the large pin that held the clevis in place. The entire assembly shook under his assault, but it was very resistant to his efforts and he was bursting with sweat before it ever began to move.

A few moments later an arrow sunk into the beam at Ron's side, an inch from his ribs, and he pounded the pin even harder, frantic now. It slid half way through the heavy, solid beam before he regained his feet and turned the spear around to work it as a lever to pry the device the rest of the way free.

Three more arrows ricocheted from the tree-sized shaft of the giant spear and he started to wonder if he'd gambled his freedom away in this insane avenue of escape. But the strong, gusting wind that was threatening to blow him from his perch was supplying him with a good bit of aid as well since it was playing directly against the efforts of the soldiers to shoot him from their distant position.

They would have to get closer.

Suddenly he felt a strong thump and glanced over to the point where he'd first gained his precarious location...a Kreete scout was there now, having dropped from a hastily cast rope. He looked up at his fellows and they tossed him a crossbow, but it wasn't yet ready to fire so Ron had a few litas to play with as the soldier balanced himself nervously and loaded the weapon.

Ron threw all the strength of his dorsal muscles into the leveraging of that spear shaft and felt the pin move a bit more. The problem though was that as it slid out, more of the weight of the ornament was trying to shear it off, and that transfer of force bound it up even more.

Ron then heard a loud command over his shoulder.

"Stop what you are doing and get over here or I will shoot you where you stand!"

"Then shoot me, shitbag!" was all he replied as he threw every ounce of his weight and strength against the bending wood once again.

The safety pin as thick as his arm suddenly shot out of its mooring and flew away like a missile, and Ron very nearly went off the other way. The spear he was using as a pry-bar sprang out of his hands in a flash and streaked for the ground while he fought for his balance like a shaky tightrope-walker.

The Kreete who'd been sent to retrieve him dropped to his knees, firing wildly in the process as the thick beam shook harshly and vibrated from the sudden release.

Ron clutched at the weatherworn wood with a death grip until he noticed the colossal spear was in motion. It was a foot and a half away from its anchored position and accelerating.

Ron shot a look at his pursuer and then dove after the gigantic retreating weapon. It was a desperate attempt and succeeded only because the base of the twenty-foot tall ornamental spearhead was fashioned with multiple cutouts built into it. Those holes were invisible to the casual observer but were hand and foot-holds instrumental in the construction and maintenance of the artifact.

Ron grappled with the steel head and found it to be extremely hot on his unprotected skin, but the burns to his hands were better than the alternative so he held firm nonetheless.

The enormous spear moved slowly at first as it tilted at an ever-increasing angle, heading toward its inevitable resting place far below...and at that point, people on the ground began sprinting from its path.

When he was safely aboard, Ron began working his way upward toward the tip as fast as he could before the acceleration of it made such movement impossible. It was difficult to accomplish because his left leg was jolting with spasms and he couldn't feel his left fingers, but he forced himself along in spite of it. He knew he would need every available foot of length he could manage if he were to survive the next few litas.

The wind began to whistle through the handholds in the metal and he felt his stomach trying to escape as he and his mount began the downward plunge. His left arm was nearly useless by then...the hand on that limb curling into a half fist and totally unresponsive. His left leg too would no longer support him, forcing him to clutch at the spearhead awkwardly while his mind clouded with indecision.

Ron shook his mangy head violently and his thoughts returned to the sharpness he needed as his final daring action rapidly approached. The Kessleton River lay just across the street from the stadium and it was getting closer with every pulse of his anxious heart.

The huge stone block that was hollowed out to accept the base of the massive spear was designed to hold it in place against wind and weather but was never meant to support the tremendous weight and leverage that was now placed upon it. So when the spear passed thirty degrees from vertical, that mortise exploded like a cannon shell in a dramatic shower of granite chips and dust that forced everyone within earshot to dive to the ground.

The ornamental weapon then passed forty-five degrees and Ron's timing told him it was now or never...and he leaped! His body barely managed to clear the tall spire of the tip, but it did, and then he was sailing free...and falling fast.

The shaft of the hundred-plus-foot-tall spear crashed into the ground with enough force to cut through two buildings as if they were made of paper instead of stone and mortar. At the butt end, the base of the device bounced violently free of its anchor point and took out twenty feet of the facade of the stadium as it settled. Opposite that, the spear tip sliced through a beautiful, custom built and extravagantly expensive sailing yacht owned by a wealthy Caronian gambler, and then destroyed the dock as well.

Every observer that could possibly have witnessed what came next was either ducking for shelter or too scared to open their eyes...and that gave the escapee exactly what he needed...diversion.

Ron hit the river's surface feet-first, hoping he had enough deep water to keep from slamming into the bottom, and was rewarded with just such luck. The only drawback was that by then he could hardly swim with two of his limbs ignoring his commands, so he focused on calming himself to conserve his limited air supply.

He stopped himself from sinking at around twenty-five feet down and opened his eyes. The river was fairly clear for such a wide, navigable waterway, giving off only a slight yellowish tint. A large fish swept past him as he gazed upward at the brightness of the surface, and the sun high above looked like a warped glowing beacon guiding his next move.

The water at that depth was cool and relaxing, even helpful in his endeavor to collect himself...to focus. Soon he began controlled, powerful strokes with his good arm and kicked in unison with his still working leg.

His heavy-worlder body had saved him on too many occasions to count but to his immediate chagrin, did not help his present situation in the least, adding too much weight to his task. In spite of his strength, determination, and willpower, he was barely moving upward and running out of air far too quickly. Once more he had to consider that his desperation to escape captivity may well have cost him his life.

"So be it!" was his single thought, completely willing to make the trade.

He fought onward nonetheless, gaining several more feet but knowing he'd come up short in the end. He didn't panic, didn't curse his maker, and didn't stop fighting. To give up never crossed his mind.

That's when luck, destiny, or fate, stepped in yet again.

Ron was beginning to gray out from lack of air and was still a good six feet from the surface when his extended hand slapped against something in the water. He recognized it instantly...a rope!

One of the river way's cargo barges was floating by, unknowingly dragging a mooring line that was just then gliding across Ron's shoulder, so he latched onto it quickly and hauled away, still kicking as strongly as he could.

He burst through the surface and gasped deeply for air, so thrilled to feel his lungs expand that he nearly cheered. He sucked in hard a few times before remembering the danger he was surrounded with...and that he needed to keep his movements as stealthy as possible.

The barge was drifting down stream at a good pace and he looked around carefully. The shoreline was crowding with people, all shocked and startled at the recent events, and even the men on the barge were transfixed with the incredible destruction caused by the spear. Many pieces of debris were still landing in the water all about, and Ron was grateful of that since it masked his own position all the more.

His practical, resourceful, cunning mind leaped back into survival mode in a flash and delivered a plan. He took a long, slow, deep breath and let himself submerge again, the barge pulling him swiftly away from the scene...and any pursuers.

The water quelled and soothed the fire racing through his body and Ron welcomed it with deep gratitude. He knew that heat was the poison spreading through him, so he concentrated hard on keeping his movements as simple as he could, hoping he could fend off further spread of the paralysis.

He repeated this surface-submersion action for the next three billots, staying up only enough to get a gulp of air and then hiding once more.

Finally however, the barge went slipping around a tight turn in the river and Ron found himself dragging along atop a sand bar. That extra stress put too much strain on his weakening grip and the rope tore from his weary hand, leaving him beached in less than two feet of water.

He stayed still and was able to maintain his concealment until the boat was out of sight before he began crawling slowly toward the shoreline.

He was in a remote stretch of wilderness and in horrible shape. His left calf was drawn up tightly against his thigh and would not move. His arm was similarly shriveled to his chest and worthless...and he was sure his left lung was barely inflating at all.

Nightfall was looming and he was going to be helpless in the wild Caronian backwoods for an unknown amount of time before the poison could work its way back out of him...if it ever did. His mind wondered momentarily about whether he was better off here or in his cell...but that lasted scarcely long enough for him to squash the thought. He would take a slow death in the free air of the wilderness over santaris of further torture any day.

He struggled up a high bank to dry ground with the very last of his remaining strength and collapsed under a large tree...his body cold and his breath coming in fits.

### Chapter Thirteen

### Am I Dead?

Ron jerked himself alert at the sounds of metal on stone. The room he was in was very dark and smelled of animals with a sour, pungent, musky scent. Off in the distance, possibly two hundred feet away, someone was dragging a heavy chain across a hard, rough surface, and they were moving in his direction. That metallic jingling-scraping noise echoed distinctly three times, giving Ron the thought that whomever was coming strode down a relatively long, narrow corridor lined in stone. He tried to rise but found he was restrained. He struggled harder but could barely wriggle at all and so his head whipped back and forth as he searched out the means of his entangled form...his skull striking an obstruction on both sides.

"What the sh...!" he thought as his badly bruised and swollen head was further aggravated.

He was in a cage! It was made of heavy wire woven into one-inch squares, and it encased his body completely like a sarcophagus...form fitting and sturdy.

Being pinned down always unnerved Ron, so he threw his considerable strength against the structure again and again...ignoring the searing pain that racked his entire brutalized frame in his frantic desire to escape.

After he was convinced he could not break free, he lie there panting and thinking. Where were his guards? When had they inserted him into this contraption? What were they going to do to him now?

Then he heard it.

At first he thought he was mistaken, but after a few tense moments the noise repeated. It was a soft scratching sound and was at a short distance away from where he was pinned...in the same room. He quickly calmed himself so that he might listen better and heard it more clearly this time.

To his right was a scurrying clamor of multiple creatures. They were small and moving fairly slowly, but scuttling about all the same. He couldn't see them directly since his restraint would not allow enough movement, so he continued to listen. The scurrying grew louder and closer as time drew on and Ron's heart began to race. He knew he was in a very bad predicament and it was getting worse by the lita. Finally he felt something brush up against his leg and he flinched, setting off a dozen creatures to scampering about in great haste.

He did everything he could to remain calm and quiet but his situation would not allow that and his pulse quickened all the more. It wasn't long before the feeling of that furry intruder returned and was joined by several more. Then he felt the little beasts begin to lick him.

Being completely covered in dry and oozing blood, he knew what would come next. A deep, familiar, guttural voice came from a small window in the only door to the cell where he lay trapped in the wire cage.

"Tell us where we can find your accomplices," the voice said in a gravelly tone, "and all of this will go away!"

Ron's mind raced even faster at that proclamation because he knew with absolute certainty that it was not going to go away. No matter what he said or how much he confessed, this was what they loved...a helpless soul at the mercy of animals.

At that instant, the lights flashed on and he got a glimpse of his predicament. The entire cage was covered with rats! They all dove in at him as one, reaching through the wire and sinking their teeth into his flesh in a feeding frenzy.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhh!" he screamed so long he thought his lungs would burst...and then he gasped a huge breath and forced open his eyes again.

The rats were gone, as was the cage. The light and his tormentor too were absent. He was alone and all was quiet save the never-ending symphony of sounds that made up the wilderness night. The stars were out in spectacular fashion, and Urac, the larger of the two Caronian moons, ensconced the night with soft light shining in at him through a large opening which served as a window beside where he lay. The acrid smell was gone as well, replaced by the sweetness of the cool night air drifting across him as gently as a lover's sleeping breath.

He was partially covered with a light material of some kind; a sheet, or thin blanket, and was lying on a soft surface that provided a good deal of comfort, but he did not feel at ease. Such accommodations would normally have left him quite content, but at the moment it did not because for some reason he couldn't move.

Ron heard a very soft sound to his right, like someone shifting their weight on a cushioned surface, and he rolled his head quickly to that side...a growl rumbling menacingly from his chest. The world swam out of focus instantly, causing his stomach to churn and his chest felt like it was on fire.

"The poison!" he rationalized.

"Do not try to move," instructed a light, feminine voice from off to the side. She sounded quite sleepy, like she'd just been awakened from a sound slumber. "It will make the sickness worse. Stay calm and relax...you are getting better."

His escalating anger at being restrained abated just a hair with that soothing reassurance...the lilt in her voice having a tranquil, almost hypnotic effect on him, but it did not quell it.

Ron laid his head back and breathed slowly until his vision stabilized enough to allow him to reconnoiter, so he slowly raised his head a bit to survey his surroundings. It took a few moments to process what he saw. When he did, he was completely shocked to find that he was in an ordinary room which contained furniture, chests, ornamental wall art, and lamps.

This place was someone's home!

The room tilted suddenly, as if he was just getting off one of those carnival rides that twirled rapidly and made his legs weak, but he fought the nausea a while longer and glanced down his body. He only managed a glimpse before his vision began warping badly out of focus and his head started to reel, but he was sure he saw half a dozen hoses plugged into the left side of his body, from his chest down to his knee.

Before he even had a chance to ponder that disturbing sight though, a flush of heat swept upward from his stomach, through his chest, and pounded into his skull with excruciating, mind-numbing force. He gasped out loud against the pain and valiantly resisted a strong urge to retch before his head fell back to the at-rest position. He was out again.

Something struck Ron in the face hard, rousing him to full consciousness once more. He looked up and found his vision was greatly impaired. One of his eyes was completely shut and the other was swollen half closed. He shook his head to the side in an attempt to clear his thoughts and received a monumental complaint from his jaw...it was broken.

"If you do not cooperate," a voice was booming into his brain, "then we will just continue this session until you change your mind!"

He felt a hard object slap against his side and heard a rib crack, followed by another gut-wrenching compulsion to puke. He retched violently before his mind spun away into a place that only he could go.

It was the end of his second week of interrogation and he was standing in a large room surrounded by Kreete soldiers, each holding a thick wooden baton. The chamber was large enough to hold several individuals other than himself, with plenty of head room for the Kreete soldiers. There were seven of them standing around the perimeter of the place and Ron could tell they were having a grand time as they waited their turn at him.

First, one would ask a question and then strike him when he did not answer. After he was done they would move to the next, then the next...then the next. So it had gone, nearly non-stop for six days in a hot, damp, miserable dungeon in a town Ron didn't even recall anymore.

The doctors had patched his body up after his initial escape attempt and the Kreete allowed him time enough to heal until he was no longer under imminent threat of death from the wounds he'd sustained. But since that determination was made by the physician, the only water he'd been given was when it was thrown in his face to revive him, and he hadn't eaten at all.

He was naked and held in place at his wrists by shackles attached to the two side walls with long chains that stretched his arms out horizontally, and still other such devices kept his feet in place as well. He was totally defenseless to their brutality and had so many broken bones; he couldn't begin to guess at the count.

They'd grown more careful though, not to do enough damage as to result in a life threatening injury...at least after the second time they stopped his heart.

Early into his questioning, when they were using less physically damaging methods, a clumsy scout erroneously laid his agony wand, set near maximum, too close to Ron's sternum, and the resulting jolt had arrested that powerful muscle. However, they were ready with a medical team stationed in the room just for that purpose and so they revived him forthwith, but left him in extreme agony as the burning sensation of the wand lingered for billots.

They also stopped striking him in the head after one irate interrogator lost his patience and broke Ron's jaw with a two-handed baton stroke that came close to cracking his skull. They feared brain damage when they couldn't rouse him and had to resort to their advanced medical technology for answers. Their doctors scanned him and found swelling inside his cranium. They warned the Master Killer in charge that if they did too much damage, he wouldn't be able to tell them what they wanted to know, so head strikes were subsequently forbidden.

Ron hung his head low after the retching stopped, and didn't respond at all when the door opened and a new Kreete leader entered. He was a huge fellow and was heavily adorned with tattoos...and he wore the garb of a Master Killer but his tunic also had black, ragged, streaks that resembled claw marks made into it. He was a Reaper class warrior.

"I hear that you have been extremely uncooperative with our interrogations this week," he told Ron in a matter-of-fact manner. "I am here to remedy that."

He was carrying a small box, which he placed on a table off to one side. He then approached Ron and slowly walked completely around him, examining the punishment he'd endured. This new warrior was quite impressed that a mere man was still standing. He couldn't find a single spot on Ron's body that didn't have deep bruising, a stab wound, a burn, or the torn stripe of the whip.

"You are very strong!" the new fellow acknowledged with a jovial note. "That is excellent!"

At one point, days in the past now, Ron had reached a level of pain that caused his body to quake and spasm uncontrollably. At that time his assailants got even more brutal in their measures because they thought they had finally broken him, but instead, his heart had simply shut down again. They brought in the medical team once more to restore his autonomous functions and revived him, but his body had already moved on into complete shock and his pain receptors were almost completely burned out.

Now he was just drifting along in utter, total anguish. It was a foggy, unfocused bombardment to his senses that he could no longer separate. He was not allowed to die and he could not think. His breath was torture, his pulse was torture...he just existed in unending agony.

"I am Dragarr Soaden, and I have a very special gift for you," said the Reaper class warrior. "We have ways of going beyond the level of pain you have endured...to reach a pinnacle of torment that one would assume did not exist. No 'man' has ever survived long enough for us to have need of this...not until you. Now we will see what you are truly made of."

The huge soldier opened the shoebox-sized case and removed a long needle from an assortment of similar devices. He then returned to Ron stroking it affectionately.

"If you have anything to say, I suggest you say it now and avoid this procedure."

Ron just stood there swaying back and forth, hoping life would not leave him before he could exact his revenge on those who'd betrayed him...that is, until Dragarr began his craft. Once that demented, sadistic expert went to work on Ron's haggard, broken body he would have gladly cast his revenge to the wind as he wished with all his soul for death.

Ron screamed...

Suddenly his eyes opened again and he was back in the soft bed and could hear a light rain falling outside the room he was in. The droplets sparkled in the sunshine of a new morning and he heard someone out the window calling across a distance:

"How are they biting today, Calobe?" Ron heard that same sweet female voice say.

"Great," a younger voice called back, "I have two big ones already...see? Please forgive me, but I can't stop today so I'll see you on the trip back."

"Okay! How long this time?"

"Maybe a santari. The slags are all wound up about something. They're delaying all the traffic."

"The fighter they call Shartae escaped from Gratoon!" cried another male voice, one deeper and more forceful. "They're hunting for him upriver."

"Oh! I have heard of him," replied the woman.

"They say he is the greatest fighter anyone has ever seen...including the Great Lord," added the older fellow. "Well I hope he stays free. He gives us all hope."

"Bye now!" called the younger voice.

"Bye!"

Ron tried to think about that conversation but couldn't. He thought he heard the boy's voice beside him, and scanned the room for the source of it, but his mind just clouded up again when he moved and he couldn't concentrate.

He raised his head enough to see himself and noted that the covering was red with his blood, and the hoses that attached to him were larger...and moving.

He felt a wave of panic shoot through his body and saw the door at the foot of the bed swing inward, but his vision was wavering badly again and he lay his head back down.

He caught the distinct fragrance of jasmine in the gust of air that swept through the doorway and it soothed his worry. He tried to form a question for the person who had entered, but he felt his thoughts melting away once more and couldn't fight it.

The heavy door made of iron grating swung out toward him and he backed up to gain what small amount of room he could. There were deep growling sounds emanating from the opening and he recognized them instantly...wolves.

Ron stood in the hot, blazing sun, dripping with sweat mixed with blood from his most recent whipping. The Kreete didn't like him winning all the time so they thought a good scourging would remind him of his servitude.

It was his second santari in the Retribution Games circuit and he was much stronger than when he'd started. His uncanny knack for thwarting even the most well planned attempts to match him up with a superior opponent was driving many of the Kreete furious. Others however, were jubilant; intent on padding their purses as they gambled heavily on his matches...always for him to win. Whatever side the Kreete leaned toward though, they felt a couple dozen lashes with a metal-barb-laced leather whip kept him at the peak of his survival performance...his hatred driving him to persevere.

In this particular event he was given a long dagger...or rather the dagger was tossed to him after he was shut inside the ring...so he knew the match would be a tough one. His mobility was still substantially hampered by a badly gashed calf muscle from his last contest against a greel on the previous day. Before he was able to dispatch it, the beast had connected once with its long claws, so now he worried about how he would fare against such quick and agile creatures.

The first wolf entered the arena and halted, sniffing the air and scanning the opening for danger. Its chocolate brown coat wafted and fell in the swirling breeze of the stadium, and its yellow eyes combed the scene with great care. It spotted Ron quickly and edged around to one side of the circular sparring structure, barking lightly. The next two animals came out and moved the opposite way, trying to circle around their quarry. One was charcoal grey and the other was pitch black. They all began issuing low growls and coughs that told Ron they were communicating with one another, coordinating their attack.

The wolves were large animals, easily the size of a Rhodesian Ridge-back or Saint Bernard, and would nearly match Ron's weight as well. Their jaws were lined with jagged teeth that were meant for tearing animal flesh and were immensely powerful, able to crush Ron's arm with ease should they get the chance.

He felt he could handle one of the beasts...possibly two, but three was heavily favored against him.

The beasts prowled slowly around the perimeter of the arena as late betters clamored to put money down on the contest. It was a raucous group in the stands, and more than one argument ended in a scuffle, but Ron never flinched in his concentration. As the beasts surrounded him, Ron gathered two hands-full of the loose topsoil and waited.

Ron knew these creatures existed only because they were excellent hunters, and so he also knew he would have to count on his own innate abilities and ferocity to prevail in this fight. The red haze of fury slipped into place as he watched those yellow eyes glare at him.

When the others were in position, the grey male (the alpha) approached Ron from the front. Ron knew their strategy. The leader would want the first shot, to show his superiority. At the slightest surge from the grey the three converged in a perfectly synchronized attack; one leaping high and the others striking for his legs.

Ron didn't wait for the move however and instead, attacked on his own. He jumped at the alpha just as the creature left the ground, his half-pound of grit leading the charge. The cloud of dust allowed Ron an instant of time to shift his body down a hair without the wolf seeing him, and then use his superior size as leverage to offset the beast's plans. By driving a forearm up under the jaws of the wolf, he got just enough room to punch it in the throat hard. That suppressed its attack and knocked it off to one side, causing it to land heavily on its flanks.

The other two missed Ron's leaping feet by mere inches and followed after his diving figure as soon as they could stop. He rolled quickly and engaged the brown one as it dove at him, its gaping jaws spread wide.

Ron was relying on Kaskle's instincts with such animals and knew he could stop the attack if he could land a solid punch on the snout of the great dog, but that was easier said than done. Instead of its nose, Ron's fist thrust deeply into the very gaping jaws that meant to destroy his appendage, its front teeth raking four new grooves into his wrist and forearm.

Without so much as a surprised expression, Ron grabbed a firm hold on the corner of the beast's mouth, wedging his thumb in the back of its throat. It was a brilliant move since the wolf couldn't clamp down on his hand because it gagged heavily from the foreign intrusion.

Ron immediately planted the dagger completely to the hilt in the ear hole of that giant dog, and then spun away in one incredibly quick, smooth motion. To the audience, it appeared that he'd planned the entire clash. The wolf simply fell to the turf without a twitch.

The alpha was on its feet again by that time but hacked violently at its discomfort from Ron's abuse, so Ron ignored that one and braced for the third. It stayed low and lunged, jaws snapping at his legs, but didn't present itself to him in a contact manner. He could tell the animal was just keeping him busy while the alpha recovered.

Ron dove for it, but the wolf was simply too quick for him and it backed away to the side, comfortably out of his reach. It circled him, growling menacingly, and he felt certain it was maneuvering him so the alpha could have another go.

Ron backed around until there wasn't enough room for the beasts to get behind him, and then he braced himself. When the wolves attacked again, they once more moved as a team. Just as before, Ron lunged forward first to disrupt their plan and was able to separate the two. He drove his knee up under the frothing, gaping jaws of the ebony animal to his right and grappled with it, his left arm slipping under its jaw and his right sinking the long dagger deep into its back. Then, using that as a handhold, he grasped his right wrist with his left, locking his arms together...which were now wrapped tightly around the creature's neck.

Ron's hold also removed the beast's use of its forelimbs, and he was so close in that its teeth couldn't be brought into play either. He twisted quickly, blocking the alpha animal aside with the body of the one he held, and then he spun around and charged the stone wall of the arena. It was barely three steps away but when he reached it, he was at full speed...driving ahead like a fullback attacking a one-yard goal line.

Ron slammed that animal against the wall with enough energy to snap its spine and crush its ribcage, but its partner was right there and took revenge on Ron with all the malevolence it possessed.

Ron was tracking the alpha by sound and knew it was right there, so he jerked his body to the side as quickly as he could. That blinding move was the only reason he survived another moment too, because his unprotected neck would have been ripped open had he not. As it was though, his entire right shoulder disappeared into the jaws of the alpha wolf, and his hold on the dagger vanished.

"Aaaaahhhhh!" Ron roared as he spun around in an attempt to break its grip, releasing the other, limp wolf from his own grasp.

The huge dog clamped down with incredible pressure. Its three-inch long upper canines sank deeply into Ron's thick pectorals, and its lower fangs hooked under the edge of his shoulder blade...and then it shook him with all its immense strength.

The power and weight of the animal disrupted Ron's balance and took him off his feet, driving him to his knees, and the crowd went berserk! The wolf was trying to rip its way into a vital part of his body, and if Ron couldn't somehow counter that hold, it would do just that.

Every patron in the stands was on their feet and screaming at the top of their lungs...be it for one beast or the other...but the singular fact was clear to all; Shartae was in serious, if not hopeless trouble!

Ron was well aware of that fact as well, and it only inspired him to dig deeper for the savagery needed to match his adversary.

Ron's right arm was useless, due to the remarkable power of the wolf's jaws, so he threw his left hand back and grabbed the long, stiff fur of the wolf and pulled. The alpha did not budge, locking onto its target like a pit-bull and continuing to shake. The two of them rolled on the ground several times, bonded together as they were in a fight to the death.

Ron could do nothing with that twisting, growling, rending creature to rid himself of it so he took a new approach. At a point when his feet were directly beneath him, he suddenly leaped up high into a half forward somersault, intentionally diving down onto the very shoulder to which the beast was attached.

Ron's body weight crushing down on that animal's head did the trick, breaking its hold and flinging the two combatants apart a good ten feet.

He and the wolf rolled free and came up ready for more, each facing the other with teeth bared and growls of equally intimidating volume.

Blood flowed freely from Ron's shoulder where two deep punctures on the front and the back were merely the beginning and the end of a horrific wound that lay open from where the wolf's teeth had ripped free, but he paid that no mind at all. His focus was on returning the damage to his challenger.

The audience roared again when Ron broke free and every person was so riveted on the scene unfolding before them that not a single eye blinked for the next few borts.

"Shartae! Shartae! Shartae!" screamed the crowd.

Ron heard nothing of that. His own eyes and ears were locked onto the beast.

The man and the wolf suddenly charged one another like two mountain sheep, and at the last, Ron smashed his iron fist into the snout of the crazed dog, missing its fangs by millimeters. The beast yelped sharply as its head ducked quickly from the pain, and Ron pounced. He was atop its shoulders in a flash and looped his left arm under the beast's neck before sinking his own teeth into the thick cartilage of the wolf's ear, where he could hang on. His legs then snapped around the wolf's midsection and locked there in an unbreakable hold that drove the creature even further into a rage.

They began a vicious wrestling match at that point, with Ron trying to squeeze the life from the giant canine and the animal twisting and thrashing so violently that the two of them rolled completely across the two-hundred-foot-wide arena and back.

Finally, the wolf wore down to the point where Ron was able to plant his feet enough to gain some additional leverage, which he immediately used to his advantage. He gripped the wolf's snout with both his large hands and wrenched the animals head around violently. His bloody arms and shoulders protested terribly from the strain, but he kept pulling until the alpha's spine passed the point of normal flexibility and finally snapped with a thundering 'crack'!

Ron turned loose his hold and rolled clear of his deceased opponent, stopping on his knees with his adrenaline surging and the challenge of his forefathers ripping from his lips.

The demon from the Great Mountains lived on!

### Chapter Fourteen

### Josylinia

Ron awoke with a start, feeling the ache in his shoulder as if it were brand new. It took a few litas before his thoughts could move past that harrowing memory, but then he realized it was just that and slowed his heart rate back to normal. He closed his eyes tightly and let the recollection fade into the darkness. Then, with one long breath and a forceful nudge from his mind, he took stock of his surroundings.

He was in the soft bed once again, with a firm pillow under his head this time and thick blankets covering him. The day was nearly gone and the air was chilly and damp with a light rain falling outside the window. He felt extremely weak and when he looked around he was convinced he was still dreaming. It was someone's home, of that he was certain, but that made no sense at all. Who in their right mind would have taken him in?

He put that question aside and continued his examination.

His arms were lashed down securely to the framework of the bed in four places, as were his legs and chest. He tried to move but could not. A low rumble vibrated from his chest to show his distaste to that fact, but then he hastily quelled that noise, thinking stealth might be a better tact. He was an animal in a cage...but he was a very smart animal!

Only his head was allowed mobility, so he slowly scanned the area.

There were still some types of hoses connected to the places where the poison darts had punctured his body, but this time his existence wasn't quite as hazy, and he could definitely hear and feel suction in those locations. There was no pain from them, only discomfort, so his gaze continued about his new world.

He was in a room with high ceilings and two large windows that allowed a strong breeze to waft across his bed and exit out a large arched doorway at his feet. He could smell the distinct aromas of the river and of fish that were somewhere close by and he could hear the gentle splashing of waves against a shoreline.

"You are awake." a soft female voice from behind his head said calmly.

He noticed a distinctive accent in her speech that time...like a fusion between Spanish and Italian, which he instantly found to be quite alluring.

Whoever accompanied him was positioned where he could not see, so he craned his neck to locate her. That movement caused his equilibrium to whirl horribly though, and he couldn't focus on her face when he finally found it. He grimaced sharply and slammed his eyes shut again, trying to slow the insurgence of nausea that was welling.

The woman glided to his side in a quick flurry of softly padded steps and stroked his arm with a touch so light that it tickled. That was a sensation which didn't immediately register in his mind, so long had it been since any feeling of pleasure had come his way. He jerked away out of habit, assuming pain would surely follow.

"Don't move your head too quickly," she said in a subdued, breathy tone. "Try to relax." She gently stroked his arm again. "You are safe here."

The sick feeling eased a few moments later and his thoughts grew alert again, renewing the fact that he was confined...imprisoned. He could feel his pulse accelerating, building like a tidal wave. It was unnerving, being helpless, but his angst was mostly due to her proximity since, in his world, punishment always followed proximity.

As if she could almost read his thoughts, she attempted to curtail his fears.

"The Lords are gone," she said close to his ear...close enough that he felt her breath. "No one here is going to hurt you."

Her voice was so soothing, like a mother placating a child. Ron wanted to believer her.

"I am being cared for!" he told himself with deliberate force, but it was difficult to fight his instinct to fight, to retaliate, to escape. "Stay calm!"

To accomplish his own order he drew in a slow, deep breath to mediate his primal response. When he did, he caught the undeniable scent of honeysuckle on her and it sent his thoughts down a totally different path. It reminded him of his lighthearted days as a child, picking blackberries along the train tracks with the honeysuckle vines entangled in the thorns of the berries. He relaxed even more.

"You will be all right in another day or two," she told him soothingly, her voice a bit less timid...more controlled.

Ron fought once more to focus his vision, to see his caretaker, but whatever medication he was on was extremely potent and any movement apparently caused his visual control to malfunction badly. He abandoned the attempt straight away as his stomach immediately forced a spasmodic urge to vomit and he had to switch his attention to preventing that action.

After a few long, tense litas passed, so did the urge.

He hadn't partaken in conversation with another human being in the past several santaris and had grown accustomed to the solitude, so now he felt very uneasy with a talkative, gentle, and compassionate attendant. He even considered that this was some new type of prison, where the jailers disorient you into thinking you're safe...lull you into a sense of security before they coax the wanted information out of you. Of course that did not seem likely when considering the Kreete. They never gave the impression of being the patient type, and preferred pain and punishment in lieu of subterfuge. Nevertheless, he decided to take a chance on controlling the questioning.

"What..sgoing...on?" he croaked with a voice that was nearly indiscernible. "Where...m...I? Who...you? What...things...on...me? Why...restrained?"

"Please try to stay calm," she responded, her voice so smooth and calming it almost sounded fake. "I am Josylinia Gitove. "Everyone calls me Josy. You are in my father's house and we are trying to mend you. These 'things' are uryan bloodworms. They will remove the largest portion of the poison from your system by siphoning your blood out. The only drawback is that they drain your body of such a large amount of fluid that you become extremely weak. However, when you eventually replace it, you should be much better."

"Yeah...feeling weak...is definitely right, I'll...give you that," Ron told her, feeling like he couldn't move even if he weren't tied down. Her willingness to answer his questions spurred his linguistics along, and even though he was suspicious, it felt extremely rewarding to speak again. "Why am I restrained?" he repeated his last question as he tried to focus on her face again.

"We know who you are, Shartae," she replied, backing off from him a step. "We are afraid."

"You're afraid...that I would...hurt you?" Ron asked the blurry form.

"Yes. You make terrifying sounds when you sleep. They are like nothing I've ever heard...not...well...human," she added sheepishly. "Nightmares, I guess."

Ron paused a moment and closed his eyes again, trying not to think of them. "Memories," he finally said.

"I am truly sorry," she whispered, and Ron could definitely tell she meant it.

"You have seen me fight?" he asked dejectedly. He felt the exact opposite of pride for what he'd done in the arena.

"NO!" she chirped quickly, surprise ringing sharply in her voice, tinged with an edge of panic. My father has, and I have overheard him describing a few of them to his friends, but not me. I am not allowed."

"That is good...that you are not allowed," Ron told her with a heavy layer of disgust in his voice. "It is brutal and senseless and cruel and horrible."

There was a long pause as both of them wondered what to say next.

"Are you in a great deal of pain?" Josy inquired.

"I have experienced worse."

"Yes, I can see that you have." There was a long pause. "May I do something for you?"

"Remove these straps."

"Forgive me," she told Ron tenderly, "but I cannot. Not yet."

"I am very hungry," Ron finally said, "Is there a possibility that I could get something to eat?"

"Yes of course...and water too?"

"Yeah, about a barrel full!"

"I will be right back."

Ron's nurse returned shortly with a pitcher of water, a tankard, and a large bowl of stew made from a variety of river creatures. She propped his head up as much as she could and held the tankard of water to his lips. He slurped it dry in a wink.

"Thank you, Josy!"

"You are welcome."

Next, she began feeding him. It smelled and tasted like heaven to Ron and he sucked it down as fast as she could spoon it into him, along with a large loaf of bread and three more huge glasses of water.

She didn't speak while she worked, and Ron could tell she was extremely nervous. Her breathing was quick and shallow. Fear of the "wild-man" he assumed...and with good reason.

After the first two santaris in the games, Ron had slowly inched his way back to the edge of humanity...mostly because of the generous food donations from the crowd. Their cheers and gifts gave him the impression that he had value...that they cared about his well-being. At the few events when he was allowed the time, he had begun processing what was said about him in the stands before his matches began. His keen ears missed little, especially as wired as he stayed when about to engage in mortal combat. He soon learned that their interpretation of his worth was not at all what he'd thought. He heard their ludicrous stories of his origins, their boasts of his many crimes, and their claims that he gained strength through the taking of lives. He never replied to any of their theories about him, but he was clear concerning how he was viewed. He was a vile miscreant, a beast of unbridled rage, a murderous, insane psychopath.

They cheered for him because he provided some much needed excitement in their lives; something unique, and they fed him to keep him strong and able to continue, but "Shartae the Invincible" was a monster.

"You are brave," he said between gulps.

Josy did not respond. She felt very much the opposite of brave.

"Thank you so much," Ron told her when he'd reached the bottom of the bowl. "I feel much better now."

"I am happy that you enjoyed it," she replied with a clear sigh. She was sitting back away from him just then and he presumed she felt much relief from that. Her heart-rate even began to slow. "It is one of my specialties."

Ron tried again to focus his eyes but could not.

"I don't seem to be able to see clearly. Is there something wrong with my eyes? Were they injured?"

"The poison has spread completely throughout your body and has reached your brain where it mingled with the normal fluid that surrounds and protects it. This condition has caused an odd affect to your optical senses...as your eyes are moved, the pooling deposits of the venom disrupts the connection to your brain, and gives the same result as if it clouded them. Also, you will need to do your best to stay calm because the bane has an odd ability to propagate itself when adrenaline reaches it, so if you get overly excited or stressed, the poison uses your own defensive system to deliver its lethal properties to your vital organs.

"It is a very powerful neural disrupter and just one of the quills of the treochy usually kills within the first few billots...and you were found with six punctures, a whole day after your escape. I do not know how you survived so long, but I fear your eyes may never fully heal. I am sorry."

Ron was shocked. He couldn't believe it. With everything he'd been through, could he really end up a blind man? His mind began to spin again, his thoughts erratic.

"I...can't concent...feel...strange!"

"I have added a tonic to your food that will calm you and allow you to sleep again, so I will say good night to you and see you tomorrow."

"Wait!" Ron mumbled. "How long...have I been..." his words would no longer form.

"Four days in this house, but two..."

The last few words she spoke were difficult to comprehend as Ron's faculties shut down quickly and his mind fell away into oblivion once more.

"Ladies and gentlemen," roared a man's voice from above the lip of the arena Ron was being led into.

He was in the city of Neetason, in the northern section of the province of Gaarde. It was his first bout in that venue and the beginning of his third santari in the Retribution Games...and this tiresome speech was all a repetitive bore to him. The guards unchained his hands and feet and backed off; drawing their agony wands in the unlikely event that Ron would attack them. Then they released his heavy collar.

The wands they brandished were all keyed to their respective owners so if Ron overpowered one of them he couldn't make use of the weapon like he did back in Tersone. There, five Kreete went down in writhing agony and the ensuing panic emptied the stadium, costing the security-overseeing commander a great deal of money, and his freedom. If it hadn't been for a responsive net crew, Ron might have escaped that day. As it was though, he was netted and wanded into unconsciousness and then scourged harshly when he recovered.

"Today's main event will pit our reigning champion, the finest chatreg fighter we have ever seen, from the ortowe mines of the northern territory of Vinress...Bracke the Barbarian...against a newcomer to our venue. This visitor has become widely known in the circuit as a skillful and ferocious warrior...a fiend of miraculous exploits of survivability. I introduce to you, Shartae the Invincible!

The stands roared to life at the introductions with cheering and profanity surging forth from the seats above. Many had come to see this 'upstart' from the south be destroyed by their great gladiator, and bets were called and taken in enormous amounts, frantic to beat the start of the match.

Ron stretched and walked about, glad as always to be free of the heavy tether that the guards confined him with, and to breathe the relatively clean air of the outside world.

He glanced up at the wispy-clouded sky with his Caronian sunshades working their magic, and caught a brief memory of flying through a sky much like that one, back on a distant world. That was before his life had been shattered and he was thrust onto the path which eventually led him here. He'd lived such an ordinary existence at that time and knew his current predicament would only have been played out in a movie theater.

"How things have changed," he thought.

The familiar screech of a heavy iron gate dragging open brought his attention back to where it should be. His opponent was striding into the dirt-floored coliseum and it was time to fight.

Bracke was a huge man. He stood half a head taller than Ron and outweighed him by fifteen percent. Atop his head was an open-faced leather helmet with designs emblazoned on it that resembled two greels fighting. He wore a heavy leather chest protector with shoulder pads that overlapped it, and each had scales of steel adorning them for added protection. His trousers were made from some animal hide, as was his boots, and both of them were sheathed in metal as well. His arms were bare in the uppers with heavy leather armlets from wrist to elbow that sprouted one-inch steel spikes to the outside regions.

He carried a long, razor edged chatreg...the same weapon the Kreete often used on Ron. It was the Kreete version of a cat-of-nine-tails, with seven leather straps each tipped with hooked arrow points. Those horrible shards of metal were designed to dig into flesh a good half inch and when jerked free, would tear that tissue in a ragged and painful fashion. Bracke also carried a shield of overlapping leather that was laced with bands of metal. The edge of the shield that faced away from Bracke was sharpened to be a cutting weapon, to keep an enemy from close-in fighting or grappling with it.

Ron stood facing him naked and barefoot, with no weapon at all.

The crowd screamed and chanted for Bracke to 'flay the skin from his bones'...and so it began.

Ron slowly circled the local champ and watched his every move, like a tiger stalking a deer...cautiously evaluating his prey. He was extremely sore and stiff from his most recent bout which had left him with a couple of broken ribs and a hole in his leg from being gored by a bartcha...a Caronian bull. The animal had run its center horn through Ron's right thigh and had tossed him fifty feet into the arena wall before it died of the wounds he'd inflicted upon it. That, together with the subsequent round of punishment for not having perished, made his current match all the more dangerous. The pain to take a breath was excruciating, and he couldn't yet put his full weight on that leg, but he disconnected his discomfort at that time like turning off a switch.

The recent trip from his last circuit stop would have given a normal prisoner time to mend those wounds and to rest and recover, but the Kreete soldiers who were his escort wouldn't stand for that. They managed to make certain his rest periods were very short and they also took turns beating him while he was chained and defenseless, just to keep his hatred sharp.

Bracke charged Ron straightaway, the chatreg whistling by Ron's ear. Ron managed to avoid it and slammed into the bigger man's shield with his shoulder, driving him back abruptly and raising the big man's own caution levels a notch.

The "upstart" was extremely quick!

Ron felt his adrenaline levels rising as Bracke made stroke after stroke at him and grew closer each time. He was proficient at the use of that weapon, and even though it was unusual to kill with it, the chatreg was a sadistic device. Ron finally timed the big man's swing perfectly, dodging the cruel weapon's nasty bite by a hair, and rushed in.

His quickness again startled the champion, allowing him to deliver a crushing fist to Bracke's jaw and knee him in the gut hard, causing substantial pain even through his armored shell.

Bracke fell back sharply but his defensive block managed to catch Ron with the sharpened edge of the shield and cut his thigh deeply. As Ron rolled free of that blow, the chatreg raked his back, causing even more of his life's fluid to drain from his system.

"Aaaaahhhhhhh!" roared the bestial creature that was Ron Allison.

The crowd exploded with cheers and whistles, half salivating at the prospects of their champion dispatching the newcomer in bloody fashion, and half screaming encouragement to the disgusting figure of Shartae...the clear underdog.

Ron gathered his feet under him and looked at Bracke with eyes that were blackened as all male Caronians were in the brightness of the sun, but that also saw more than most.

"That's just a taste of what you're gonna go through, slave!" Bracke told Ron with a thick, sarcastic, superior tone. "I've heard the stories about the mighty Shartae. Well you're in my house now, and when I'm done with you, there won't be anything left but vulture food."

The defending champ snapped that tool forward again and Ron dove to the side, rolling in haste through a tight maneuver that brought him up under the man's reach. His foot shot out and swept the legs from the hometown warrior and Bracke went down hard on his back.

With swiftness that baffled the man even further, Ron tried to tear the chatreg from his grasp, but it was secured to his arm with a heavy strap and so he tumbled away as the man's shield hurtled in his direction.

Once clear of the champ's reach, Ron retreated to reevaluate his position. His unhealed thigh-wound was seeping blood again and threatening to cramp up on him, and his every intake of air jabbed him hard, cutting his ability to keep up the pace much longer.

The weapon Bracke had chosen was constructed in such a way that dozens of metal barbs protruded from the straps all along its length. They made it impossible to grasp at the midpoint without a fistful of metal splinters jamming through the attacker's hands. That design left little room for retaliation on Ron's part. He found himself resigned to continue with his evade and outpace strategy, hoping for an opportunity to present itself.

Finally though, his damaged leg faltered when he dodged and the chatreg struck home with excruciating results. It wrapped around his waist and thighs in a wink, and when extracted, it tore open his leg wound again, blood pouring from the gash.

Ron's initial reaction was as if he had been hit with a powerful jolt of electricity, twisting away from the agonizing device as the crowd roared to its feet. He jumped clear of the returning strike and faced his opponent once again, his wrath suddenly fully exhumed.

The next few litas was punctuated with an ear-piercing cry that sent shivers throughout the crowd as they were the first in their area to ever hear the battle challenge of the Piercellione Danecore, the Aredanz Mountain clans' champion warrior. Ron stood upright with his arms out to the sides and every muscle in his incredible physique coursing with power and bulging like a statue of perfect symmetry. The audience only saw the pathetic shell of crusty filth, but under that was absolute fury...with the will and the means to vent it.

Bracke stood back for just a moment, shocked that this unarmed creature covered in blood and filth would even think to challenge him. He swung the chatreg again and struck the fellow fully across the left shoulder and the hideous nature of the weapon wrapped around his body and lodged itself into multiple points from Ron's waist to his neck. But then something happened that had never occurred before. The man they called Shartae didn't even flinch, but rather snatched the cruelly barbed strands of leather with both hands and pulled with all his strength, yanking Bracke from his feet and into the madman's reach.

The territorial champion sprawled face-first in the dirt at Ron's feet with his shield arm outstretched to brace his fall. Ron immediately dropped on that arm with his full weight, snapping it loudly enough for the patrons in the upper seats to hear the echo.

Bracke screamed from the mind-numbing jolt of pain and tried to roll over, but Ron was in control then. He kneeled on the man's neck, pinning him face down in the gravel, and wrenched his other arm around to cut the chatreg free on the edge of the big man's shield. Once that was done he plucked each of the seven strands out of his body and tossed the horrible device away, his hands dripping blood from that weapon's sharp barbs.

Ron's mind was filled with bloodlust from the battle, the pain, and the unending hatred he had for his captors, but still, he tried to leave the man in the dirt, beaten and broken. He'd done it many times before...just left his foes when there was no more threat...but this time was different.

When he threw the chatreg away, he released Bracke's arm in order to stand, but his leg with the newly reopened wound shot a jab into him that made him stumble to one knee.

Brake saw his chance and jerked a hidden dagger free, slamming it into Ron's back, just over his left hip. Shartae's reaction was instantaneous. He leaped away, arching his back sharply and grunting against the anguish of this new damage before whirling to face his adversary once more.

Blood from the wound shot out two feet, spraying the light-colored ground with its crimson sheen. He plugged the hole with one hand and bared his teeth at the arena champion...a deep, hollow, hateful rumble resonating from his chest...and then he pounced.

Bracke was on one knee by then, in an effort to take a standing position, with the dagger in his right hand, dripping Ron's blood. When Ron flew at him, he flicked that blade in a slashing motion, hoping to stop the charge...but instead, his opponent snatched his wrist in mid arc.

Ron hit him three times in such rapid succession that the crowd argued for the rest of the day about which punch was thrown first. Whatever the order, Bracke's arm was broken, his cheek was crushed, and his femur was snapped...but the wrath of Shartae wasn't over.

With a vengeful howl, Ron gripped the upper and lower edges of Bracke's body armor and hauled him up over his head. Bracke's heavy shield dangled limply at Ron's side as he pressed the large champion to the length of his arms...and then dropped him across his knee.

The big fellow's spine exploded from the strike and he instantly turned as limp as a sack of wheat. Ron heaved him up again, this time dumping him to the ground with a resounding cloud of dust erupting from under his broken body.

The champion of Neetason did not rise from where he lay.

Ron turned his face to the clouds once more and the victory call of the Aredanz Mountains shrieked from his mouth in a long, bellowing roar that brought the crowd to complete silence.

The astonishment on their faces was plain, as was their horror. Slowly though, the fantastically brutal end of the death-match registered in their minds and they began to murmur.

A few litas later they were screaming and cheering his name...their own champion completely forgotten.

It was morning again, and Ron awakened to the sounds of a flock of ducks clamoring over some juicy water critters. Their flapping and quacking sounded as if they were right under the windowsill and Ron jumped a bit at the racket. He quickly concluded he was in no danger from the ruckus though, so he slowly brought his faculties up to speed and ran a quick systems check across his body.

The first thing he noticed was that the bloodworms were gone. His vision was still a murky, cloudy blur, but he couldn't feel the sucking from the tubular vampires, and he could just make out that his blanket now lay flat. The points where they'd been fastened were still noticeably sensitive however and he could only guess at what damage he'd sustained from their use.

As for the rest of his physical state, he could detect no outward pains that might suggest serious injuries, which was a huge relief. He even took note that the restraints he was secured with were positioned in such a manner where they didn't aggravate the locations of his former shackles, which had constantly kept his wrists and ankles chafed raw and bleeding. Apparently Josy and her family were taking exceptionally compassionate care of him.

He felt much less light-headed than before, although he still couldn't see well, and then he recalled what his nurse had told him about the poison. Ron was not the type of man to admit defeat though and quickly convinced himself that his body would return to normal after enough time. He just hoped he would be given that time.

He lay there familiarizing himself with the smells and the sounds of his new prison and breathed easy. He was much surprised he could do that in his current situation, but for some odd reason, he felt completely safe.

After a long while, his thoughts filled with wonder about where he was and who his captors were, and his mind tried to imagine answers that could make sense of it. Some were complicated scenarios involving intricate and devious plots, and some were as simple as luck, timing, and kindness. Captivity of course, kept his notions leaning toward the former.

His daydreams were gone in a flash however, when a sound no other human could possibly have heard reached his ears, drawing his animal reflexes to bear on it. He impatiently stared out at a blurry spot in the air with his teeth gritted and a warning growl poised for release while he assessed the threat.

Ron had detected footsteps at the other end of the building, through the tall, shadowy archway past the foot of his bed. He tensed at that, his recent experiences having taught him that being helpless was not a state he wanted to be in, but he caught a familiar scent in the air and knew immediately that it was only Josy coming in to check on him. He sighed heavily when she called out and confirmed his conclusion.

"How are you today?"

"Much better, I think," Ron replied as he allowed himself to relax again.

"Is your vision any better?"

"No, but I don't feel as nauseous or dizzy as yesterday."

"That is very good news," Josy told him with genuine excitement in her voice. "I removed the leeches early this morning, so you should begin to get stronger again from here on out."

Josy moved over to his side and checked his usual vital signs, much like a physician would back on Earth. It was apparent to Ron that she was well versed in medicinal application as she went about his body, lifting up the bed covers and examining him thoroughly from head to toe.

"Josy, are you a doctor?"

"Not technically," she replied as she continued. "I have had extensive training in the medical field though...that sort of thing being very necessary when living so far away from such services. The Lords have an extensive knowledge of medicine and that is one area in which Caron has benefited from their presence. I was very fortunate to attend one of the best schools in the region for high education."

Ron was glad she had too, since he was in real need of her expertise.

"You still have a great deal of damage to recover from," she reported with a slight choke to her speech. "Your regenerative qualities have been put on hold while the leeches were doing their work, but now that too should be on the mend."

Ron thought he heard her voice crack, but he couldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes as she observed the amount of ruin she saw. He couldn't tell how totally sickened and appalled she was due to what she knew was the cause of the horrific scars that adorned his skin at every inch. He did gather that she was uncommonly gentle with him, barely letting the thick blanket fall back against his injured flesh.

"What is your name?" she asked quite innocently.

Ron reacted abstinently at her simple, naive question, his time with the interrogators indelibly branded into his psyche. His muscles tensed automatically and his jaw clenched shut...waiting for the lash, or club, or wand to reach his poor, battered figure.

She jerked back from him instantly, startled by his reaction, and bore witness to the foundation of an impenetrable wall being laid down between them. He was rigid and defiant at once.

His body language was clearly evident to Josy and she tried to make immediate amends.

"What's wrong..." she blurted hastily, "what did I say?"

Ron was stone.

She frantically ran the last few moments back in her head and gathered the information she needed.

"No, no, no! Please forgive me!" Josy pleaded, dropping to her knees beside his bed and ever so gently touching his shoulder with her trembling hand. "I wasn't trying to question you...please...that's not why you're here. I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by it! I was merely curious as to what I could call you. I care not who you are, or where you came from, or any of that. Please...the poison! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't get angry...that will make it worse! You must remain calm!"

She waited desperately for a reply, or a show of his comprehending what she was saying. Her entire body trembled uncontrollably.

Ron held his position for several long litas, waiting for the punishment he'd been trained to expect...but it did not come. His mind slowly began to think again. He could clearly hear the sobs in her panicked voice as she continued to plead with him and thought for a bit about what he'd been through and what she was doing for him. He decided he would venture a little bit of trust if she would.

He breathed out slowly and loosened up his jaw, his muscles easing up and settling again.

"I really need to use the facilities Josy," Ron told her then. His own voice was dry, hoarse, and grating, but it was as softly as he could manage. "Is there any way that I can convince you to let me up? I promise I will not harm you, or anyone else who does not attack me. In fact, I don't think I could do much of anything right now that could hurt you...unless I collapsed on you."

She wiped her eyes quickly and sighed with a smile on her lips, her relief quite obvious and honest to Ron's hyper-heightened senses.

It took another few moments for her to collect herself. Ron waited patiently as she rose and took a few deep breaths. He could tell she was gathering her courage.

"Father and I discussed it and decided to free you...at least while you are awake. If we're going to nurse you back to health, at some time you will have to be allowed out of this bed. You are still having terribly violent nightmares in your sleep though, so we think it best if we keep you restrained at the times of your rest periods. Will that be acceptable to you?"

"Yes, of course," Ron replied, inwardly ashamed that he couldn't control himself enough to keep these generous people from fearing him. "I wouldn't want to harm you or your family in any way...quite the opposite, in fact. I owe you my thanks, my respect, my loyalty...my very life."

"Very well then; it's a pact," she announced happily and squeezed his large, calloused fingers in her small, gentle ones.

She was still very much out of focus to Ron as she nervously removed each of the straps that held his legs and then worked her way up, so he was unaware of just how carefully she was keeping an eye on him.

He waited motionless until every one of the restraints lay aside and he saw her fuzzy form step back. Then he gingerly began to flex his extremities, beginning with his legs. His jaws slammed together again when sharp protests of pain shot through him as his muscles fought against his commands, but he continued just the same. Being locked in a prone state for so long, not to mention the ravages of whatever damage the poison had done, caused Ron's limbs a great deal of discomfort. It was a few borts before he had them moving in a manner he could manage.

He strained against the urge to express his pain in the shrieking manner he wanted to, but his battle to do so was plain, and Josy couldn't help but cringe at it. Ron heard the distinct splats of tears on the floor, but kept to his task. That at least bolstered his perception of her sincerity.

Next came his arms. They were not quite as bad as his legs, although he wondered if that was so because he expected it. Either way, five borts later, Ron rolled over onto his shoulder stiffly and struggled to a more upright position.

"Thank you very much," he told her as he gingerly sat up.

Josy did not reply, as she was too anxious to speak. She hated to see the level of suffering he demonstrated, but this was the moment she was the most concerned about.

Was he truly the mindless killer that she'd been warned of?

His head swam again as if he had a massive concussion and he could feel his heart beat pounding in his skull. He gripped his head in his hands and waited for the blood pressure to equalize in his system. At that moment, a shocking revelation struck him...he was totally bald!

His body's complaints were pushed to the back of his thoughts as he ran his fingers over his smooth scalp...although smooth was not the proper description since his skin was literally covered in fresh or partially healed wounds. He had never felt such odd sensations as that simple act produced.

"May I ask what happened here?" he inquired about the haircut.

"Oh, yes. I'm afraid we had to completely shave your body. You were so badly infested with lice that we couldn't allow you anywhere in the house before that was taken care of.

"Your first two days with us was out in the blacksmith's workshop. That's where father constructed this bed as well."

"A practical solution," Ron thought. "Thank you for...uh...taking care of that...and...um...sorry for being so disgus..."

"T-think n-nothing of it!" she cut him off, stuttering because of her nervous state. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. You couldn't have helped how you ended up...the way you were treated, and all."

Ron gave a slim, appreciative smile at her quick diplomacy. She was very kindhearted.

He then slowly slipped his feet over the edge of the bed and nudged himself forward until they set down on the floor. He gradually placed more and more of his weight on them until they began to shake badly. Josy stepped closer and then stopped at an upraised hand from Ron. He had a stern grimace on his face and a low rumble vibrated in his chest. He growled at himself for not being able to control his own body, no matter his weak state or the pain that stabbed at him with every heartbeat.

Josy took another step back, eyeing the distance to the door.

He sat there for a while and concentrated on controlling the quaking until they lay still and firm.

After a short time he looked up and smiled at the woman who was still a blur.

"That's more like it," he announced with pride.

Josy realized he was frustrated with himself...at his level of helplessness...and not with her, so she smiled back and breathed again.

Ron then slowly stood up, holding onto the bed frame tightly. It was too much, too soon though. His legs quivered badly again and his head began to spin until he thought he would fall down, but Josy rushed to his side and steadied him; without his protest that time.

Her fear of him vanished when he teetered, only thinking of what might happen should he fall against the metal frame of the bed. She ended up plastered to him at his left side, shoring him up as best she could.

"Thanks," Ron told her when he had his left arm completely around her dainty shoulders.

"You are welcome," she replied, looking straight up at the bottom of his square chin. That's when she realized just where she was. Shartae the Invincible held her tightly in his grip.

A few moments later though found her no more worried that any other man would have made her. He trembled and quaked from disoriented muscle twitches he could not fully control, and she got a good feeling of just how feeble he'd become.

Ron fought the swimming in his skull a bit longer, until it was manageable.

"Okay, let's go," he told her.

At that point, Josy learned exactly how heavy her charge was, quickly deducing that she could not possibly handle him if his legs gave out. So instead of a direct route, she guided him around the bed and along the wall so that he might help stabilize himself.

Ron stopped twice when the sloshing in his brain was too much and so it took a fair amount of time just to reach the bathroom at the far corner of the room.

Ron didn't given it any thought until she left him, but her family's home was very advanced for Caron, having indoor plumbing as it was. Once again, he was reminded of Earth with the similarities and concluded that they must be quite influential.

When he was finished, he called her back with a bell that she left for him and together they returned him to the bed in short order, where he sat down again. He felt sick and shaky all over...totally drained.

"I guess I should be drained," he silently told himself, "with those leeches sucking me dry for four days."

He was very thankful however to be able to walk and use his limbs again, and he was still confident that his eyesight would clear up soon as well, since it was a bit better now than the previous day.

"My name is Ron," he announced, feeling she'd earned that little tidbit.

He didn't see it, but Josy's face lit up with a joyful smile.

"Thank you, Ron," Josy said with a soft sigh of relief. "I hope you can find a way to believe that I am solely here to help you. I have no alliances or hidden agenda of which you should be concerned with other than aiding your recovery."

"Why?" he asked. He was still unused to the niceties he once understood when relating to others. He thought frankly...bluntly.

Josy was taken aback at that though, but Ron did not let her off the hook by withdrawing the question.

"Well...I...," she said slowly, trying to think of how best to verbalize it. "I suppose I don't really have an answer other than; I found you...you needed help...and I decided to do so."

Ron detected no falsity in her voice. In fact, he heard the exact opposite, which surprised him even more. She spoke with an almost childlike innocence and sincerity.

"I am forever in your debt, Josylinia Gitove," Ron then told her, smiling and bowing his head as far as he dared.

"That is not necess..." she began to say, and then changed her mind. "Actually, I will accept that debt...only to be repaid in one fashion."

Ron waved his right hand. "Name it."

"That you will be peaceable while you are in our care."

Ron looked shocked. "Of course...done!"

"Good. Now, sit here a moment while I fetch something for you."

Ron saw Josy's hazy figure leave the room and wondered where she was going, but was in no shape to follow, so he waited. She returned promptly with something large in her hands that he couldn't identify...until the aroma reached him.

"Are you ready to eat again?" Josy asked as she stood in the center of the room with a wide tray full of food.

"Oh, yeah! I could eat a whole pravort (Caronian cow) by myself."

Josy smiled and set her tray down on a small table off in the corner of the room opposite the bathroom.

Ron hoisted himself up unassisted and stiffly made his way over to sit at the table, leaning on the bed-frame as an aide. He saw a dark, blurry object immediately in front of him and felt it out. It was a bowl. He didn't wait for her to offer, but instead, located and scooped up the spoon protruding from the bowl, diving in eagerly.

He fairly inhaled the meal which consisted of several different types of water creatures...fish, eel, and shell animals that he didn't recognize the feel or taste of, but found palatable enough. She also provided more of her delicious bread that melted in his mouth and some strong drink that she told him was aged baca berry juice...a blue colored grape type fruit. There were parcs (Caronian apples), two versions of murge (Caronian plums), and citrus fruits as well.

"That was great!" Ron told her as he pushed away from the table and leaned back in his chair as if exhausted.

"I'm glad it was to your liking. Some folks don't care for such food."

"Well I grew up on it back where I'm from and I've missed it for a long while," Ron assured her.

The conversation fell silent for a spell, which gave Ron the chance to ask a very important question. Even though he felt safe in the woman's care, he still had the inner suspicions of a prisoner and needed more answers.

"Josy, how exactly did I end up here, in this house?"

### Chapter Fifteen

### Recovery

Josy cleared the dishes away and returned for a couple billots of talk, filling in the history of the time Ron had missed. She explained how extraordinarily chance it was that she discovered him while performing her chores around their farm.

"We had just finished the most recent harvest of our crop two days before I found you. That would have been the day you escaped from Gratoon, I suppose. In any event, I was riding out to the many different water gates we use to irrigate the fields...our crop is bounta-beans and they require a tremendous amount of water to grow properly. I was at the last station, at the northernmost point of our farm, more than a hoz away, and I was just about to open the lock to let the river water into that section when I saw a grentille.

"I recognized it as one of ours...we have about thirty of those fine birds which we use for both eating and egg producing...and it was one of the younger ones, only half grown. Well, it had apparently managed to slip out of the pen and must have been gone for quite a while to get that far from home. Such an occurrence in itself is very rare since the birds seem to like being safe in their pen and eating meals that are so easy to get, and so plentiful. At any rate, if I'd left it there, it would probably not have survived the night out in the wild, so I tied my mount to the water gate handle and headed off in pursuit of that little runaway.

"The animal was still too young to have need of clipping its wings, but it managed to get along quite handily using those stubby little things to help propel it away from me.

"I remember breaking out laughing as I ran after it, picturing what that crazy chase would look like to anyone else who might be watching, and so it took me an extra half billot to haul the little deserter down.

"Once I had the bird wrapped up neatly in my arms, I found that I'd been led well beyond the borders of our planted fields and into the neighboring forest. That is a place father has always warned me about...it being too wild for his liking and off limits to 'his daughter'.

"Well, I started back immediately and was a bit nervous as I walked along the riverbank of the Kessleton, fearful of some of the unfamiliar sounds that echoed through the woods.

She chuckled at herself as she told Ron that part of the story.

"I know full well, now, that I was imagining most of the dread I felt out there. At the time, however, I was really keyed up, and when a large fish broke the surface of the water, merely a couple steps away, I jumped to the side like a greel was pouncing at me, and fell over a large root."

Ron smiled at her ghostly image, recalling how skittish his wife always got when she was alone...whether it was at night or even in broad daylight and hadn't heard him come into the house. She always jumped and screamed when she finally saw him...and he always laughed.

"When I hit the ground, the grentille squawked and leapt away again, but I was not about to let it go that easy, so I dove for its legs. I managed to grab one of them and that just made it panic all the more, so it started flapping as hard as it could, kicking up leaves in the flurry.

She paused a few litas...recalling the fright she'd felt...and tried to hide that fact.

"Your face was directly under those beating wings, and when I towed her back to me, I glanced down and saw you there, lying in a thick bed of leaves, nearly completely covered. Well, I screamed again, releasing the fugitive bird and back peddling as fast as I could go...absolutely convinced you were going to spring up and kill me.

"I very nearly fell in the river, I was moving so fast, with my eyes still locked on you! But when you made not even the slightest movement at my commotion, I realized that you were not just sleeping. It took me a long while, but I got up the nerve to go back to you to see if you were dead. Your body was ice cold and your pulse was extremely weak but very fast, so I set off running back to my horse and flew home to get my father.

"When I calmed down enough to tell him what I'd found, we rode back there immediately. Father dragged you out into the open and examined you closer, and we both couldn't believe that you could still be alive.

"Oh, Ron...you looked so bad...so hurt...so abused."

Josy had to take a short break in her story just then...her voice catching badly as she tried to gather her emotions.

"It was horrible! 'Who could have mistreated him so badly?' I asked Father. 'And why? How could anyone deserve that?' Father was down on his knees, examining you closely when he jerked up suddenly, as if he'd been shocked. Then my father's eyes lit up like I've never seen before.

"'Do you know who this is?' he asked me just then, sweeping me back away from you with his arm, and reaching for his sword. I'd never seen him react to any threat like he did at the sight of your unconscious form.

"'No! Of course not,' I told him.

"This is Shartae! The gladiator from the Retribution Games! He is a convicted murderer! He is a madman...a ruthless killer! He is more animal than human!'

"We stood there dumbstruck for a long period of silence, watching you closely and recalling the warnings about how dangerous you were. Warrants were everywhere explaining that anyone giving you aid in any way would be sent to the prison mines or killed immediately. There were bounties on you as well as rewards for information on your whereabouts. The entire territory is flooded with every type of leaflet you can think of.

"I only knew the stories I'd overheard of 'Shartae', and I couldn't help but be afraid of you, in the beginning. After all, I had no reason to doubt the charges against you. But when you were lying there so near death...I don't know. I saw the way your body was so crippled, blood still oozing from innumerable wounds, insects crawling all over you, and the way you shivered and twitched...I don't understand why, but I knew I had to help you.

"Up until that moment my life had always been simple...safe, privileged, and separated from the cruelness of the 'real' world. This was my initiation into what most people saw as commonplace...a slave that had been badly abused and who had fled for his life.

"I turned to father and told him that the Guardian had sent you here...that you had come into our lives...into 'my' life...for some unseen purpose, and that I had to help you. I don't know if you believe in fate, Ron, but I do. I'm sure that certain things...big, life-changing things...happen for a definite reason."

Ron couldn't imagine trying to tell that young woman just how much fate had steered his own life, so he stayed silent and listened.

"Father wanted to protest for the safety of all of us, but I think he also wanted to help you. I don't think he really believed all that was said about you. He'd seen you fight...and was extremely impressed. I could tell it by the way he told people about your bouts. And he's never impressed by anything! It's like he's seen it all...but not when it came to you.

"Eventually, of course, we decided to try and help you.

"You were in such bad shape though that father didn't feel we could risk further injury by laying you over a saddle, so we returned home where the whole family hurriedly discussed what we should do and planned out the entire rescue of you. Father sent my mother on a trip to visit her family and had our house help go with her. They seemed surprised at the quickness of the journey, but when we told them it was an emergency, they just jumped into action and were gone in a few billots.

"We got a wagon ready as quickly as we could and drove out to where you lay and hauled you back here.

"We are located at the fork of the Kessleton River's smaller 'feeder' branch, the Prant, by the way.

"We worked through that night and all the next day trying to clean you up without doing more harm to your battered body, and father eventually came up with that quite sophisticated bed design you awoke in.

"Father is a genius with mechanical things," Josy proclaimed.

She continued her story for another half billot while Ron sat mesmerized by her tale...and not exactly offended by the sweetness of her mannerisms and her voice.

They had to give him powerful muscle relaxers they normally used on injured draft animals, in order to get his limbs stretched out again. When that was done they strapped him down to the frame of the contraption in which he slept. It was designed to allow complete access to his body while also holding him absolutely secure. That last part was essential too since he was prone to fits of hysteria in his delusional state.

The bed also allowed them to clean and tend the wounds of which there were so many, to shave him, and to bathe him in a large tank located in the blacksmith's shop that was meant for quenching hot iron.

As she had already told him, they worked on him for two full days out in the smithy's shop. They had to soak him a dozen times, carefully trying to remove the stuck-on crud and petrified layers of blood and torn skin that encased him before they felt he was truly clean enough to transfer into the house. They then had to rig up a rollable carriage that could handle his weight and size, plus that of the bed frame itself, and be mobile enough so that he could be moved from the shop to the main house.

When they had accomplished all of that, the bed's own hoist arrangement allowed Josy to turn him over by herself regularly so his body's burden wouldn't aggravate the sores on his underside, and so she could keep his wounds cleaned and dried.

Ron found out too that her father was currently away, as he was much of the time, selling his services as a roving handyman, of which trade he was exceptionally gifted and well paid.

"He isn't worried about you being here all alone with me?" Ron asked.

"Are you serious?" she replied with a tiny huff of incredulity. "He was practically mortified at the thought of it! But there was nothing else we could do. The reward for you is so high; no one else can be trusted! And if he altered his schedule, we were worried someone might grow suspicious and come to the house."

"Why have you gone so far out on a limb for a stranger?" Ron finally asked unable to understand such unconstrained kindheartedness. "One whom you admittedly fear?"

Josy looked at him for a long while, and then looked away, out the window.

He saw her blurry image move as if uncomfortable, and wanted to retract his question, fearing he'd insulted her, but he played a hunch and waited instead.

"When we held our family discussion, father told us that when he witnessed you fighting in mortal combat...in the arena...that he was amazed at the purity of your skill, and of the intelligence you demonstrated. Also, he perceived something else in you...something intangible and unexplainable. Even in the horrible, squalid condition you were in, he said you seemed...noble. That is all. He would say nothing more. I trust in that."

"What about you?" Ron pressed, wondering what this woman was thinking about the savage creature she cared for in her house. "You have cared for me for a week now. Is there something _you_ see in me? Or is it just faith in your father...or your fate?"

She turned back to him and locked her gaze with his. She leaned forward far enough so that she could see the back of his retinas through his steel gray eyes. He was completely aware of her close examination but made no move at all, allowing her the inspection.

After a long moment, she sat back in her own chair and let out a long breath. Ron could tell by the sound of it that she was smiling.

"Yes, I do suppose I've seen something. After all, you haven't a stitch of clothing on!"

Ron's entire body tensed at that revelation, and he flushed bright red...very uncommon of him. He'd been denied clothing since his capture almost six santari ago, so he hadn't even given it a thought.

"O-o---oh!" he stammered. "I see...well I guess I should...I mean, I'm sorry for...uh..."

Josy broke out in a strong laugh at his obvious embarrassment while he casually slipped his hands down to cover his privates. He sat there for a moment, not knowing what he should do until he realized how foolish his actions were, and then he joined her in the mirth.

"We saw no need in clothing you while you were in such dire circumstances, as we needed constant access to you for monitoring and for tending, but now I'm sure that I should get you something to wear. But first, I would venture that you would like a nice hot bath...yes?"

Ron thought of how wonderful that would feel and grinned.

"That sounds fantastic! But how...?"

"Wait here and I'll check and see if it's ready."

Ron heard her leave and walk quite a distance away, and then there was a splashing sound before her sandaled feet headed back in his direction.

"It is just perfect...at least for me it would be. Come...I'll help you."

Josy slipped under Ron's arm and led him away, back down the direction she'd gone before. Again, he leaned heavily against the wall as they went, but he felt much stronger already. His body was quickly relearning movement and balance.

"Here we are," she told him as she took his hand and pulled him down until he could feel the rim of the half-sunken bathtub.

Ron moved slowly and stiffly, his every motion laced in pain as if he'd been used as a blocking dummy by a professional football team. He eventually struggled his way to the floor and then had to wait until his head stopped listing his blurry world from side to side.

The tile was cold on his bare skin, but it also helped clear his thoughts. A short while later he managed to slide over until he sat on the lip of the tub and tentatively slipped one leg in, searching warily for the bottom. Once he found it, he gingerly eased into the huge, Jacuzzi-sized pool, sinking into the heated water up to his chin.

"Oooooohhhhhh! That is ssssooooooo nice!"

The temperature of the water was a bit hot, especially on his many injuries that were still not fully closed, but the exhilaration of the warm, clean water almost made him giddy.

The tub was so large he couldn't reach the other side with his feet, and was deep enough that he had to sit straight up to keep his nose in the air. He settled down into the heavenly, scented liquid and allowed his body to submerge, reveling in the unbelievable comfort of what he'd always seen as so common a thing.

He was hovering at the bottom until he heard two distinct sounds...splash, splash. Two objects had joined him in the tub. He surfaced instantly.

"Josy?" he inquired timidly.

"Yes," she returned as she settled down beside him and touched his shoulder.

Ron jumped ever so slightly, surprised and confused for a moment.

"You are bathing with me?"

"Of course," she replied. "Your flexibility will be far too impaired for you to do a decent job of it, do you not suppose?"

"Well, yes...I guess you're right about that," he admitted as he tried to flex his arms around and found them uncooperative.

"Does this offend you?"

"No! No! That's not it at all."

"Father has told me that many races do not indulge in such activity with strangers, and that doing so is insulting."

"I'm sorry," Ron interjected hurriedly. "I don't mind in the least. I was just surprised. This would be highly irregular where I come from...but not insulting by any means. I welcome your help...and I'm grateful."

"Good then," she said as she glided up next to him and their bodies rubbed together. She had to kneel to keep her own head above the surface, and ended up straddling Ron's right thigh as she gained a position where she could comply with her task. She reached over his shoulder to grab a thick sponge she'd placed there earlier. It was in a shallow trough molded into the upper part of the rim, and the trough was filled with a heavy concentration of soap and warm water.

As she extended her arm, Ron shifted his weight to allow her more room and slipped just a bit. His instinct was such that he reached out to keep from sliding down, and his hand found something unexpected...her bare breast. It was large and full and very firm...and he recoiled quickly.

"Forgive me," he blurted automatically, his Earthly social training overpowering his male urge to return his hand to that stimulating position.

"For what?" she returned, giggling at his embarrassment. "It's only natural that you would inevitably contact some part of me...I'm not offended. Close your eyes. They might sting if the soap gets in them. This body-wash has medicinal properties and should help to kill infection as it seeps into your wounds."

With that, she carefully began scrubbing his scalp and face, taking great care at his more serious abrasions. It was extremely pleasurable to Ron and he felt himself relaxing even more. When she reached his shoulders, she pulled him to her and dunked his head.

Now it was Ron's turn to laugh as he was caught off guard and he gripped her just under her bosom and pressed her out of the water as he resurfaced. His exertion rallied a stiff protest from his atrophied muscles and joints, but her body was remarkably wonderful to hold...slim and taught...so he accepted the discomfort willingly.

"That was not fair!" he mock complained, holding her still and grinning.

Josy giggled harder and splashed water in his face. Ron let her go to wipe the water from his eyes, wishing he could see his nurse to enjoy their play better.

"Slide around to this spot," she instructed as she tugged gently on his arm.

Ron felt a section of the pool that was much shallower...maybe only a foot deep.

"Lie back here and I'll begin again."

Ron got into position and she continued with his erotically charged bath. She worked her way down methodically, tenderly, and hurried not at all...and by the time she had reached his waist, she found that he was indeed enjoying the physical contact.

"My!' she said gleefully. "I suppose this answers the question as to whether or not you were permanently damaged in the 'Games'!" she told him.

Ron had simply allowed himself the pleasure of her touch, so long had it been since he'd felt any contact that didn't instill anger, pain, or anxiety, and now his mind was deluged with all kinds of images. Some were innocent...but most were not.

"I didn't intend that reaction," he told Josy. "But your attention is extremely sensual. Once again, I hope you're not insulted."

"On the contrary. I'm pleased that my care of you is pleasurable. With the amount of damage to your body, I thought that possibly you would be forevermore ruined...or immune to such feelings."

"Well, that thought had crossed my mind too. I'm very fortunate, no doubt."

Josy finished with his cleaning a short time later and Ron was intensely disappointed at that. She coaxed him back into the deeper water and he soaked while she tended to her own body. He could tell what she was doing from the sounds of her movements, and the fuzzy images.

"Now that's not fair," Ron protested with another grin. "I should at least return the favor that you've extended me."

"Oh no. Who's the caretaker here? It wouldn't be right for me to ask that of you."

"From what I felt of you," Ron thought, "you wouldn't have to ask."

He said nothing though and just let well enough alone. After all, he knew almost nothing of this woman and couldn't even see her reaction to him. It was extremely presumptuous of him to even consider that she might have amorist feelings toward him, so he just sat back and enjoyed the soaking.

Josy finished up quickly and he saw her shadowy figure leave the tub and walk off down the way they'd just come in. She was gone for a good while before he heard the soft slap of sandaled feet approaching again.

"All right," Josy announced. "I'm ready for you."

She took his hand and guided him out of the huge tub and ten borts later she had him all toweled off and on his way back to his bedroom. The long bath loosened him up exceedingly well and he could move much more freely afterward, so he walked on his own...slowly, but unaided.

Josy left Ron at the entrance to his bathroom after a brief instruction of what all was there for his use, and then disappeared out the archway and down the hall. While she was gone, Ron managed to take care of his business and even found their version of a toothbrush along with a small container of a powder, much like the baking soda powder that was used in the old days on Earth. It was very refreshing. That was another of the little niceties that made him feel even more at ease and normal.

When he finished up, he hauled his battered form over to the bed, using the wall to steady himself, and sat at the edge of it, balancing as well as he could against the rocking, sloshing motion in his head. His distorted equilibrium was definitely waging battle with his brain...and winning.

Josy returned shortly with a long night shirt like what Lilea had loaned him so long ago, and he struggled to raise his arms to don it. That range of motion though, was a bit too much for Ron to accomplish in his present state. Josy was forced to drag the chair over and stand on it to help him. When the two of them were finally successful, Ron felt the pull of sleep sweeping in powerfully and carefully lay back down.

As the room swam and swirled to a stop, Ron felt Josy gently stroking his shaved scalp and he relaxed...the day for him was done. She then delicately positioned his limbs back to where she could secure him and strapped him back to the bed frame. When she was finished, she carefully covered him with the blanket again.

She moved away to leave at that time but a sound from Ron made her turn abruptly. His prone figure was growling a deep, rumbling, terrifying sound that made her step back immediately. She hurriedly drifted away until she stood at the archway of the bedroom where she watched him intently.

Suddenly, he threw his strength against those restraints and his head snapped back and forth quickly...he was in a battle for his life...in his mind.

Josy knew he was secured and that she was safe, but he frightened her a great deal in that moment.

She had no idea why a man such as he was now in her life, and she had so many conflicting emotions about it that her head pounded.

After a long while, Ron calmed down again and began the slow, deep, relaxed breathing of someone at peace, so she took her leave of him.

"Guardian above us," she prayed as she stole away nervously, "please guide me."

### Chapter Sixteen

### The search for Shartae

In the city of Gratoon, far to the north of the Gitove family's farm, a hasty command post was being assembled and was the center of a growing project...the hunt for the infamous fighter known only as Shartae. The Kreete commander in charge of the effort was unwelcome to say the least, but any complaints were kept in strict confidence. Brutal retaliation was something all too real in the Triad.

Several additional strike teams were called in as the search continued and expanded, and those individuals could only speculate about what they were in for when, and if, they ever found the escapee.

At one of the daily briefings, that commander made his queries.

"What progress has been made on finding the prisoner?" Treage Vitrauge demanded of the seven Hunter class Tuseptens under his new command.

"We have had no luck as of yet, Reaper Treage...Sir!" Portiale Reend replied, having already read the written reports of his subordinate leaders. He was the Slayer class Septuagent who oversaw the seven Strike Teams. "However we have only done a truly thorough search of a very small portion of the vast wilderness to the south of Gratoon. Both riverbanks have been scoured, as well as their adjoining areas as far as a hoz into the surrounding forest, for twenty hoz south. And, since that sector is mostly wild and open jungle, it will take an incredible amount of men and time to cover the area as well as we need to. But to be quite open about it, Sir, there is nothing that would lead us to believe he is there anymore. If he was able to make it onto a boat, or smuggle himself into a caravan, he could be anywhere in the province by now."

"Someone must have seen him...must have aided him in his escape!" Treage roared. "He was struck by at least four treochy darts; maybe more. No human could survive that without medical attention! He is out there," the Reaper announced with all the confidence of his class distinction. "You can rest assured that he is somewhere in this area."

Treage concluded his speech by indicating a shaded area on his map that spanned almost thirty hoz to the south of Gratoon, and encompassed ten hoz on either side of the river.

"I want a Vanguard team on each side of the Kessleton and a tight grid-patterned search plan in my hands by morning. Every town, every cave, every hollow log will be investigated...understand? That is all!"

The Kreete assemblage of Hunters and their Septuagents saluted him respectfully and then dispersed to their duties, leaving Treage alone with his thoughts.

"I know you are somewhere nearby, Kaskle. I can feel it!"

Treage Vitrauge stood at the head of a grand table in one of the large council halls in the city of Gratoon. Those halls were constructed in every major town at the command of the Kreete rulers and built initially for the purpose of relaying orders and proclamations to the human population as they became available. They resembled cathedrals, with dozens of tapestries and paintings showing the might of the Kreete Triad. The rulers of the area and their superiors were depicted in the artistry, in busts as well as full size statues. The halls were even adorned with grand, stained glass windows...the glass being a marvel in itself to the natives. When not filling that primary role though, those congregation areas were meeting places for the townsfolk, as well as for social gatherings, wedding celebrations and the like.

This new designation as a command center for the Kreete was totally foreign to the citizens, never before having had the need for such a headquarters. It was quite obvious to them all that the Kreete wanted results...fast.

Gratoon itself was not a Kreete stronghold and would typically be occupied by only a few dozen warriors assigned there on a permanent basis. But many more had been traveling there lately to witness the almost legendary fighter, the one known to them as Shartae the Invincible. Now, due to the arena's breakdown in security, the entire urban area was under tight military control, with a curfew that imposed the penalty of death for anyone who might breach it. No one was allowed in or out of the city without being thoroughly searched as well as his or her names and DNA samples taken and catalogued for future use.

The Kreete Planet-Lord had authorized the use of the technologically advanced screening due to a very impassioned speech by Treage to the planetary ruling council nearly four days in the past:

"This man is the same one who fought at the side of the Rauldens during the failed expedition to Rauld...I am convinced of it," he had proclaimed. "I do not know how he was able to fool the tests performed on him, but I would bet the Rauldens have somehow assisted him in that...to conceal his identity should he be captured. One of our own doctors scanned his skull during his interrogations and that examination has produced this!" he said as he held up a holo-image of a magnified section of the three dimensional recreation.

It clearly showed the translator chip Fortell had inserted into Ron's brain over a Raulden cycle ago.

"It was not discovered at first because of its small size and the fact that no one had been looking for it, but when he escaped, his records were reviewed extremely thoroughly. Our best guess as to what this is has been argued about for days, and we speculate that it is merely a speech aid...possibly a translator device...but clearly someone with tremendous medical technology has placed it there...like the Rauldens!

"And now, his escape from our time-proven method of handling criminals has demonstrated to the Caronian masses that we are not in such complete control of this world as we have decreed. His breakout shows our commands can be thwarted and possibly outmaneuvered here on their planet by a relatively simple man. It is an embarrassment that the council should remedy with whatever type and amount of support is necessary."

The Council listened impatiently as Treage listed the mounting failures with regard to that man and they took great offense with his assessment of the situation. Many of the members of that elite group lay most of the blame for Kaskle ever getting loose in the first place primarily on Treage and would just as soon see him executed for it. But, after much argument and deliberation, Gotliig Pigonta, the Reaper class warrior and Lord of Caron gave his blessing to Treage...but allowed him considerably less backing than he'd requested.

Treage was ordered to find and kill, or preferably capture this man for transport to Pigonta. He was allowed the use of the advanced identification tools, but only comparable levels of weapons' technology as was common on the planet...no energy weapons!

Treage's last attempt at subduing Kaskle had failed totally, even with the use of particle disruptors and a Redalien Tracker, and he would not be allowed to step beyond their regulations' boundaries again...unless he wanted to find himself fighting in the arena.

Should he be successful in securing the traitor again however, the task of interrogation would be much easier because once they got him inside their capital city, the Kreete's set of laws concerning lesser beings would be lifted. Their vast technological resources might be brought into play to extract the information they wanted from him without breaking their honor code.

As soon as Treage returned to Gratoon, the city's entire population was ordered to the stadium...the largest venue in the area. Those who could not fit into the coliseum heard what was happening through a series of vocal relays while they milled around the large structure. The human governor of the coliseum was then taken out into the combat field in chains. His limbs were tied to four treen with lengths of heavy rope, and then those powerful beasts were ordered to pull. He was slowly torn to pieces in front of the populace. The result was a ghastly display of carnage, appalling even in that place which was so conducive to gore. And then it was even further exemplified when the treen were encouraged to eat the man's remains after they completed their work.

When that was done, the city's Master Killer ranked Kreete commander was stripped of his elite stature and forced to take the place of Shartae in the Retribution Games.

"Let this be a reminder that the Kreete will not tolerate failure and incompetence in the leaders we appoint," Treage bellowed out to the crowd standing in attendance at the horrifying show which he had personally ordered.

"Now, most of you are probably shocked at the brutality of what you have just witnessed, but let me assure you all that we are not above reason and cooperation with our subjects. I have an offer that I will order to be immediately spread throughout the province.

"Anyone who knows where we might find this escaped prisoner, Shartae, or anyone who can provide us with information that leads to the recapture of this treacherous murderer, will be awarded immunity from servitude for himself and his entire family...for life! On top of that, they will be granted a one hundred thousand drauka reward!"

The people witnessing the announcement all gasped at the sheer magnitude of such an incentive. That was enough coin for a person to purchase his or her own city! Many who hadn't even given thought about turning in their champion, if they had known where he was, were instantly transformed into ardent treasure seekers. Freedom and riches! What more could one wish for?

Some of the bystanders though, felt a violent shiver sweep through them as the meaning of such a prize registered in their minds. There would be no place on the face of Caron where the great warrior could rest. He was doomed!

One of those standing in attendance was a lean young man in his late teens, and the announcement made his blood boil. He and all of his friends and family members looked up to Shartae, or "Ronin" as he was known to them, as their personal hero.

They were the people of Lampsh. They were the ones who were first to hear of the incredible accomplishments of that unstoppable man when he initially emerged from the Taerdrasseg Mountains carrying the infamous furs into their tiny river-port town. Three of the ferocious yetsole cats' skins were in his possession on that day, two of which he had dispatched himself in a fearsome conflict between one of nature's most ominous killers and the most advanced animal on the planet.

Shortly after that unfathomable tale reached the inhabitants of the town (where it quickly circulated) a new chapter in the legend emerged right in front of the townsfolk's eyes. That incredible man battled a mountain greel to the death on their very streets, using only a staff and sword. That feat raised him to "hero" status and solidified him in song and story for a generation at the very least...but such an amazing deed was not the end of his impact on Lampsh's small community. The very next day, he single-handedly dispatched the Lords' human enforcer, Criege, and his two-dozen armed men...with no support at all.

By the end of that skirmish a legendary figure had been reborn...Ronin Alsone of Erthania lived again.

Following that incomprehensible achievement came another story during a civic meeting in which the fate of Ron, and of the town, was to be decided. It was a tale from two women who'd been rescued by this fearless man from certain rape and enslavement at the hands of six highway outlaws whom he vanquished without even raising a sweat. Their respect for, and belief in that unstoppable fighter further enhanced his mystique of being the legendary defender of the people.

Two days later, while still healing from his latest battle, he was forced to face the Kreete warlord, Neadorn Bracor. He stood tall and firm in the face of certain death and challenged the Hunter class solder and his men without hesitation, just to protect the town from retaliation of Neadorn's wrath about Criege's demise...and on and on his living legend went.

Janson Raidene...the young man Ron saved from that greel back in Lampsh...slipped nimbly through the crowd, then through the nearest checkpoint, and finally out of the city. He was not detained for questioning due to his youth and his story about a personal pilgrimage to Gratoon to witness the mighty fighter. This was accepted easily since nearly a third of everyone there gave that very reason as well.

Janson turned his steed east and trotted away with no hurry in his appearance but with tremendous anxiety in his heart. A few hoz from the city, he turned southward and pressed his horse hard, feeling the urgency inside him ready to burst from chest.

It was late along in the morning of the next day when Janson reached Nurtey, the town where Jarle, Heath, and Lilea had decided to use as a base for their own search for Ron. They too felt the same dread as their youthful friend at the offer from the Kreete...and they moved their own search into an even more urgent mode.

Ron awoke that same morning to the lyrical calls of some birds flitting about outside his window and his eyes popped open to glance up at the sound, instinctively seeking out the creatures making the commotion. The sky was deep blue and had row after row of rectangular shaped clouds whisking by at high altitude. He lifted his head and felt the swirl of the venom obscure his thoughts as well as his vision, and just for a moment he cursed the situation he was in. He wanted to be whole again very badly, his inner fears welling quickly with the possibility that he would never be as he was before...and he hated being even the tiniest bit crippled.

"No!" he thought forcefully, letting out a low growl at his worry, as if to tell it never to return. "This will pass! It is only temporary!"

The outside view melted into a light blob as he laid his head back down and slammed his eyelids shut once more. He took a few deep, cleansing breaths and started again, scanning his personal space with great determination. The view was still very distorted, but he could see better...he was sure of it. Ron blinked hard a few more times before the pull of sleep totally left him. Then he concentrated his efforts on a painting hanging at the foot of his bed...and it suddenly jumped into focus.

"Yeah!" he cried out loud, exuberant about his triumph.

His internal systems had found a way to either absorb the toxin or get around it...and he didn't care which was true.

"How are you feeling today?" Josy gently asked when she heard his voice and looked up from the book she was engrossed in, finding him peering about his quarters.

The question originated directly to Ron's right, so he swung his head rapidly in that direction as he searched for his nurse, watching his world slur out of focus again, but only for a moment, and then it was back. At that instant he was able to see Josylinia clearly for the first time...and was completely astonished by her.

"Holy cow!" Ron uttered in a whispering release of air.

She was beautiful to the extreme, and Ron had to blink several more times before he believed his eyes. It was like waking up in a man's ultimate fantasy. Such a heavenly creature as her was tending his every need...well, almost his every need...and doing so with such devotion and tenderness.

"I, uh...I...what? Good! I mean...I'm much better, I think," he struggled through a reply as he watched her rise from the chair in the corner and approach his bed. Her every movement was as fluid as the breeze...almost ethereal.

She stood about five foot six, he estimated, with long curly-wavy black hair that reached well past her shoulder blades. She wore a tantalizing, snuggly fitting halter-top that was tied behind the neck and at the center of her bare back. It ended immediately after corralling her robust bosom in a mind-blowing fantasy-come-true of cream-colored cloth, and left her midriff exposed to his burning stare.

Her skin was smooth, well-tanned, and perfectly uniform in color; having a tint that was similar in appearance to a dark shade of caramel, and Ron couldn't prevent his eyes from noticing every tiny, subtle detail of her.

Her body didn't show defined muscles at her stomach, but he could easily see that she was in very good shape as her waist was impossibly slim and flared sensuously to her wide hips. Those glorious accents rocked side-to-side in a heart-pounding fashion that made Ron forget that his mouth was still open. She was unbelievably sensual and voluptuous.

Josy was wearing a "very" short skirt...no, he checked that...it was short pants with an over-wrap of a similar cotton fabric as the halter; cream colored as was her top. Her fabulous, sleek, taught legs ended in finely shaped, dainty feet inside open-toed sandals that were made almost entirely of leather lacing that looked like ribbon. She was well accustomed to the warm, humid environment...no doubt.

Ron's pulse quickened as he watched her move as if in slow motion, his attention so focused as to allow the entire world around them to evaporate. His brain was trying to get him to stop staring, but his autonomous functions would not comply.

As she reached his side and began unfastening his restraints, he studied her face. It was slim and well balanced with a slightly cleft chin, high, rosy cheeks and dimples that looked an inch deep...and her eyes! They were large and bright with lashes Earth models would kill for, and her corneas were absolutely fascinating...deeply brown around her pupil with an eighth-inch-wide ring of blue starburst so bright they practically glowed. He was completely mesmerized by them.

She couldn't help noticing his attention and glanced at him often as she freed him.

"Is there something wrong?" she finally asked, having noted that he hadn't blinked once the entire time.

"I was just...I mean, you're so...no, no, I..." he stammered until he finally took a breath and thought for a lita.

"No, nothing is wrong...on the contrary. I can finally see you clearly, Josy...and I've never been so close...seen such a...my Lord...you're so exceptionally gorgeous that I couldn't believe it! And I still can't!"

Josy stopped her work midway through the last strap and flushed so red that Ron realized he should apologize immediately.

"I'm sorry!" he blurted. "I shouldn't have embarrassed you like that."

Now it was Josy's turn to pipe up.

"No!" she cried sharply. "No, I am not embarrassed...exactly the opposite, in fact. I have had quite a secluded life, most of it here on the farm, and I have little interaction with any men...other than father and his friends; who would never even think to speak to me like that. Thank you, I am quite flattered!"

She flashed Ron a breathtaking grin and he felt his soul get pulled toward those entrancing dimples. Her smile was amazing...an easy, simple smile of perfect white teeth trimmed in full, ripe, red lips. She wore no makeup at all but Ron couldn't even imagine such decoration could add to her beauty.

Josy returned to her chore of releasing him from his safety restraints, and he watched her glistening raven hair drape her silky shoulder just before cascading down her breast like a black waterfall as it slid free. His eyes smoldered with burgeoning lust and when she cocked her head to peer at him out of the corner of her eyes, his heart skipped a beat.

"Geez!" his mind exhaled as his mouth watered heavily, forcing him to swallow hard.

She blushed again and then went around to help steady him when he sat up. His equilibrium skewed at an odd angle until he stabilized his head, and then he once again placed his feet on the floor.

Ron set a hand on Josy's bare shoulder for support and felt a good deal differently than he had on the previous day, when all she was to him was a medical aid. Now he drank in the fragrance of her, and his mind exploded with flashes of emotion and soared away in flighty escapades of a romantic nature while he made his way to the facilities.

He gently refused her help on the return trip, telling her he'd better start his recuperative physical therapy right away. With that said, he just concentrated intensely, fighting through the waves of nausea and pain emerging from his body...after all, he'd surmounted much greater discomfort than this.

"How about some fresh air?" Josy suggested sweetly.

She walked slowly with Ron, out of the room, down a long hallway, and onto a wide verandah overlooking the northern part of the farm. He noticed that they were on the second floor once he stepped outside and saw the view.

It was breathtaking! Rolling hills with acres of dense bushes, or short trees, disappearing at almost a hoz' distance reminded Ron of the orange groves of California. The quiet of the place was almost unbelievable too. Aside from the everyday chirping of birds, the only sound he could make out was the hushed movement of the light morning breeze through the leaves of the trees beside the house.

There wasn't a soul within his visual range, and that view, together with the soothing effects of the silence, was a marvel of tranquility to the fearsome warrior who sat admiring it. The scene was further enhanced with the western edge of that vast field being trimmed by the Kessleton River, which gave it all a calming, "down-home" feel.

There was a huge barn a hundred peors from the eastern end of the home, with three separate corrals having at least a dozen large animals inside their fences. And beside them was a well-used roadway skirting the barn and heading off in that same direction.

Josy led him to a table with a huge fruit basket on it and then disappeared for a brief time to get some bread and a platter covered with sliced bits of freshly roasted meats.

They sat there under the overhang of the house eating and talking while Josy explained about her life there on the farm. Ron listened and relaxed and enjoyed that conversation tremendously. It was still a very novel thing to have someone speak civilly with him and he nearly laughed at how oddly pleasant it was to not have to be constantly on his guard, constantly at risk of slipping up and revealing some vital secret.

Another part of his joy came from Josy, herself. He was captivated by her charm and entranced by her beauty, wishing the moment could last forever, and fervently not wanting their time together to end. But when he tried to rise again he was reminded of his present state, and that changed his mind. He needed to move forward with all haste. He would have to begin his rehabilitation right then.

"Let's take a walk, okay?" he asked.

"Surely."

The home was quite expansive and Josy guided him through a good bit of it; at least much of the first and second floors. The third floor level was reserved for her mother and father, and he would not be allowed up there, explaining that her parents were very private about that section of the home.

"It would be best just to stay out of there."

Ron had no quarrel with that little caveat and satisfied his wish for exercise on that first day by going down the stairs and out onto the grounds. There still wasn't another person in sight for as far as he could see; which was a considerable distance. He was much relieved at that.

"It appears you've been getting a bit too much rain," he noted, seeing that water was covering the entire ground beneath those large bushes planted in rows that went on seemingly forever.

"Oh, no," Josy explained. "Remember when I told you about the irrigation gates? It is necessary to flood the fields after each harvest...to replenish the plants with enough water and minerals to continue their production."

"Yeah, okay, I see," Ron acknowledged by an Earthly comparison. "Where I'm from, the fields are flooded as well, to protect the crop. It's a grain called rice."

The two of them walked around the "high ground" of the area immediately next to the house and discussed farming, fishing, and the riverside life, along with many other topics. That passed the time quickly enough before Ron became conscious of the fact that the ground he was walking on was covered with lush, dense grass, and there were hundreds of bushes and flowers lining the place like an arboretum.

"Josy, your home is fantastic! Who maintains the grounds?" He inquired as he scanned the twenty or so acres surrounding the house and found it to be meticulously manicured.

"Mother and I do," Josy replied triumphantly. "We spend a great deal of time around the place and I enjoy the work; making things grow and tending them. It's satisfying and peaceful and helps pass the time between harvests, and when father is away."

She showed Ron around the land for the rest of the day and he was acutely reminded of some of the old plantation homes in the bayou areas of Louisiana. The architecture here was very similar to them with its multilevel porches spanning the length of the structure, and it matched the grandeur of those plantation mansions as well.

The house was easily a hundred and fifty feet long and half that wide, built of three-foot-by-three-foot granite blocks in a rectangular fashion. It stood three stories tall and had a high-pitched roof covered with some type of slate scales. Every floor had a veranda completely surrounding it and the bottom floor on both east and west sides was graced with a full length staircase to the ground, giving it a very open, casual elegance.

The northern direction led out to the fields and on to the forest where Josy had found Ron. To the east stood the barns, pens, corrals and the road to Thackere, the closest town, along with more fields of their main crop. But also, beyond those were fruit orchards, grazing pastures and a huge garden for the vegetables the Gitoves chose to grow.

South of the expansive mansion lay the Prant River, and across it was another section of their farm that extended three hoz...also planted with their commercial crop. The western side of the house opened to a large grassy lawn that ended at a huge riverside dock which was adorned with its own boat house protecting a fair-sized rowing yacht.

There were two large woodsheds, one at each end of the home, to feed the numerous fireplaces inside as well as the kitchen and boiler-room. The Gitoves had heated water available inside their home!

Ron gravitated over to the massive barn, to get a look into the life of a true, hands-on farmer. The barn was also the blacksmith shop, and was well equipped for tackling just about anything that might arise.

"Father does all his own work in this shop," Josy explained proudly as they walked through the huge building. "He is a genius for inventing the things we need, and extremely good with forming metal."

Ron saw every kind of tool and crude device he could imagine...recognizing most but not all of them...and hoped he could spend some time with her father someday, discussing such tools and putting them to use. His former Earth-self was peaked with curiosity and fascinated with the variety of items he saw.

They strolled slowly along the numerous animal pens where Ron got to see their horses, several different draft animals, and even a pair of young prudas (Caronian sheep) being nursed by their mothers. Out the other end of the building were the grentille coops and a couple corrals. They rounded those before heading back to the house, and Ron couldn't help but suck in the clean farm air with deep, profound thanks for the ability to do so.

Due to the hot, humidity-rich environment, his weakened condition, and the stairs, he was thoroughly exhausted that night following their evening meal. Josy assisted him with another long, soaking bath to help soothe and heal his wounds, but this time she didn't join him in the water.

Ron was highly disappointed at that, but he managed most of the duties he could reach and she leaned in and scrubbed those he could not.

While he bathed, he was finally able to see the vast amount of damage his time of captivity had wreaked on his flesh and he cringed. His body was literally covered with wounds of every different sort...cuts, tears, bites, arrow holes, burns, and the less aggressive scrapes and bruises. Between those fresher, not yet fully closed wounds were hundreds of scars of past injuries that blanketed him from head to toe. The Kreete had been extremely thorough.

When he was in the smaller bathroom of his quarters that night, he stood at the mirror and stared at the figure of the man he'd once gazed at with awe. Back on Rauld, when he first viewed his new persona...after his merging with Kaskle...he marveled at the fellow he'd become. Now, he was absolutely appalled. His face hadn't come through the ordeal any better than the rest of him and was striped heavily with scars of violent acts inflicted upon him for the sport of the Kreete.

He found himself absolutely hideous.

When he lay prone that night and watched Josy strap him down, he felt terribly depressed...and it must have shown on his face.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, Ron," Josy told him with a heavy heart.

"What?" he asked, only half listening. "Oh, no...don't worry about it. I'm not concerned about this. It's only...I hate it that you have to be afraid of me. I hope you know I would never harm you on purpose."

"No, I know that...truly! It's just the effects of the venom in your system. In another torjourne, father thinks you may be completely fine again."

She softly stroked his face, as gently as she would a newborn's, and flashed a devastating smile that swept his brow free of concern. She searched in his gray eyes for the sign of his acceptance of her statement, wanting badly to let him know that she did trust him...perhaps more than she should.

"I'll be here when you wake up," she added for reassurance, before she put out the lamp and left him.

She'd seen more in those eyes than she expected, and as she cleared the archway to Ron's room she paused with a tremble. There was something about this man that she'd never experienced. There was honesty in him, a clarity of purpose, a selfless, moral dignity that encompassed...no, radiated from him. It was almost shocking.

Josy quivered at her own thoughts, trying to override them with logic and reason. She'd read the decrees passed down from the Kreete hierarchy. He was a criminal, a murderer, a professional warrior ensconced in violence...and that he was unstable; not to be trusted.

Nonetheless, even with all the proclamations, the lists of his crimes, and the dozens of deceased opponents that lay in his wake, her impression of the man was far different! He seemed so gentle with her, so peaceful...or at least wished to be at peace. She found herself terribly conflicted as she set off to her own room with a knot in her stomach and a flutter in her chest...her heart in the beginning stages of a budding romance.

### Chapter Seventeen

### Thackere

Twenty-seven hoz southeast of Gratoon, at a tight bend in the Kessleton River where it was joined by another waterway, the Prant River, a smaller and shallower tributary, lay a plantation of buonta-beans. The buonta trees were more like large bushes standing ten feet high and equally broad in girth. They produced great quantities of a grape-sized bean which looked like a pale, yellow marble. That bean had a heavy, meaty pulp that was the main source of starch used for making bread, meal, and the like. It was extremely important to the supply staples of the country folks, as well as the city-dwellers, for fifty hoz in every direction.

This plantation was five hoz west of the town of Thackere, in a low-lying delta basin that had a thin, loamy soil and was prone to flooding; in fact, it was even engineered so that flooding could be artificially accomplished. It was the perfect spot for the moisture thirsty bushes of the buonta-beans.

The plants were a necessary treasure to the populace with each producing great quantities of the beans...and the plantation was nearly ten thousand acres along both sides of the Prant.

Every thirty days, like clockwork in that hot, moist climate, a new crop of buonta-beans was ready to be harvested and a couple hundred workers were brought out to the fields to strip the vibrant shrubs of their bounty. The beans were then transported to Thackere for drying and processing before being shipped off to many various destinations. It was a system that was cyclical and repetitive...boring and mindless...but it supported the community of that area very well.

The pickers were not slaves; although no one knew why that was so since the use of slave labor would have increased the profits of the plantation owner immensely. Even still, as the nature of man is many times prone to do, some of the workers who needed and accepted that menial task were also jealous and bitter about their lot in life. Furthermore, when they drank, they planned and schemed to one day get their just rewards from all the cycles of making that wealthy owner even richer.

The owner was well known in the area, and well respected by any who might think to do him harm personally. He was a very powerful person...with a sword as well as with the ruling authority of the region...but they also knew he had a single, undeniable weakness...his only daughter.

Her father made sure she was kept safe, and anytime she ventured outside the borders of his private realm, she was constantly watched by a pair of gigantic bodyguards. Those brutes were great, serious looking soldiers who were ever watchful of her; a precaution set in place due to the almost constant absence of her father.

Whenever the girl, or woman now, as she had come of age over the past few cycles, would manage a trip to the town, those two heavily armed warriors would always be at her side.

She grew up always feeling isolated from the rest of the community, having no really close friends that would visit her due to her father's affiliates, but she'd gotten used to it as she matured. The people in town who did business with her didn't seem to mind or fear the trio; at least to their faces...and no one had ever challenged them...no matter how much alcoholic spirits they drank. She was lonely, but felt safe.

This particular day however, was not like all the rest, due in part to the growing rumors of the escape of the gladiator called Shartae, and the rebellious undertones such talk invoked. The town's few disgruntled inhabitants felt a little bolder, a little braver, and a little more angry than usual.

That is when Josylinia Gitove, the wealthy landowner's daughter, was spotted by some of the community's miscreants while she was meandering about the town on a shopping trip. She walked beside a man draped in a long cloak with the hood hanging down low over his face...a large man, yes, but one who moved a bit rigidly as he followed her about the shops.

The normal guard pair was nowhere about...and that fact aided the beginning of a truly insidious deed.

Josy and Ron arrived in Thackere early in the morning riding a small, flat-bedded wagon, needing the common staples of everyday life. As they loaded up the little buckboard, Josy would hop up into the driver's seat with her companion left walking along side. There she would quietly coax her horse to their next stop as they moved about from one store to the next, trying to keep the carrying of her goods to a minimum. She did her best to go unnoticed, but the buzz in town had everyone on edge and a little more alert to those around them.

Perhaps if they hadn't decided to stay for lunch that day, none of the events which eventually unfolded would have come to pass...but fate was to have its way with them, and the town would never forget it.

"Are you ready to head back, Ron?" Josy asked of her escort as they finished off their meal, speaking softly, almost in a whisper.

"Whenever you are."

"Very well then, let me take care of the bill and we'll be off."

They were at an outdoor café, which was at the end of a cluster of shops that had a wide, conjoined front porch...much like a strip-mall. Beside it was a small street that was barely more than an alley walk-through to the road behind the place. That avenue, it so happened, was bordered directly by a patch of thickly forested land which surrounded the small, rural community.

Ron scanned the street, as he was always cautious to do, and found the sleepy little village was calm and quiet. The only ruckus being raised was that of a couple dogs a hundred feet away, play-wrestling and yapping at each other. Children walked and ran about in their endless games and gave no notice to him and Josy, so he did the same with them. He felt tired and drained, and was ready to get back to his bed. It had only been four days since the first time he stood after awakening in Josy's care, and he was feeling the strain of even such a simple event as this shopping trip. If Josy had had another to accompany her, he probably would have stayed back at the farm. The poison in his body still lingered and caused him nausea and dizziness when he exerted himself, even though he could tell that it was dissipating. He would be whole again in another week.

"Can you manage the last sack of meal?" Josy asked him softly, trying to keep anyone from noticing even the smallest signs of an injured stranger in their midst.

"I can manage," he replied with a slight smile as he stepped next door and went in to gather the sack of ground meal that was being filled while they ate. It would supply them with bread for the next few weeks.

The Gitove plantation produced the beans, but they were refined, dried, and stored for shipment in the town, so that was why Josy and Ron had needed the shopping trip. Her normal schedule for such things was upset by Ron's untimely arrival, and since most of her and her father's attention had stayed focused on him, they'd run low on such staples. Also, since the farm was deserted to keep their secret safe, she was also without her usual accompaniment.

Josy had always been the kind of girl who didn't think to fear strangers and was totally oblivious to the deep seeded hatred that some men held for others. Jealousy, lust, bitterness, scorn, and racism were not subjects she was personally familiar with, having lived such a safe, sheltered life. So when two men approached her on the porch beside the little wagon, she just turned to them as innocently as a child.

"Good afternoon!" she said politely, before the sternness in their demeanors became clear.

The privilege of her upbringing didn't fail to force an instantaneous reaction in her when she caught the look in their eyes. The hair on her neck prickled quickly and she made to cry out, but one of the men silenced her with a right hook that carried her to the ground, dazed, hurt, and frightened.

The other man pounced on her immediately and grabbed her arm while her assailant hurried over to the other side. They hastily dragged her around the corner of the café before anyone was aware of what had happened, shielded as they were from onlookers by the position of the buggy.

Ron came out of the store with a sack of meal across his back that was easily equal to his own size and two-thirds his weight, and started toward the wagon. He made it gingerly, still racked by the pain of the poison trying to break down his recuperative system, and when he dropped that load, he leaned against the wooden surface of the carriage, panting for air.

"All right," he called to her. "That's the last of it. We can..."

His words halted as he looked up and found that Josylinia Gitove was not at the reins of the cart. Instantly, his mind and body went to high alert. He immediately swept the hood from his shaved head and searched the scene again. When he got around to the spot of her abduction he saw the tale in the disrupted dirt on the ground as if it were a note written out in English. He set off in the direction of those dragging marks straight away, following them around the building and into the alley.

"That's far enough, friend!" said a man standing halfway along that space with his arms folded across his chest. He was partnered with another and they both were good-sized men, each armed with swords and long knives at their belts. They stood in the bright Caronian sunlight, not trying to hide in the least, totally confident that they could handle Josy's crippled servant.

Ron didn't even hesitate. He cast aside his weariness and stiffness like a jacket on a warm day, immediately charging the pair as if they were merely an insignificant trifle. In the tenth of a lita it took to deduce the men's intentions, a switch in his brain flipped on...one the men would never have triggered if they had any inkling of exactly who they faced.

All mannerisms of a social state were stripped away. Questions were moot. Proof was not required, nor the necessity of an inquiry. The trail of Josy's abductors went past those men and so they were deemed conspirators immediately. Ron saw things in their purest form. Right and wrong, life and death were easy judgments he was prepared to make, and retribution for crimes against those he cared about would be harsh.

Before he took the first step, he'd already returned to the creature he'd been for the past six santaris...he was Shartae the Invincible once again.

They were twenty feet away from him when they're faces grimaced vividly, contorted from horror. That's when Ron left the shadow of the northern building and they actually saw his face. He was only ten feet from them when they realized what his objective was, but by then they had no time to clear their weapons before Ron reached them. They're shock had stifled their actions a hair too long.

He leaped high and his legs parted into a split as he kicked both of them at the same time, one with his left foot and the other with his right, sending them into the opposing walls of the alley with tremendous force.

Ron landed lightly and sprang to the right, gripping the fellow there by the head and snapping his neck with no pause whatsoever. He looked across the short space and the other man was kneeling but had his sword drawn. Ron took the corpse he held and slung it at his partner, crushing that man against the wall again and embedding the naked blade into the dead body. The buried guard tried to extricate himself from his friend's cadaver but Ron was upon him by then.

Ron threw one punch, and the recoil of that blow slammed that fellow's skull against the stone of the building with enough power to crack it open. He never felt the sword being ripped from his lifeless hand, nor the dagger from his belt as Ron left them both, back on the trail of Josy's kidnappers...his mind set on only one objective.

That trail entered the wooded land and headed north for another two hundred feet before it opened into a grassy little sunlit knoll in which he found his nurse.

She was lying on her back on the ground, naked, with four men holding each of her hands and feet pinned to the soft turf...her clothing lay ripped and cast in a heap to the side.

Ron had guessed that she would be lovely, but her nude figure was more than lovely...it was incomprehensibly exquisite. That thought wouldn't register in his brain until two days later, but he would recall it with perfectly clarity at that time.

As for now, he saw that she struggled as well as she could but had no chance against the group of men surrounding her. A fifth fellow held a roll of cloth and was tying it around her head to function as a gag while another stood between her outstretched legs, his unlaced trousers slipping down from his waist. Four more men stood by watching, drinking, and urging the attack forward.

"Hurry up, Lonnie," the man at Josy's right ankle said. "I want my turn!"

"Just you wait," ordered the one called Lonnie. "I've been dreaming of a dip in this pool for a long time...and I want to enjoy it! You'll all get your chance!"

That man dropped down over Josy and nuzzled her large, fantastic breasts affectionately with his face, kissing and licking them as his hands wandered about her lower areas. Her eyes were wide with panic and tears streamed down her cheeks. She screamed into the gag but barely a muffled grunt escaped.

"Oh, yeah! This is going to be soooooo goooooood!" he proclaimed as he moved his hips over hers.

'Thwack!'

The sound of a hard object slapping against flesh rang out unmistakably in the small clearing and brought the celebration to an instant halt. Lonnie flinched hard and looked down. His engorged reproductive organ lay there in the grass, now separated from his body, directly next to the object of his lust's desire. The handle of a knife was stuck to the inside of his thigh, and blood surged from his male stump in heavy spurts.

He was immediately confused.

"What is this?" his mind questioned in the quarter of a lita it took for him to comprehend what had happened. It appeared to him that the handle was just hanging there as if by magic, until he moved his leg a hair and a gush of crimson fluid shot out and showered Josy's bare waist. His femoral artery was severed.

The group of men all looked up as one, in the direction from whence that dagger had come...and then their blood turned to ice. The man, or demon resembling a man, was just then casting his long cloak aside, having ripped it from his body with his free hand after making that superb cast. He had no hair on his head and was bare of clothing as well down to his waist, at the beginning of his short trousers. His feet too had no coverings.

At first they thought he was a Kreete warrior, one in the beginning stages of the transformation, since he appeared to have his body covered in markings without an inch of clear space on his skin...but then it hit them. What they were truly seeing was a man who had so many scars blanketing his body that they couldn't distinguish one from the next. Almost all of those injuries were closed now, yet the pink new skin practically glowed, and stood out prominently with the heat of battle. Even his face exhibited striping from the lash that had done its horrible work on him. He was a vision of hideous, heinous cruelty; a walking testimony of just how much abuse a single person could be subjected to and still live.

His glare was as hard as the steel he held and his gray eyes exuded his power in a blasting wave of hate. The men who a few moments ago had felt as strong and manly as they'd ever felt in their lives blanched as white as the clouds overhead. They were planning to show their virility and superiority over an innocent woman who'd never done them a single bit of harm...but that plan was now gone.

Every man in the small clearing instantly knew they were looking into the face of death!

This wasn't the clearing back on Rauld, where Ron first witnessed the unfathomable cruelty and malice of the new life he'd been forced to live. He was no longer that untrained, inexperienced Earthling in the body of a warrior. He was now that warrior...times ten. All of Kaskle's skills were now imbedded into his psyche and had been honed in the arena to a degree even his former self would have been astonished at the outcome. Ron Allison had become Ronin, the unstoppable warrior of Caronian legend and myth, the lone samurai with no master, the dealer of justice in the world...and the bringer of doom to such men!

The two men standing closest to Ron had their heads removed from their shoulders in one long, growling swipe, and the next pair of watching fellows were nearly divided in two. The first one was gutted completely to his backbone on a horizontal strike, and the second caught the flashing steel on the down-stroke...from neck to groin.

That clash took barely a handful of litas.

Ron pressed onward to the man who was still grappling Josy's right wrist, and snatched him up by the throat while he slammed his sword's blade into his chest hard enough that the hand guard of the weapon snapped five ribs. The fellow was lifted up face to face with Ron and his last vision was that of absolute, unbridled fury.

The last three men released their hold on Ron's voluptuous caretaker and fell back frantically, ready to give anything to get away from that devil bent on their demise.

"We yield!" screamed the next man Ron reached...but the three-foot-long; three-inch-wide bar of sharpened metal was on its way and did not stop until it had passed down through his skull and into his chest. Ron then kicked the man ten feet clear of Josy.

He then leaped her still prone body and met the next would-be rapist. That fellow tried to defend himself with his own blade, but was feebly adept with the weapon. Ron's steel detached his sword arm and then his head in a blinding-fast spinning maneuver, before pivoting around to face the last assailant.

That man threw down his weapon and bolted for the safety of the woods.

Ron didn't even give chase. The sword he held flew from his fingertips like a huge, double-edged dart and took the man from his feet, carrying him deeply into the nearby thicket, skewered through the heart.

He then went to the first victim of his attack...the ringleader of the group who'd lost his manhood to that flying dagger, and who was quickly bleeding out onto the ground. Lonnie had rolled clear of Josy's figure and lay on his back panting and crying. He knew he'd seen his last day and his mind was racing as the ability to rationalize his thoughts rapidly escaped him.

Ron knelt with one knee on his chest, pressing his considerable weight into the sternum of the dying fellow. Lonnie focused on Ron's snarling, livid face for a moment and then he felt the knife transferred from his thigh to his throat, nailing his body to the ground in a horrendous display of ultimate vengeance.

Ron spun about quickly, a long, menacing growl rumbling from his chest, and found himself alone with Josy who was still so frightened she hadn't dared to move. He rushed to her and dropped to one knee like a mother lion protecting her cub before he threw back his head and gulped in a great gasp of air...his victory proclamation hovering on his lips...but then.

That obvious prelude to his notorious cry sent Josylinia snapping back to the moment in a panic and she tore the gag from her mouth.

"NO!" she shouted suddenly.

She'd been made well aware of whom she was treating and of his mannerisms in battle. Over the santaris leading up to his arrival at her home, she had heard her father and his friends tell and retell so many stories of Shartae's battles in the arena that she almost felt she'd seen them herself.

Her arm shot up and settled firmly on his lips, jolting him back from the primeval place into which he was headed, and he halted.

"Be careful," she warned as she looked about and trembled violently.

Even after what she'd just been through, she worried only for his safety.

Ron was back to his old self again instantly and nodded.

"Josy," he whispered hoarsely as he scanned her again for injury, "are you...all right?"

"Yes," she replied as she locked her eyes onto his sorrowful, concerning gaze. "Thanks to you, I am."

The side of her lovely face was bright red and swelling quickly and Ron couldn't stop himself from pulling her to him and enveloping her incredible body within his arms. He held her tightly and rocked her gently back and forth until her trembling subsided. Then he moved slightly away and retrieved his cloak from the ground and transferred it to her.

He wrapped her snuggly in the garment meant for someone easily twice her size and scooped her up in his arms. Without a single glance at the carnage surrounding them, he strode off back toward their waiting wagon.

Josy laid her head against Ron's shoulder and tried desperately not to feel such awe and admiration for this god of a man who held her. He was vicious, cold, ferocious, and uncompromising in battle, of that she was now absolutely certain. But the part of him that held her so firmly...the part of him that had just shown her he would do whatever it took to secure her safety, was like a glowing shield of strength, honor, and chivalry.

When they exited the wooded area, Ron set her down next to the corner of the building, beside the alleyway and out of sight behind a large storage area of barrels. There was no one around within their line of sight.

"Stay here for a moment," Ron told her. "I need to take care of a couple things. Are you okay with that?"

She began to tremble again, but nodded.

"I will not be far away," he told her as he turned to leave, but then he spun back around. "You may not want to look this way...until I'm done."

She didn't fully understand what he was driving at, but by the look in his eyes, she could tell she didn't want to know."

She turned her back on him and listened as he moved away. She heard a distinct grunt and then his footsteps went past and back to the woods where there was a loud thudding sound and the rustling of brush. After he repeated that same act, he returned to the alley and a large amount of splashing noises reached her ears.

"All right," Ron said softly in Josy's ear a moment later, causing her to jump because she hadn't heard his approach. "It's clear for us to go now."

Ron slipped his arms under her again and whisked her up from her hideaway, heading back down the alley. She glanced around the scene and saw one spot that was stained dark red but quickly seeping into the ground. It would be gone in a short while and the alley would look as innocent as ever.

When they approached the main street, Ron glanced about hastily and, finding no one in their immediate vicinity, slipped Josy into the driver's seat. He then dug out a spare cloak she kept stored under the seat in case of rain and covered himself as best he could with that garment made for a much smaller person than he. Shortly thereafter, they eased on out of town quietly and headed toward the plantation.

Neither of them dared speak until they were well out of sight of Trackere, and Ron listened intently for a long while after that.

When they felt that all was behind them, Josy's hands started shaking uncontrollably and she began to weep. Ron pulled her close to him and placed his arm about her shoulders. He comforted her and held her even as the decline of the adrenaline rush sapped his energy like water draining from a badly cracked bowl.

His vision clouded after another hoz and he felt hot; too hot to be normal. He could feel the heat spreading from his chest up into his face quickly, just before the nausea and dizziness rushed in. Soon afterward he had to release his hold on Josy before sliding weakly to the floorboard of the wagon's seating area to keep from falling out of the coach.

As he felt his body sliding inexorably down toward the depths of unconsciousness, he struggled to stay lucid. But fighting the inevitable only made his temperature jump even faster.

"Ron...Ron!" Josy called to him but found him unresponsive. "What's wrong? Ron!"

The skirmish had stirred up the venom inside him and that cost him dearly...his mind quickly began to spin out of control and his body rapidly fell prey to the pull of the toxin, his limbs drawing up into a fetal position as his muscles began to spasm uncontrollably.

Josy took the reins immediately and snapped them hard. The horses obeyed without hesitation and set off at a full gallop. They were well rested from the leisurely pace of the day and had no problem running.

Through the fog in his brain came an experience that Ron couldn't tell if it was real or imaginary.

"Father!" a woman screamed. "Father! Please hurry! Bring some hel..."

Dim light followed that, and much jostling. A horse whinnied loudly nearby.

"Father, he's so hot! I think he is dying!" Josy said; her voice filled with sobs and anxiety.

"Your face!" said a deep, angry voice with rumbling vibrations in it. It wasn't the Caronian language, but Ron didn't have the mental coherence to sort that out. "Did he do this?"

"No! No father...he saved me from..."

Sometime after that, a billot, a bort, or a couple of litas, he couldn't tell, but Ron felt his frame lifted and manhandled roughly. Then he was bouncing along as if someone was carrying him at a dead run. He could hear heavy, strained breathing and could smell an odor that was somewhat familiar...but he couldn't identify it. It was pungent and acrid at the same time. Shortly thereafter, he felt something cold.

His mind wandered into oblivion.

### Chapter Eighteen

### A new beginning

The next morning at daybreak, the community of Thackere began the day with its citizens buzzing about due to a rising number of men having not made it home on the previous night. By midday the count was up to ten and so they initiated a house to house search after checking every place they could think of that the men might have gone to drink, or talk.

It was just about then that a young, recently married couple decided to take a basket lunch out to their favorite spot for a picnic. It was a small glade close to town where they'd gone many times in the past and knew that if the town was busy, they would be safe to spend at least a billot alone for a secluded, romantic getaway. What they found there however, would send the entire town into a frenzy.

The methodical search of Thackere was barely halfway finished when the woman's hysterical screams turned the attention of the settlement to the wooded area at the edge of town...directly behind the granary.

It was a grisly massacre...the sort no one in the area had ever investigated...and so their first suspicion was a robbery turned violent. But when all the men's purses were found intact and at least partially filled, it left them in an even deeper quandary.

For the next few days Thackere was turned upside down, with every relative of each of the dead men combing the town and the neighboring woods. They desperately searched for any signs that would, or could, explain how it was that a dozen men were slain so close to their safe little community and no one had heard or seen a thing...and for what reason?

The 'Elder' of the city sent inquiries out in every direction for answers to the questions he and the rest of the inhabitants had. There were as many differing opinions as investigators, and they finally concluded it must have been a Kreete warrior, or possibly two, to have accomplished such a slaughter of the men. However, there was the genital mutilation of the one fellow and the shredded woman's clothing that couldn't be explained at all. Where was she? Who was she? No one from the town was unaccounted for.

Why would such a horrendous thing be done to these fine, hardworking men?

Out at the plantation, an entirely different goal was set in place.

The morning after the incident in Thackere, Ron was in a fight for his life once again. The remnants of the treochy's poison, renewed by the influx of his own body's protective system, ravaged his neural pathways once more and sent his body into deep shock. The amount of adrenaline Ron had created to fight off Josy's rapists had greatly reinforced the effects of the venom and spread it thoroughly throughout his tissues yet again. His temperature was hovering well above the level considered safe for humans, and Josy and her family stood continuous watch over the fearsome warrior that was sharing their home.

They had him soaking in the huge tub again, but this time instead of hot water, they added ice...a great luxury item on Caron, to be sure, but one that they had ample access to...due to their unique and lofty status. Ron spent thirty-six billots jerking and growling, twitching and moaning while his tremendous internal immune system waged a war more fiercely than any he'd faced as of yet...one that pushed him to the very brink of eternity's abyss.

Josy sat at his side nearly the entire time, deeply worried for her champion. His act of chivalry for her may well cost him his life and even though others were there and could have taken over the watch while she rested, she was determined not to leave him.

She spoke to him often, stroking his head soothingly and encouraging him not to give up. She held his hand a good deal, gauging it for signs of life while squeezing his large fingers to reinforce her presence to him. If he were to pass on, it would not be because she hadn't done everything she possibly could for him...and he would not go all alone.

When midday arrived on the day following the discovery of the battle at Thackere, she was a wreck. She'd been awake for more than fifty-four billots straight, and had eaten only sparsely...leaving Ron only to answer nature's calls...and her nonstop concern for him was taking its toll on her.

She still wore his cape, not even having taken the time to clean herself of her attacker's blood, and ignoring her parents' urgings to take care of herself. She was growing more distraught as well. Her medical training told her that he was less and less likely to recover the longer he stayed unconscious...or if he finally did awaken, his mental faculties would be literally scorched away from the sustained high fever.

Her thoughts were getting jumbled and her head was bobbing up and down badly as she fought against the exhaustion of her vigil, still ignoring her mother's pleas that she rest. After nearly falling into the huge tub on top of her charge, she jerked herself awake suddenly and forced her body into motion.

Her momentary bouts of sleep were laced with dire nightmares of Ron's demise so she leaned over stiffly to check him yet again, and couldn't suppress a broad smile when she noticed a sharp drop in his temperature.

Josy then slipped back weakly to her half-seated-half-lying position and allowed herself a huge sigh of relief as his sporadic struggles finally faded and he settled down a great deal.

At last he slipped into more of a deep sleep than the fitful one he'd been having, so she too began to relax a little as well. Her father and brothers checked in on her and Ron often and added ice as needed to cool the body of the man she desperately clung to.

They could tell a bond had developed between their Josy and that fearsome man, and that fact greatly concerned them, but they also knew she was of age to choose where her heart would lead her. After much heated deliberation amongst themselves and away from her range of hearing, they realized the fruitlessness of their concern and just tried to support her.

Finally, after a solid billot of calm rest on Ron's part, Josy's ability to keep up her watchfulness faded and she too drifted off to sleep, leaning on the edge of the giant ceramic vessel in which he lay.

"Geez, this is cold!" grunted a shivering, confused Ron Allison when he awoke several billots later and took note of his surroundings.

Josy's head leapt off of its roost in a blink, and she sprang to her knees immediately.

"Ron!" she cried in a sharp, startled chirp. "You're alive!"

"Yes...and by your response to that fact, I would have to guess that something bad happened?"

Josy simply burst into tears of joy and threw her arms around his neck, clutching him tightly and repeating; "I was so afraid...I was so afraid!"

The waves of shivers surging through Ron's body quickly reminded her of his initial complaint, so Josy released him and collected herself hastily.

"All right then," she told him sweetly, "We got you cooled down...now we need to get you warmed up!"

She moved swiftly to untie the harness they'd put on him to keep his head above water while unconscious, and then she half-coaxed, half dragged Ron's blue tinged form out of the tub. He tried to help her but his limbs were so cold he could barely move at all. It was a bit of a struggle, but a few moments later Josy had him thoroughly wrapped in a thick blanket at the edge of the pool.

Then she hurried over to a gate valve at the head of the tub and opened it to full, turning it to a setting opposite of where it was. Instantly, Ron saw steam lifting from the surface of the icy water.

Next she dashed around to the other end and pulled a large lever upward, opening a wide gap in the reservoir at that point, much like a dam. The depth of the water dropped a foot right away and all of the ice went speeding down the chute under the dam-gate and out through the ingenious piping system that was constructed into the structure of the home.

Ron had studied the design of the huge tub in detail at an earlier point and was very impressed at its efficiency. By the time Josy rejoined him, the water in the gigantic bath was very warm and so she quickly unwrapped him from his cocoon and ushered him back into it.

Ron eased into the bath and immediately stopped his shaking with his eyes rolling back and a loud sigh escaping his blue lips. The water was heating up quickly and he felt his own internal temperature soaring back up as well. This time however, it stabilized at its normal level.

Ron had his eyes closed as the pure enjoyment of it tingled his senses, and when he opened them again, he found a greatly relieved nurse locked in his gaze. The look on her face was everything, and spoke volumes about her feelings toward him. Her tear-streaked expression radiated with joy and affection and convinced Ron beyond any question that he could trust her as he had hoped he could.

"Now tell me...how are you feeling, really?" Josy inquired as she knelt next to the tub, her face barely inches from Ron's.

"I feel pretty good!" Ron replied; a bit surprised. "I don't have that nauseated, sickened sensation anymore. I'm tired, and I feel as feeble as a kitten, but otherwise, okay."

He also noted that she was still wearing his cloak, and instantly knew she had not tended to herself at all...her entire focus having been trained on him.

"Josy, your eye!" Ron exclaimed when she absentmindedly swept her hair away from the side of her face.

"Oh," she replied, tenderly feeling the swollen area, "I've had worse just joking around with my brothers."

She smiled at his concern and flushed bright red. "Thank you for saving me," she added softly, her light-hearted demeanor disappearing for a brief moment.

Ron returned her seriousness. "I will never let you be harmed while I breathe air!" he assured her; his voice deep and still tinged with anger for what he'd witnessed.

There was a long pause at that, while they just searched each other's eyes for signs of the commitment they had for one another. Ron felt a powerful attraction for this dark-haired beauty growing easily, and welcomed it. His santaris of imprisonment and abuse had hardened him intensively but he could tell that this sweet young woman was slowly, carefully, gently, peeling back the layers of the shielding he'd built up. His monumental distrust of anyone and everyone was beginning to falter.

"Speaking of that though," he began, his expression turning more strained with concern, "I feel I must apologize for what happened out there in the woods."

Josy's face mimicked his as she recalled the incident and a shudder raced through her. "Please don't feel like that. You could not have foreseen their attack."

"Well, that's not what I meant...although if I had been more alert, I may have. No, what I'm talking about is the graphic brutality and carnage I displayed right in front of you."

Ron then turned his face from hers and looked dejected. "I really don't know how you can be around me now that you've seen me like that."

Josy reached out and pulled his face back around to hers. When he locked eyes with her again, he could see that she was not appalled or disgusted with him in the least. Her lovely features only showed her gratitude and empathy.

"You have to understand something, Ron. I knew several of those men. They are part of the labor force that comes out and works the harvest. They had already decided they were going to kill me when they'd finished with me. They were vile, pathetic cowards, and I was glad when they were dead.

"And as far as the 'brutality' you displayed...you can rest assured that my father and brothers would have done much, much worse to them!"

Ron could see the truth in her statement and instantly felt more at ease. This planet wasn't Earth, he reminded himself, with all its laws and social views toward "civility". Caron was coarse and unforgiving. Open-range justice was the norm.

"What about an investigation? Won't there be an effort to find me?"

"There already is...but Father has taken care of it. No one will be looking for you here."

Ron had no trouble believing Josy's father would do everything he could to persuade the locals to search elsewhere, and with his undeniable influence, he guessed she was right.

Josy decided to change the subject just then, to something lighter.

"I'll get you something to eat and drink, if you wish."

"Josy," he said, placing his hand on hers tenderly, "it looks like you are more in need of pampering than me. Have you eaten or rested at all?"

She just smiled brightly at his concern. He'd been through so much and yet his only worries were for her. Her heart melted.

"I'm fine...maybe a bit tired," she added sheepishly. "But I'm famished as well...and would be happy if you would join me.

"That would be great!"

Josy practically squealed with delight as she raced off to tend to his needs, returning quickly with a platter full of fruit and some smoked pravort. She set it down at the rim of the tub and then plopped down beside it, dangling her feet in the water. From there the scene took on the flair of a picnic, with both of them relaxed and speaking easily.

The two of them sat and devoured the meal while Ron had her fill him in about what happened with him after they left Thackere.

"Why is it that I've never seen your family?" Ron asked, quite puzzled by that fact when he found out that he'd once again missed his opportunity to thank them.

"Well, mostly it's because of who you are. All they know is your background...at least what there is of it. They're very anxious about revealing themselves to such a warrior...that an unprovoked misunderstanding might occur and perhaps violence may ensue."

Ron found that plausible, given his propensity toward intolerance of almost everything due to his incarceration. Yet here he was with one of the only two women of the clan, someone who would have absolutely no chance to prevent him from harming her, should he have the inclination, and that struck him as extremely peculiar.

"They fear a clash with me, so they offer you in their stead?"

"No! No! It's not like that at all," Josy blurted hastily, scratching her head as she tried to find the most accurate way to describe the odd circumstances in which they found themselves. "You are believed to be of the Piercellione...the Taerdrasseg Mountain People. Is that not so?"

Ron thought about that question for a moment. He saw no harm in answering it.

"Yes, that is a large part of my heritage...why?"

"Father has seen much of this world and he knows what is said of the mountain clans. They would fight to the death of every man before allowing harm to befall their women. The women are revered in your land...is that not so as well?"

"Yes, that's true also," Ron acknowledged openly, speaking on Kaskle's behalf as well as his own opinion of a true Earth-man's regard for the fairer sex.

"Then, if you are who they think you are, then I'm as safe as if you were my own brother...yes?"

Ron smiled and admired the logic behind such an abnormal arrangement.

"I guess I can understand some of your reasoning, but I hardly think your brother would see in you what I do," he told her as he scanned her heavenly figure openly.

Josy blushed fiercely again and smiled, casting her eyes to the side. When she looked back at Ron, she met his gaze with the same smoldering passion he felt building in himself, and the pair of them sat stone-still for several litas. After those few tense, heated moments flew by though, Ron recalled what he'd seen in the mirror of the bedroom, and so his smile faded and he returned his attention to the food platter.

"This is a wonderful assortment of fruit...is there a large orchard on the property?"

Josy held on to her heated stare for a bit longer before shyly transferring her eyes to her lap.

"Yes, we have nearly everything we need on the farm. The buonta fields take up nearly half of the place but there are also animal pastures, the fruit orchard with everything from the citrus variety to four different murge trees, parc, banya (Caronian bananas), and ten square hoz of wild forest for hunting."

Ron sat back feeling contented, and let his imagination wander as he considered the scope of the farm. It was like a dream come true and if he'd lived on such a place on Earth, he would have been content to never leave it.

"It sounds fantastic," he told her. "I would like to see it all if you could allow me that privilege."

Josy's face lit up once more with her fabulous smile.

"That sounds wonderful to me. I've been restless to go exploring again, and would love to show you. You never know what you'll run across when you're out there," she added with a wink.

"Yeah, I guess that's an understatement," he acknowledged.

They sat talking for a while longer until Ron was toasty-warm and had endured enough pruning up of his skin to last him a lifetime. He stepped from the pool where Josy eagerly helped him dry off and get dressed, and then Ron walked out to the verandah while Josy took her turn in the tub.

She too reveled in the relaxation of the heated water and didn't hurry at all; that is, until her eyelids felt leaden and her chin splashed into the water abruptly. Her long ordeal was finally over, and with the added comfort of the soothing bath, her own energy levels began waning badly. It was with considerable effort that she forced herself to her feet once more.

The sun was hanging low when she sidled up beside Ron on the wide porch that faced the river...the vast buonta fields at either ends. She wore a modest, sleeveless, pink nightgown that was thin enough to keep her cool, but dense enough to keep her intimate areas a mystery, and her dark skin accentuated that feminine shade flawlessly.

Ron let his eyes feast upon her for a long moment as she approached, and couldn't help but notice the wonderful scent she was wearing. It reminded him of the Hawaiian flower, the plumeria, and was very sensuous while adorning such a lovely woman.

She sat down next to Ron and together they just watched the dozens of barges sliding down river, and at least three being towed upward on the far side. The distance from the balcony to the boats was such that no one person could tell the details of the other, so Ron didn't worry about hiding himself.

As twilight forced itself onto the scene, Josy's eyelids grew very heavy and she eventually slid down onto Ron's shoulder and drifted off to sound slumber. He certainly didn't mind the closeness of her or the feel of her skin on his, so he sat there and let her sleep until night was well along.

Finally, his weakened state was such that he fell prey to the late hour as well; his own coherence drifting badly, so he carefully rose and gathered the buxom young woman into his arms and smoothly carried her to her room.

That was one chamber she hadn't ventured into on her tour with him, and she normally kept it closed off, so he just assumed she wished her privacy in this personal space and hadn't questioned her about it. Now he cautiously opened the door and slipped in to the dark chamber. He located the bed by way of the limited starlight filtering in through the window, laid her ever so gently onto her mattress, and then covered her divine figure before quietly closing the door and returning to his own abode.

Ron slept that night unrestrained...and dreamless...his system finally seared clean of the invading effects of the treochy's venom.

The next morning, Josy slept late and the sun was blazing away as the sharp report of an ax cleaving wood dragged her from her dreams. She fought through the fog in her head and stumbled over to the window where she scanned the area surrounding the large home. There was no sign of the disturbance in that view so she shuffled down the hallway and out to the wide verandah, listening for the repeating echo of that noise.

A strong breeze was making its way downstream along the river and her nightwear billowed in that moving air with a slight chill that felt wonderful. When she finally made her way to the southern corner of the second floor porch, she saw a bare chested Ron Allison getting his first real workout in weeks.

There was a stack of sawed logs piled off to one side where a large tree trunk had been hauled over and set for portioning up at some later date. Ron had taken it upon himself to hunt up a saw from the storage barn and get to work on that task, feeling the need to do something useful...and physical. The two-foot diameter logs were piled four feet high and six feet in length off to the side of him and he streamed sweat from the strain of it, his muscles glistening and undulating with the swings of the heavy blade.

"Good morning!" Josy called out to him.

"Morning!" Ron called back with a grin, looking up sharply to find her fabulous figure hanging over the railing. "What's left of it anyway. May I assume that you slept well?"

Josy grabbed her head and felt of her wild hair. She knew she looked a mess and would normally have been terribly embarrassed to be seen in such a state...except that she didn't seem to be worried about it like she thought she would have. She'd become so comfortable with Ron that she didn't concern herself with such trivialities.

"Yes...too well no doubt. I'll be out directly."

"Take your time," Ron called back. "I'll be busy with this for a while longer."

A billot later found Josy fed and dressed and tidied up to her usual splendor as she strolled out to meet Ron. She wore a light blue halter-top and a coordinating skirt which made it less than half way from her hips to her knees, and her usual matching sandals.

Ron glanced at her as she sauntered up and his mind raced with less-than-proper fantasy visions of her incredible body. Her long, wavy hair alternately flipped and settled on her shoulders in the breeze while her tanned figure was a model of absolute perfection. Her smile was radiant, and her sultry, hip swaying strides made him pause for a bit and swallow hard.

"How's your eye today?" Ron inquired when she was only a few steps from him and he could see the darkness on her face from the bruising.

She gently felt of it and shrugged her shoulders. "A bit tender...but nothing to worry over."

He had finished piecing up nearly half of that pile of logs and was loading all the chopped wood into the same wagon the two of them used for their trip to town. It was heaping so high that it barely stayed on the cart.

"Where are the horses?" Josy inquired, as Ron stood transfixed by her heart-pounding approach.

"There's no need to bother the poor creatures," he replied, snapping out of his testosterone-charged stupor and breaking his audacious stare at her heavenly form. "I'll be the horse on this trip."

With that said he moved himself into position, grasped the front of the wooden transport and bent his back to it. The ground was fairly firm, the wheels only sinking an inch into it, and so the wagon was set to motion.

Ron guided the device around the front of the house and down the northern side until he reached the huge woodshed there.

Josy walked beside him and marveled at his strength, especially since his long bout with such a serious illness. He was still down a good ten percent on his body mass and should be another few days before his blood supply was fully replenished from the tremendous loss he'd incurred. She wondered just how powerful the man might be. What could he really do if taxed to the very limits?

The vividly discernible remains of his death-defying ordeal reminded her of where he came from...and she guessed that was her answer. Normally, a prisoner lasted barely a week...and no one had ever survived more than a santari in the Retribution Games. Her father and brothers had said that on numerous occasions. He had survived six.

Ron stepped over to the open-air shed and began to restack the wood. Jose waited until he was turned the other way and slipped over to the wagon to test her own strength, giving it a hard push while using her legs well as leverage. She may as well have tried to push the house as it didn't even begin to move. She was no stranger to hard work and felt she had good strength for her size, but this task was well beyond her ability. She looked at the ground where the wheels rested and saw that it was hard packed earth and fairly level.

"Very impressive!" she said to herself as she followed the tracks back to where they'd come from. The route had been slightly uphill the whole way! She raised her eyebrows and shook her head before she began helping transfer the wood to the shed.

They spent the rest of the morning catching up with a few of the rigorous chores of farm life, and when the midday mealtime was upon them she found out just what it took to keep such a man going. She burst out laughing when he started in on his third plate full of food.

"You have quite the appetite today," Josy giggled.

"You should have seen my breakfast!" Ron proclaimed while he packed his cheeks full. "I have a lot of catching up to do, you know...I haven't eaten so well in nearly a cycle, so I plan to enjoy being full for a change."

"Well, don't let me dissuade you then, please...eat up!"

The two of them spent the rest of that day tending to the workings of the farm around the vicinity of the main house and then taking a dip in the Prant in the fading light of the setting sun. That was a refreshing way to cool down before cleaning up for the evening meal and enjoying a few billots of chat before bed.

Josy escorted Ron to his room with the intention of strapping him down again when it occurred to her that she hadn't performed that task on the previous night.

"Ron, did you sleep well last night?"

"Yes, extremely! No nightmares at all!"

"The venom must have finally been purged from your system."

"I surely hope so."

"I suppose these are no longer needed then," she told him, fingering the heavy restraints.

"Please, Josy...if you're the least bit uncertain or apprehensive, feel free to use them. I can't guarantee that it's safe...I just don't know. And if I were to..."

She placed her fingers quickly to his lips to silence him.

"I 'am' certain. I do not fear you...not in the least."

Ron smiled an affectionate smile, but his certainty wasn't as strong as hers. Nonetheless, he hated being tied down so badly he was willing to allow her the leeway of that decision.

As it turned out, she was right.

The next day started much the same, as they trimmed and tended the plants, fed the animals and cleaned the barn, chopped and stacked even more wood...generally doing everything that normally needed done at such a place. Ron was recuperating quickly and feeling exceptionally energetic, so he was looking for even more exercise when they stopped for lunch.

Josy took him over to the barn and showed him the mowing machine they used to clip the wide lawn. It was a reel-type device that was six feet wide and had a seat above the blade assembly and a harness for a horse.

"Hop on!" Ron instructed as he slipped into the leather pulling straps.

"What are you going to do?" Josy asked as she slowly climbed up, watching him curiously.

Ron grinned at her until she was seated and then he took off out the barn door. It was a very heavy contraption to get moving, due to the gear reduction that set the blades spinning, but once underway, he just had to maintain a steady pace and the machine made quick work of the thick grass.

Ron was exhilarated to be out in the world again, free from the taskmaster's shadow and whip, and free from the debilitating ravages of the treochy's weapons. His body was mending well and would be fully restored again in a matter of days. His future promised to be exceedingly bright for a change and he hadn't felt this alive in so long that he couldn't stop grinning.

### Chapter Nineteen

### Farm life

Ron and Josy trimmed a few acres of grass a day for the next week, alternating his heaviest exercise between that work, the chopping of firewood, and hand cutting a large meadow of hay which lay beyond the buonta fields. Intermixed with that, they made repairs to the animal pens, fed and tended the beasts, and performed a thousand other minor duties. Soon the entire place was caught up on its maintenance and looking neat and majestic once more.

They spent every waking moment together and Ron couldn't remember ever being happier.

One day during their midday break, the pair was out on the back veranda enjoying the beautiful weather. Josy had finished her meal and sat with Ron while he devoured even more cuisine whilst they made small talk about the huge plantation, and other such common matters. The land was drained of its man-made flood again and the harvest was due to begin on the morrow.

"Would it be possible for me to assist in this harvest?" Ron asked.

"Well, I hadn't thought about that...not knowing how you'd be feeling and all, but I suppose we could arrange something."

Josy mulled it over for a moment as they cleaned up the table and put away the remnants of the meal, which weren't much.

"If we take the northwest section of the fields, it's fairly secluded and we should not be bothered with any other pickers."

"We? You participate?"

"Of course. Our whole family does."

"Really? Will I get to meet your father and brothers then?"

"That's unlikely. We must keep you hidden from the helpers and Father and my brothers will more than likely be in the main section, guaranteeing that all goes well with the bulk of the harvest. We have about two hundred workers that come in for the three days it takes to clear the crop. They stay at a centralized camp we constructed for that sole purpose. It's a huge undertaking which I normally oversee, but that wouldn't be possible this time anyway with you in our care."

Ron's face dropped sharply with remorse.

"Josy, please don't let me disrupt your family's business. I feel I've already been such a burden to you all, and I can't allow my presence to complicate your lives further."

Josy just smiled and waved off his misgivings.

"You have nothing to fear. We've worked this harvest every thirty days for the past ten cycles and will manage, I'm sure. We have plenty of people from Thackere to get support from, and if you and I do a share of the picking, we will have no loss in efficiency whatsoever."

"Very well then," Ron returned, feeling better about helping out. "Let's get out there and have a look around!"

Ron saddled up a horse for Josy to ride...all the while his mind went about in an almost capricious attitude. He'd enjoyed the rigorous work of the farm chores but was badly in need of spreading his wings...stretching his legs. He was a thoroughbred that had been stabled for too long, and when he led her mount from the stables she turned to him with a questioning look.

"Are you not going to ride with me?" she inquired.

"No, I think I'll just run alongside."

"It's quite a distance, Ron."

He just smiled up at her and nodded.

"Which way?" he asked.

"That direction," Josy replied and then she saw Ron blast off to where she'd pointed. "It's three hoz to the outer edge of the fields!" she shouted, but Ron was already entering the almost unending buonta rows and didn't look back.

Josy laughed and kicked her steed into motion.

It took her half a hoz to catch up with him, even though she was in nearly a full gallop, and when they were rejoined, the horse had to maintain a strong trot to keep pace.

Ron settled himself down into a long stride that wouldn't exhaust him too quickly and he and Josy made a complete lap around the plantation. She took him through the edges of the pravort grazing-lands, wound through the sprawling orchards along the forested boundaries, and then back down the path next to the Kessleton River.

Josy watched carefully from the vantage point of her tall mare's back and managed to elude the inquisitive eyes of the herders, the orchard tenders, and even the fishermen along the river-way. Her family had many workers to care for the place, all of whom lived and toiled far away from the main house, which helped in the current situation of secrecy. But that arrangement didn't account for the almost inevitable trespassers to their lands, so she watched for them as well. She explained that the Gitoves freely allowed such travelers as long as they were not up to nefarious deeds. The river was a bountiful supply source to the neighboring communities and sharing it was not something she and her family ever tried to curtail. They had more than enough of everything and would hardly fault those who did not.

Ron wore a large, floppy hat to conceal his features and moved so fast that no one was able to get more than a fleeting glimpse of him as he and Josy flew by. She was hailed at numerous locations around the farm and always returned the greeting warmly with a smile and a wave while carefully keeping the horse between Ron and the workers.

When they returned to their starting point, Josy dismounted and Ron set off for the riverbank a hundred yards away, making a beautiful dive from the family's long wharf into the cool water of the Kessleton. He splashed about for a bit, half floating and half swimming on his back, making a long, slow turn that allowed the sweat and excess heat from the run to leave his body. He was dripping with water as he slogged his way back to the barn and caught up with Josy pulling the saddle from the animal as it indulged in a long drink.

"Did that little dip feel good?" she asked over her shoulder. "If you wait a few litas, I'd like to cool off as well."

Ron walked right up to her as she emptied her hands and turned toward him. He gripped her by the waist, lifting her like a five-year-old child and tossed her up three feet before catching her again as she returned to his outstretched hands.

"OH!" she screeched, before bursting with laughter at his playfulness.

She marveled at how easily he could hoist her, and welcomed the touch of such a powerful man. She'd watched Ron almost constantly during the days while they were together, and was drawn to him with undeniable potency. The smooth grace with which he moved, the king-like attitude of total confidence he displayed, and the deep masculine voice that rolled from his lips were enough to make any woman's heartbeat quicken. His gray eyes were steady and true, captivating and piercing...and above all; honest.

She had always held her father's physical abilities as the pinnacle of strength and male supremacy, but this man was now showing her that there was another who could possibly match his muscle...and his intelligence as well. Ron didn't seem surprised at the intricate and complicated devices and systems her father had developed and implemented into the house and the grounds. It was as if he'd seen those types of things and was familiar with them...but the typical Caronians didn't have such. He was truly a very complex man.

As soon as Ron set her on the ground again, she dove at him smartly, sinking her fingers into his ribs with her eyes shining like jewels. He doubled over and dropped to the ground in a fit of mirth and she pounced upon him instantly. The two of them rolled around on the floor of the stables cackling with glee like a couple of high school kids, and had every animal in the barn stretching their necks out to see the fuss.

Finally, when Ron could no longer take a breath and was completely covered in a thick layer of dirt that stuck to his previously wet figure, he grabbed Josy in a scissors lock with his legs and held her hands away from him while he recovered. He found her to be quite the feisty opponent, but now his hold couldn't be loosened and she gave up the struggle, collapsing onto his torso while she too gasped for air from her incessant laughter.

When they calmed down enough to talk again, Ron found her nuzzled tightly to his chest and released her hands.

"I have found your weakness!" Josy proclaimed with a devilish grin twinkling at him from atop his middle, resting her chin on her crossed arms. "The mighty 'Shartae' has a ticklish spot, eh?"

"Yeah!" Ron admitted, letting the memories of his childhood move to the front of his mind. "My sisters used to really give me fits as a boy. I wasn't allowed to get too rough with them and they knew just where to grab me. Those were some fun times!"

Josy made no move to leave her position, and Ron lay there and looked deeply into her eyes. She was so beautiful, so sweet, so tender...and so close.

He reached up slowly and moved a long lock of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She lay frozen in his grasp but her dazzling eyes darted quickly back and forth as she returned his gaze. He could feel his internal engine cranking smoothly and building momentum, the butterflies of emotional angst taking flight, but then he thought of his last female confidant and his demeanor shifted.

He gingerly gripped Josy by the shoulders and rolled her off him, to her great dismay. He still managed a smile, but it was clouded with another sentiment that she couldn't read, so she accepted the timid rebuff.

"I'm as filthy as a pig in a wallow!" Ron announced as cheerfully as he could while changing the mood abruptly. "I think I'll have another swim."

Josy maintained her composure well, though she didn't understand his mood shift.

"I'll race you!" she cried as she shoved him hard and bolted out of the barn, her sandals flying wildly in the air as she kicked them free.

Ron followed her glorious retreat with his eyes, delighting in the way her body moved...and then gave chase. He caught up with her as she reached the wooden wharf, and could have passed her easily, but let her beat him to the river so that he could splash her resoundingly when she surfaced for air.

The two of them swam about and splashed each other for another billot, taking turns climbing onto the roof of the boathouse and diving off to see who could make the largest spray. They enjoyed themselves immensely until a barge came drifting downstream close enough to the shoreline that Ron felt concerned, so they decided they'd had enough and hauled themselves away from that sport. They were both exhausted.

When they reached the main house's porch, Ron stripped down to his skin and laid his clothes across the railing to dry. He'd given up even the slightest notion of modesty around Josy since the first time she'd bathed him. She made no complaint and really gave it little thought, having been caring for him in so many intimate ways already. She merely waited for him and then walked beside him to the grand bathroom where she excused herself and headed off down the hall to her own room.

Ron enjoyed a long hot soaking, and when he finished, he dried off and went to his own room to dress before setting about on a stroll in search of his nurse. He eventually found her out on the second floor, western facing terrace, watching the sun sink into the mountains in the distance.

"So there you are," he said as he approached, not wanting to startle her but managing to do so anyway. "I waited for you for a long while before...oh...I'm sorry, do you wish to be alone?"

Josy looked up at him and smiled even though he could tell she'd been crying. Her eyes were swollen and tinged in red but she tried hard to disguise the fact.

"No...no. Please sit down...join me," she replied as she patted the bench next to her.

Ron took the offering and attempted not to notice her apparent despondency. He could smell the floral scent of her and noticed her hair was freshly washed and she was changed.

"I missed our conversation during my bath," he ventured.

She just smiled and panned the horizon.

"Josy, have I done something wrong. Have I offended you?"

"No...Ron...no you haven't. I was just...I wanted to...you do not und..." she fumbled for the words to tell him something, but couldn't collect her thoughts enough to conclude her statement.

"I was chilly and in need of cleaning, so I decided not to wait and went to my own bathroom. It's not nearly as large but is sufficient for me."

She looked away again and Ron reached out and gently urged her to face him with a light tug of his index finger to her chin.

"Josy, I'm eternally grateful for everything you and your family have done for me...I truly am. I owe you my life, and if there is anything you ever need from me...you just name it and I will comply. But...if my being here is putting a strain on your family, on your business, or on your safety, then I should leave...before something bad happens."

"No!" Josy blurted instantly...a frantic shrill chirp that was very unlike her. "There is no worry about that. You're safe here as long as we are careful."

"You know what a risk you're taking by harboring me don't you? If the magistrate of the area were to find out...it could cost you all your plantation, your home, your money, even your lives."

Josy placed her left hand firmly on Ron's face and held his lips shut with her thumb.

"Please do not concern yourself with such matters. Please do not talk of leaving. We are safe. You are safe with us. My father is a powerful figure in this area and has many friends that will alert us to any danger that may come.

"I'm just in a melancholy disposition...that's all."

She held his cheek a long while, feeling the heat of his skin and the softness of his lips...tracing the lines of his face and memorizing every detail of him. The crisscrossing scars from so much brutality that had been imposed upon him would normally have been heart-wrenching to her. The cruelty and senselessness of it was beyond her understanding, and she would have felt profound pity for such a man, but other feelings concerning Ron had pushed far beyond those emotions.

He didn't seem to concern himself with his appearance. He was who he was and he held his head up high. He wouldn't complain of what had befallen him and wouldn't look for sympathy or excuses for his fate. He was alive and getting stronger and that was all he could really hope for, so he was happy.

She also noted that the dark tan was returning to his skin and she could already see the smaller scars fading away. Many of his wounds would eventually become invisible...but that wasn't what she was concerned with either. She worried because when she looked at him, she saw no scars at all. She saw a strong, intelligent, virile man...and her feelings for him were growing...far too quickly for her own piece of mind. He was a man who was just passing through her life...and would be leaving; of that she had no doubt. But how often does such a man come into one's life? Would she be better off to just let him slip by and count herself fortunate for shielding her heart from certain pain, or should she follow that heart into unknown dangers that were more than likely doomed to stormy days? She decided she would think about it some another time.

"I'll wager that you're ready for a bite to eat!" she said softly to Ron, her eyes twinkling once again.

Ron let out a huge smile at that statement.

"You would win that wager, little lady."

Ron stood up and tugged Josy to her feet before they headed off to the kitchen where a grand feast of three different meats was laid out, garnished with several vegetables. Ron's eyes lit up and his mouth watered uncontrollably. There were three shallow bowls off in a corner heaping with fresh fruit and four varieties of drink as well.

"Wow!" Ron let out, following that up with a long whistle. "You've really outdone yourself this time, Josy!"

"Well thank you, but it wasn't me."

"What do you mean? Who else is here?" Ron asked while glancing about quickly in wonderment...not out of fear or suspicion.

Josy just smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.

"Okay, I won't dig any deeper, but you must thank them for me."

That lovely lady was harboring a few secrets to be sure, but he felt no malice in that fact. If there were some servants slinking about to give her assistance, he knew his nurse had every faith in them, and so would he. He did wonder a bit at how they could possibly escape his detection...although when he glanced at his hostess, the answer was pretty obvious.

"Consider it done," she said.

They ate and talked about the upcoming harvest, and Josy explained the many ways the buonta-bean was utilized in the society of the Caronian people.

After a couple hours of chatting, they both felt the exertions of the day's activities calling to them and made their way from the table. Ron escorted Josy to her room and glanced in. It was the first time he'd seen it well lit and was amazed at the size of it. The room was easily a thousand square feet and had chests lining two of the walls. Some were for smaller items, having drawers in several differing heights, while others were huge wardrobe cabinets, and there were several of those. Chairs were stationed at each corner and a lounging couch was at the window; for reading he assumed. There was also a wide archway that lead out to the balcony. The entire space was very open and airy.

The walls were painted in three pastel shades that seemed to pervade a sweeping, flowing aspect to the room. Ron couldn't fully understand it but he could definitely feel the soft rhythm to the artist's handy-work.

The central item of the vast boudoir was a four-posted bed that must have been fifteen feet square. The corner posts were ornately carved wooden monoliths that reached ten feet up...two-thirds the height of the ceiling...and it looked strong enough to hold an elephant. The covering was distinctively feminine, looking like flowering vines with an extraordinary amount of brightly colored blossoms exploding from the fabric, and at least a dozen pillows.

"Your room is fantastic!" Ron commented as she turned to face him...to tell him good night.

"Thank you. It makes me feel at home."

"Well, I'll see you in the morning," Ron told her. "Sleep well."

Josy looked up at him with her gorgeous smile. "Ron, would you stay with me tonight?" she thought as her pulse raced and her eyes glistened up at him.

"Thank you," she said instead. "You too."

Ron strode back to his room without a clue as to what she was silently wishing for. He'd seen his reflection in the giant cheval that stood a short distance inside Josy's room and was clearly reminded of the damage that had been done to his face and upper torso. His recollection of the image he'd studied at length in the mirror of his own quarters was then brought to the forefront of his mind. That vision reinforced his perception of what the rest of the world would see forevermore when they came into contact with him.

A beautiful woman's attention was the last thing on his mind just then.

He wasn't the type of man who dwelled on such things, but it was a disheartened Ron Allison who lay down and closed his eyes.

"I can at least continue the battle against the Kreete!" he resolved as he forced himself to relax. "That will be enough."

### Chapter Twenty

### The harvest

The next morning was filled with activity. Ron was up with the sunrise and went for an early morning swim across the Kessleton and back, just to loosen up. He reveled in the cool solitude of the water and the stretching movements of swimming were a welcomed assignment to his still recovering body.

When he returned and dressed (he swam in the buff) he smelled the scintillating aroma of freshly cooked pork, "roika" on Caron, and his stomach roared to life with a resounding moan. He hurriedly strolled to the dining area and found Josy just finishing setting out the meal.

"That smells wonderful!" Ron told her as he stepped up beside her.

She was already dressed and had her hair pulled back and braided in a long plait. She sported short pants which were barely more than bikini bottoms and another halter top, both of which were bright yellow and stood out against her dark skin like a neon sign. She looked spectacular. Her curvaceous body wrapped in that snug bit of cloth screamed "sexy" to Ron's ravenous eyes and his heart pounded like a sledge hammer. He tried hard to take it in stride and not drool openly in front of her but he couldn't resist pulling her to him with a friendly hug.

"Thanks for setting this up!" Ron told her quickly as he absorbed the feel of her divine form while sweeping his hand across the table in a gesture that denoted his meaning.

He then stepped over and held out her chair while she slid into it gracefully.

"Thank you...and you're welcome."

"You look stunning! Did you sleep well?" he added, trying to cover up his obvious focus on her figure.

"Thank you again," she replied shyly, a distinct twinkle in her eye for having achieved the effect she was looking for, "and yes, I did. You?"

"Like a baby!" he replied enthusiastically while piling food onto his plate.

"You should've come to get me...so we could've enjoyed the swim together."

"It was very early and I didn't want to disturb your rest. If you like, I will in the future."

Josy nodded as she drank and they both dove into the breakfast. Ron found it to be quite traditional with eggs, bread, milk, and the ham...and the ubiquitous baskets of fruit.

Immediately after that fine meal, they went to the barn and tethered up two low-riding harvester's carts to a pair of draft animals...panderes. The pandere, Ron noted, was a short, stocky, herbivore well built for maneuvering in the tight spaces of the fields while still strong enough to tow a heavily loaded transport wagon. The creatures reminded Ron of miniature buffalo but with shorter hair and tusks sprouting from their snouts like a wild boar, for digging up roots and such in the wild.

Josy added two ladders to the wagons as well as their lunch basket, and they were headed out to the fields in short order where she immediately began Ron's tutelage in buonta-bean harvesting.

The bean had a tough, yellowish-orange hull and grew from the stems of the plant and hung on with some tenacity. It was the size of a kumquat and had to be plucked from the bush at the right stage of development or else it would result in bitter, bland meal and bread dough. When ripe though the harvesters only had a three-day window in which to gather the crop and get it to the refining-grinding mill for processing. It was extremely manpower intensive, as well as dull and repetitive, but the entire surrounding community for fifteen hoz depended in some way on that crop's harvest, so it was very much a community project. They either worked the harvest, the mill, the packaging and shipping stages, or the final output of the actual bread and animal meal. Absolutely nothing of the bean was left to waste.

"We have to use these ladders to reach the tops of the mature bushes," Josy instructed hastily.

She realized that they would be slow due to Ron's unfamiliarity with the process and she was a little stressed that their section would lag behind the experienced workers. She definitely didn't want anyone coming out to investigate their tardiness.

The ladders were heavy and bulky, having three legs so they would self-level on almost any terrain...an excellent idea in the uneven rows of the field. They were built with an extended rest on the top step so the picker could lay down on it to stretch out over the top of the plant in order to get at the upper beans of the round-shaped bush.

She showed Ron the most expeditious method of combing the trees quickly while being as thorough as possible since even a few missed beans per plant, when multiplied over the entire field, would add up to a substantial loss of crop output.

The beans' color made them stand out fairly well against the much darker green leaves, so Ron found the task straightforward and simplistic, although laborious. He worked with Josy on the first four bushes and then he decided to step it up a notch.

"I challenge you to a race!" he announced to her as they were finishing up a plant.

"Really?" Josy replied, grinning brilliantly as she took his dare with great excitement. "I'll take that challenge, mister!" she said with a twinkle as her mind whirled through possible rules.

"This section we're assigned to has thirty rows," she explained. "Each of us will have to work fifteen apiece. At the end of the third day, the one who finishes their section first will get to ask the other anything that they want...and he must do it."

Ron grinned back at her. "You mean 'she', don't you?"

"Hah! We shall see!"

"Agreed!" he said, accepting her guidelines. "Anything else?"

"Yes, there is just one more thing I must clarify."

Ron waited for her reply while he repositioning the ladder to the next plant.

"This row is mine," she proclaimed.

Ron's mouth dropped open while she giggled hysterically. He looked back at the bushes they'd just spent the last billot stripping of their product and realized he'd just been had.

"Ooohh!" he growled playfully. "That's not fair!"

"Well, you're taller than me and that's not fair either!" she retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.

"You little bi..." he called to her, jokingly as he lifted his own ladder and headed back to the beginning of the next row.

They'd started at the very furthest point, with the wild forest only fifty feet away, and were working back toward the center of the plantation, closest to the house. That was a precaution Ron suggested so that if anyone might come looking for them, they would have the advantage of an early warning, which came into play just around midday.

Ron was falling behind on his attempt to match Josy's speed and so was five plants away from her when a rider approached. Ron casually slipped on a long-sleeved shirt that was made of a thin material that would allow him to stay a bit cool while covering the glaring signs of his recent captivity. His large, drooping hat completed his ensemble and he returned to his duties straight away.

The interloper was a young, good-looking man and quite well built. He rode a beautiful black horse which had trappings indicating to Ron that he was wealthy. Attached to his saddle was a long sword and a large quiver of arrows on the right side, and a longbow on the left. He sat a saddle well and Ron guessed by his carriage that the fellow was thoroughly trained at the use of each of those devices.

"Hello, Josy!" he called out when he was still a hundred peors away. Josy threw her hand in the air and quickly glanced back at Ron who was drifting out of sight at his position.

"Hello, Raif!" she returned to the rider.

Ron continued his business, staying hidden, but picking in a flurry of hand motion. With Josy wearing that little outfit she had on, he doubted an army of men would notice he was there, and he saw it as a chance to catch up on her a bit.

"I brought you something to drink," Raif told her as he eased his mount up next to her ladder where she perched at eye level with him.

"Thank you," she replied in a friendly manner, smiling brightly, "but how did you know I was out here?"

"I asked your father."

"Oh...I see. Well that was very kind of you." Her eyes darted back in Ron's direction a couple of times and the young fellow didn't miss the distraction.

"Is something wrong?" Raif inquired then. "You seem nervous. Are you well...or have I done something to annoy you?

"No...no, not at all. Why?"

"Well, I heard that you were in town early last week and you didn't come by to visit me. Now, when I'm expecting to see you at the collection sight, I find that you're all the way out here. Forgive me, but I'm getting the feeling you're avoiding me."

Josy thought quickly to come up with a viable reason for the change in her normal routine.

"No, that's not it at all. I've just been preoccupied with my cousin. He's visiting for a while and I'm trying to be the good hostess...you know!"

"Oh...great!" Raif said.

The relief on his face was clearly evident to Ron, who was watching the two of them as well as he could through the leaves of the bush he was working, and he could tell the lad was infatuated with his nurse.

"Who wouldn't be?" Ron thought to himself.

"So why are you out here all alone? It really isn't safe, so close to the forest and all."

"Oh, I'm fine. There hasn't been an attack on us in a long while. I thank you for your concern, but you don't have to worry."

"Still, I can't leave you out here unprotected," he said as he dismounted and made to secure his horse to the back of the cart. "I'll stay with you and help you with this section."

Josy went pale as he turned to tie the reins. She looked over at Ron but he was barely in her view.

"That's not necessary. Father has assigned a guard to me."

Raif jolted to a stop, and for an instant didn't move a muscle. He listened and then slowly turned his head and surveyed the area. When he got around to looking in Ron's direction, Ron adjusted his position to allow the man to see him...still hastily stripping the beans from the buonta bush. He was surprised the fellow hadn't heard the racket he was making. Obviously his focus was elsewhere.

Raif put up a hand in a greeting but Ron just kept to his work. The young man lowered his arm and faced Josy again.

"Is he friendly?"

"No," Josy admitted quite frankly. "He doesn't talk much and prefers to be left alone."

"And your father is all right with such a man watching over you?"

"Oh, yes. He says that if anything...or anyone...can get to me with him around, then an army wouldn't have been enough."

Raif rubbed his chin and looked at Ron again.

"Really?"

Ron's back was to him by then and Josy's suitor studied him more carefully. Ron hunched down and stayed working, but his senses were on overdrive. He could hear Raif repositioning his stance by the crush of the ground under his feet.

"He doesn't look like much," the boy whispered to Josy, turning to her and taking his eyes off of the bodyguard for just a moment.

When he looked back, Ron was gone.

Raif instantly reached for his sword but remembered it was on his saddle. He was a big man...as tall as Ron...but lighter, slimmer. He scanned the grove again and listened over the sound of Josy's continuous picking, and then suddenly he jumped at a loud slapping sound.

Hoof beats followed that slap and his head whipped around to see his mount racing back down the rows of bushes at a high gallop.

"Your animal is getting away," came a calm, deep, dispassionate announcement from the other side of a nearby plant. "You had better go and catch it."

Raif nearly jumped from his own skin as he spun about to see the talking bush. He composed himself quickly though and looked up to Josy. She was lying across the top of her plant and not paying him any mind. He was so anxious by then that he didn't even take the opportunity to enjoy the view, but rather set off at a fast trot toward his rapidly vanishing animal.

"I'll talk with you later, Josy," he called back to her as he retreated.

Josy just waved and tried to hide the fact that she was bursting with laughter at Ron's little joke. When Raif was gone beyond her visual range, she backed down the ladder and went over to Ron, who was by then stripped back down to his waist with the hat stowed as well.

"Oh, that was so bad!" she told him in a chortling voice. "Whatever possessed you to do that?"

"He was getting too friendly with you," Ron told her matter-of-factly, without turning to face her. "He is interested in you in a romantic way and I didn't want him staying too long. If he was to find out who I am, you would be put in jeopardy. I cannot allow that!"

Josy thought for a long moment on what Ron just said, considering his reasoning and his tone.

"You're jealous!" Josy accused, smiling widely up at him.

Ron glanced at her quickly and felt his face blush, so he returned to his picking.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You are...admit it!" she ordered of him, and she jabbed him hard in the ribs, where she knew he was ticklish.

Ron jumped back from that, recoiling sharply and stepping out of her reach. He was not smiling. His disposition was solemn; his face was sad. He looked at the perfection of Josy's countenance and sighed a quiet sigh.

"I don't have the luxury of being jealous, Josy...if I really ever did, even before the Kreete did their work on me. Now though, it's so ludicrous to consider a relationship with a woman that I simply push it out of my thoughts."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"I'm a wanted, hunted criminal. It will never be safe for me to settle down and have a life of my own, and every place I go from here on out, I'll have to wonder which of the men around me is going to try and collect the bounty on my life."

Josy lost her smile then and just watched Ron carefully as he spoke.

"Also...things were done to me, Josy...things that have changed me forever...made me so filled with hate that I don't think I'll ever be the same. And then...I'm...well...quite frankly, you see...I've seen myself as I stand here today...in the mirror in your beautiful home.

"I never thought of myself as vain, but I was confident of my looks...at how I appeared to the fairer sex. Now," he said as he grabbed his ladder and repositioned it to the next bush. He was embarrassed and disheartened, so his powerful grip caused the wood to groan under the pressure of his fingers. "I'm grotesque."

"That's not so!" Josy protested. Her voice was indignant.

Ron managed a smile and put up his hand to halt her argument.

"Please...I'm no fool," he said, cutting her off. "I'm eternally grateful that you can look at me without a show of repulsion, and your heart is so big that I know you truly believe what you feel, but if I would have been seen in Thackere, you know as well as I that there would have been an unpleasant scene...and not just for the reward.

"I'm so fortunate I have your friendship, Josy...you have no idea. I want you to know how very much that means to me. Spending time with you is fantastic. You're smart and witty and tough and funny...and absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. That man who I just ran off appears to be a good match for you. He apparently gets on well with your family, and seems to be a fine fellow...maybe a bit skittish, but otherwise a fine man. I'm not jealous of him. It's quite the contrary, really. I'm happy for you."

Josy was taken off guard by Ron's narrative...and his conclusions, so she slowly turned to follow him.

"There...hah!" Ron announced suddenly, forcing his mood to take a lighter tone. "I've gained on you by an entire bush! That's what you get for visiting instead of working. I'll catch you tomorrow, no doubt about it!"

Josy was still in a bit of a funk...thinking about what Ron had said to her...trying to understand his perspective.

"Yes, that's good," she replied with no coherence in her statement at all. "Well, it's time for our midday meal anyway."

Ron joined her at the low-drafted wagon and they dug out the basket lunch that she'd prepared for them that morning. He tried to get her into the lighthearted rhythm of chat they had before the stranger's visit, but she wouldn't keep her mind on the conversation. Her thoughts were busy reviewing the earlier one.

The rest of the day went by quietly, and Ron guessed at why that was but didn't concern himself with it much. He felt she would either accept what he said as the plain fact of the matter and return to their previous relationship, or she wouldn't. In any event, he would not be around much longer anyway, so it mattered little. His opinion was based purely on pragmatic certainty, not on emotional attachment.

The two of them filled the bean cart ten times during the course of the day and delivered it all to the central collection sight by the time the sun was completely down. Shortly thereafter they were back at the barn and unhitching the carts.

When they pulled the wagons loose from their pack animals, the beasts headed straight to their pen for a much needed meal and drink.

Ron and Josy hadn't actually gone to the collection point, but instead, set the pandere moving in that direction knowing it would follow the rows until told to stop by the attendee on sight. The creatures would return after the wagon was emptied, it was watered, given a special treat, and then sent back. Many cycles of repetition had conditioned the creatures to be excellent at their task.

Ron followed Josy's instructions for tending the animals and so they were brushed down, washed off, and felt thoroughly pampered in under a billot.

The night air was substantially cooler than that of the daytime and Ron languished in the light breeze that rolled down the river.

"I'm going for a swim," he announced to his partner. "Care to join me?"

"No...I'm tired. I think I'll head in and clean up. You go ahead."

Ron watched as Josy disappeared into the house and felt guilty for having caused whatever anguish she was feeling. He was relieved though that the subject was clear. His guilt would have followed him forever if he were to have been less than honest with her, so it was better this way. If it ended up causing her more pain, he would simply leave and let her get back to her life. She was young and would forget him soon enough.

He dove into the water and swam out halfway and back, just to let his limbs feel a full range of motion for a while. The picking had worn on him heavily after lunch, still not feeling a hundred percent recovered just yet. Too, his back was tender from exposure to the sun and from hunching over on the ladder, so the water felt marvelous...cooling the burning sensation.

When he once more reached the expansive porch on the main level of Josy's home, he sat down on one of the chairs for a while contemplating the situation that he now found himself in.

A half-billot of introspection left him drifting off, and he probably would've fallen asleep completely if Josy hadn't come searching for him.

"Ron," she whispered with such softness that his half sleeping mind smiled at the tickle of her breath in his ear. Her scent filled his nostrils and he was awake instantly. He turned to the vision of Josy in a new, powder-blue nightgown, and she gently slipped her hand into his and gave a tug.

"Dinner is ready. Come on."

They ate a robust and hearty meal since they were both famished from the trials of the day's activities, and then Ron headed off to the giant tub for his cleaning while Josy went straight to bed.

Ron soaked his weary, sunburned body for a good while, and then he too went straight to bed and slept hard, but not well. His dreams were filled with visions of his two "friends", Cache and Roe...and of his last images of them.

Their betrayal and abandonment of him to the Kreete ran in a non-ending loop while he slept, and when he awoke, his mood was dire.

### Chapter Twenty-one

### Tender care

Ron was up before daylight and stripped down on the dock for his morning swim only moments later. He'd heard no sound coming from Josy's room, so he ignored her request to wake her for the dip, rationalizing that she probably needed her sleep. But also, he was not really in the mood for company anyway...even hers.

He checked for traffic on the Kessleton and was immersed in its fluid a lita after that. Swimming with strong, smooth strokes, he barely made a splash as he knifed through the waveless surface to the opposite side and started back.

His return trip didn't go as well though because when he rolled his head to the side for a breath, he heard another splash...something large had dived in only ten peors to his left.

Ron looked in that direction while continuing his own action and saw the tell-tale sign of a tryton (a Caronian crocodile)...two lumps of eyes just breaking the surface and closing fast. He couldn't tell how big it was in the starlight of the early morning but felt sure it had seen how large he was and judged him to be equitable prey...which meant it was a big animal.

Ron knew instinctively that he could not out-swim the beast, so he stopped and faced the creature, treading water easily, conserving his energy. The tryton would normally have preferred for Ron to be unaware of its presence, but it undoubtedly didn't fear humans because it came right at him and its mouth gaped open for the kill.

The crocodile's mouth was as long as Ron's arm and it had two short horns at the tip of its snout, for extra ripping ability no doubt. The tryton rammed into Ron's outstretched hands and as he gripped those horns, the beast snapped its giant maw shut.

Ron had faced one of those reptiles before in the Retribution Games and knew its normal mode of attack. It would clamp onto the victim, dive to the bottom of the waterway to drown the prey, and then roll over and over to rip the carcass into edible-sized bites.

When those jaws closed, just scraping his stomach, Ron took a deep breath and concurrently swapped his grip around to prevent that mouth from opening again. Then they headed downward. Ron held on to the tryton's horns, his hands providing his only protection to his stomach against those rending devices as he rode that snout down, down, down into the utter darkness of the murky river bottom.

The creature smashed him violently against the rocky basin of the Kessleton, and that impact took half of Ron's air with it. It also drove his head into a boulder the size of a truck tire, dazing him badly...but still he held on.

The animal then used its stalwart tail to begin churning the water ferociously in a death spin. Ron was banged around harshly against the stony floor while he struggled to hold on and realized that he was in bad trouble. The river was deep and he could feel the weight of the water as it pressed against his skull, his head pounding horribly and no way to clear his ears to relieve that pain. His mind blitzed through the possible weakness of the beast and then focused on the only one within reach.

Looping his left arm around the tryton's jaws, he felt around on the writhing creature's skull in the pitch black of the riverbed and found what he sought. Without a moment's hesitation, Ron jammed his fingers into the left eye socket of the reptile as far as they would go and ripped out the gooey orb.

The crocodile recoiled instantly, changing its methodology from attack to full retreat before Ron had the opportunity to hunt out the other eye.

As soon as he felt the shift in the beast's mode, Ron released his own death grip and shoved away from the wounded animal viciously, turning in the opposite direction and speeding for the surface. His body's need for air was great by then, and he had to concentrate hard to remember to breathe out slowly as he rose, to keep from damaging his lungs as the air inside them expanded toward the surface. He kicked with every ounce of his strength and pulled at the water with all the power in his arms while trying to minimize his state of anxiety.

When he finally broke the surface, his body shot clear of it up to his waist and he gasped at the air as if he would swallow the whole of it, exuberant in his fortune to have once again cheated death.

The dawn's glow was just then filling the sky with its amber shades of colors against a few spotty clouds, and he whipped about to search out his adversary. He quickly saw the ripple of the creature's watery retreat and followed that trail until it vanished into a swampy area a bit to the north. As the spindly reeds of the marshy ground spread apart at the tryton's intrusion, Ron growled deeply and then roared out his ancestor's cry of victory into the new day.

The water's smooth surface shuddered at the blast, and the calling birds, the croaking frogs, the chirping crickets, and the creeping hunters of the night all paused for several moments, startled and fearful of the meaning of that alien sound.

As the heat of battle ebbed in the coolness of the river, Ron's focus returned to his present location and he recalled his need for secrecy, cursing himself for allowing his primal side to prevail over his reason.

He carefully looked upstream and down, scanning them both thoroughly until he was satisfied he was alone. Then, finding the way open, he started back to the house.

When he reached the shoreline, he was met by a frantic woman at a dead run.

"What happened?" Josy screamed to the dripping form of Ron hauling himself up the bank. "What was that dreadful cry?"

"I'm sorry," Ron said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

Josy stared at him in total confusion. She couldn't believe that a man had made that horrendous sound. She looked the river over and then up and down the banks, still panicked that some crazed, wild animal was nearby. Then she recalled what her father had told her about the fighter, Shartae, in the arena.

"That was you?" she finally asked, still not willing to assume anything.

"I'm afraid so. It's an instinctual reaction to battle...and I was so long in the confines of the coliseum that I simply forgot to curb the urge in time. I will do my best not to repeat that mistake."

Josy followed Ron up to the porch, where his clothes and a thick towel lay, and still wondered at the beast of a man she was so drawn to.

"You mentioned battle...what battle. There is no one about."

"I disturbed a tryton on the other bank and I guess he thought I looked like an easy meal."

"You what?" she squealed, astonished at his statement and turning fearfully to the river again.

She quickly whirled back around and swept her eyes over his body.

"Oh, may the Guardian save you!" she blurted as she realized the shining fluid on his skin wasn't all water.

Ron was bleeding heavily from a gash on his scalp above his left ear, from several painful looking abrasions on his back and shoulders, and from two nasty gashes in his stomach from the water beast's snout horns.

Josy grabbed Ron's left hand with both of hers and took off at a run, hauling the perplexed man after her, still naked and dripping all over the sparkling floor.

Into the huge bath she flung him and off to a nearby shelf she dashed.

Ron slipped to the bottom of the small pool and emerged with a question on his lips.

"What's wrong? I'm not injured that badly!"

"You don't know what you are saying! Those creatures are extremely vile," she counseled him as she dumped a handful of powder into the water. "They are covered with bacteria and any break in the skin that comes into contact with their hide, or their teeth, could be fatal!"

Josy swapped out one of the soap trays for the container she'd grabbed and then she jumped into the water beside Ron, causing him to retreat back a bit. She scooped up the sponge from its drying rack and dipped it into the new cleanser, lathering it up good before turning back to Ron.

"Josy, I can take care of this little..."

"Do not speak!" she ordered in a tone that Ron quickly decided he wouldn't challenge. "Take a breath!"

She then took him by the shoulders firmly and dunked his head into the now foaming water. She held him under for a long while, counting off the litas, and then pulled him up and shoved him back onto that shallow platform where she'd first bathed him after his long sleep.

Ron wasn't prepared for her to maneuver him around like that and was amazed at how handily she accomplished the feat. His eyes were shut from the sting of the antibacterial agent she added to the water, and when he got them wiped clear so he could see again, he found a sight that took his breath away.

Josy was pressing him back to have a good look at the cuts to his stomach and the lightweight material her nightgown was made from was soaking wet and plastered to her like a second skin...and completely transparent. He propped himself up on his elbows and wiped his eyes again.

He'd seen her nude body in the clearing back in Thackere but there she'd been terrified, cringing, and surrounded by threat. Here, it was something totally different.

Ron's mouth gaped open like a fifteen-year-old boy with his first girlie magazine as he took in the view of her incredible figure. Her breasts were indeed large, round and full, and perfectly tanned, with three-inch areolas of darker flesh centered exquisitely on each of them. They were very firm, jostling not at all as she tended to his wounds, totally oblivious to his inspection.

His heart began beating quickly and his breath grew shallow and quick as he had passionate, intimate thoughts flood into his mind while he panned downward.

Her waist was already very familiar to his eyes, as he'd studied it for several days now, wondering how she could be so slim with such audacious curves above and below that point. Now, he was graced with the rest of the view, and it was maddening! The sweetness of her hips flared so smoothly and sensuously...and between them...

He realized his mouth was dry from hanging open for so long, so he tried to swallow but found he could not. On his second attempt, he coughed and sputtered, his saliva failing to perform its duty, and that caught Josy's attention.

She'd lifted the torn and ragged skin of his mid-section and was vigorously scrubbing it with the antiseptic cleaner when she heard him cough and seem to gag. Her eyes glanced up instinctively before she noticed his expression. At first she thought he was in distress because of her treatment, but she could plainly see that his attention was not on his injury...and that caused a query. A quick check of his line of sight explained everything to her and she blushed beet red instantly.

She continued with her work like a professional however, finding him to be extremely lucky that the damage was only superficial with no tears to his muscles. With that diagnosis made, she breathed a sigh of relief and then shifted her attention.

Ron was still gawking, so Josy decided to take an entirely new tact. After completing her inspection, she rose up provocatively from her slumped position to a pose that seemed to offer Ron a brazen view of her goddess figure.

That simple act further incited Ron's masculine response to what his visual senses were already transfixed with, and he had to mentally force himself to look her in the eyes. When he did, he found a woman who was searching for a particular response...hoping with all her heart that she would be found pleasing.

His sexual attraction to her made itself indelibly clear only inches from her firm thigh, and his less obvious reactions...an audible gulp and a long, ragged, exhalation convinced her that she had indeed achieved her goal...and so she smiled.

Josy still held the soapy sponge and her hands were thick with the lather...and so she reached down and washed him ever so gently.

"We don't want anything important to become infected," she said in a husky, sultry voice as her hands slid carefully around him with their slippery coating, sending shock-waves coursing through Ron's body; her eyes never leaving his.

She dropped the sponge and just used her small hands for a few moments, not wanting the roughness of that instrument to cause Ron any irritation. She was very thorough in her cleaning and when she observed a sharp inhalation and saw Ron closing his eyes and clenching is jaw as if fighting against a deed with all his strength, she stopped. She then rinsed his body with her cupped hands and stood up again, still studying his body language.

After a long struggle for control, Ron breathed again and opened his eyes, but they were not the same anymore. His passion for that gorgeous woman was radiating from his stare, as if he would have his way with her by mental projection alone. His face was flushed with the heat he felt and his heart was pounding in his ears.

Josy stood straddling his left knee and she leaned over him and grasped his hands, pulling him into a sitting position again. She then tried to step even closer so she could examine his head injury, but the section of cloth that still spanned the area between her legs caught on Ron's knee and prevented her movement. She could have leaned him closer to her but she decided on a different approach.

"This gown is not helping things is it?" she asked innocently as she reached down to her own knees and began slipping it upward in slow motion; or at least that was what Ron's perception implied.

He found himself once again frozen in time...his heart racing, his eyes dancing, his temperature rising, and his mouth watering.

She slipped the simple garment over her head smoothly and tossed it to the polished floor beside the tub, and then she took that small step that it had refrained her from taking. She stood there poised again, her own internal furnace running hot and her bared breasts heaving up and down with her rapid breathing, scarcely an inch from Ron's chin...her marvelous pursed nipples less than half that distance. Their gazes locked in a vault of time as Ron and Josy stood there for almost an entire bort, seemingly reading each other's thoughts.

Ron reached out and placed his hands on her glorious hips, his fingers nearly touching at the apex of her waist. Josy then took his face in her hands and gently turned it away from her so that she could inspect the damage to his scalp.

His hair was just beginning to grow fully again and was only a quarter inch long, so she found the two inch split in his epidermis easily, at the peak of an egg-sized lump. The bleeding had stopped and she could tell instantly that it was really nothing to worry about, but she took her time cleaning the wound all the same...and then carefully rinsed it out.

The feel of his hands on her body, his swollen organ against her thigh and his face resting against her bare breast was not something she wanted to rush away from.

Finally though, she forced herself to realize that they couldn't spend any more time at this little game. The harvest was waiting and the sun was now peeking into the windows.

Josy pulled Ron's face up to hers and kissed him warmly...a soft, lingering show of genuine affection.

"I'm glad that you were not injured more seriously," she told him with their noses lightly touching.

At that, she turned her body to leave, brushing her left nipple casually across Ron's lips as if by accident, and then stepped past him as she exited the tub, her hips swaying at a pronounced degree.

There was a set of steps in and out of the enormous tub at every side and Josy chose a spectacular one in Ron's view. The route she took forced her to climb out in a direction that required her to then turn completely back around in order for her to make her way to her room, giving him one last clear look at her as she strolled away. Her posture was excellent and displayed her unending virtues to perfection, and Ron would have sworn she'd practiced that "runway" walk a hundred times because she was the picture of fluid motion and grace as she vanished from his view.

He sat there for another full bort before realizing that he must somehow stop thinking about her. There was work to get to and he was wasting time...but the images of her were burned into his memory as if someone had hung a picture of her six inches from his face.

He then got to his knees in the sudsy bath and abruptly flipped the lever on the tub that controlled the water-flow, instantly swapping from a very warm setting to one that was decidedly cold. He maneuvered himself so that stream would flow across the front of him...and that was the only thing that enabled him to begin to think rationally again.

Fifteen borts later Josy met Ron in the dining room. She wore another of her exceedingly sexy halter and short-pants combinations...this time in a pastel blue color with flowing designs of white, like from a painter's brush, sweeping in and around her heavenly figure. Ron smiled broadly and his eyes twinkled at the beauty of her entry.

He was already rapidly downing his breakfast when she approached him directly with a small container.

"This will stave off infection and help you heal these latest additions to your trophy-case."

She applied a light cream to the head wound and then dropped to her knees and did likewise at his waist. Her touch was nimble and Ron found the application to be quite pleasant, even though the areas were tender.

They talked little while they ate...each still swooning from their earlier interaction...and so were out at the barn shortly, hitching up their draft beasts.

The sun was half-round, still trying to heave itself above the horizon when they headed out to the fields, so they hadn't lost too much time. Ron managed to concentrate on the upcoming work long enough to make sure it was known that he started the day only three bushes behind Josy.

He found the tension which had developed between them on the previous day was gone again, and they talked and joked with each other like normal as the morning progressed.

Just before the noontime break however, a change took place once more.

Josy was telling Ron about the best place on the river to trap a certain Caronian turtle...a herndon...that was a wonderful meal, when he caught a scent in the wind.

"So do you think we could go out and try?" she asked.

Her body was slumped over the upper part of the ladder at the time, where she was just finishing that area of the plant. When she received no reply, she had to scramble back a bit and turn completely around to see why.

Ron wasn't there.

"Ron?" she called lightly, scanning about the region within her view.

During the morning, she and Ron had taken fleeting moments of silliness to fling rotten beans at one another, enjoying the play as if children. However, he hadn't gone so far as to try to sneak up at her, or scare her, or in any way separate himself from her. As she scanned the field now, she felt confident he wouldn't begin a game of hide and seek without saying something, so she immediately became concerned.

The bathroom facilities were non-existent out in the fields, so they had each been forced to do what they needed from time to time, but had never been beyond earshot, so she didn't presume that was the case now either.

She climbed down the ladder, still looking about and straining to hear him, and walked over to Ron's station. His gathering bag was left on the ladder but he was nowhere around. She took in a breath to shout his name, but just then a loud, distinct thud sounded from a few hundred feet to her left and made her whirl about.

"Wait!...Wait!" came a cry from that same direction. "I mean you no harm!"

That plea was followed instantly with the distinct report of a fist striking a face with tremendous force...then there was nothing.

Josy ran back to the bean cart and reached into a well-hidden pocket where she withdrew a short sword, one that she was well trained in the use of. She positioned herself with her back to the cart so the pandere would warn her if someone approached from that direction...and she waited.

Barely a bort later, Ron walked out of the bush-line carrying an unconscious man over his shoulder. He strode over to Josy, noting the weapon she carried, her stance, and her positioning, and smiled.

"Not bad!" he told her out of approval for her training. "You look like you know what you're doing."

"I've been schooled in the art of defense," she said valiantly, returning his grin. "Father is a master of such things."

Ron's opinion of her father grew even further with that statement. He very much looked forward to meeting that man.

"What's going on with him?" Josy asked.

"I don't know exactly," Ron replied as he stepped up beside her and dumped the fellow roughly to the dirt.

It was Raif.

### Chapter Twenty-two

### Choices

"Oh, no!" Josy shouted. "What happened? You didn't... He's not...dead...is he?"

Ron shook his head as he helped himself to a long drink of water before he began his explanation.

"I caught wind of this one and two others as they approached from that direction, along the tree-line," he said, pointing off about a quarter hoz to the southeast. "I watched them from my ladder and when I could tell they were indeed coming in this direction, I decided to investigate. I crept up on them and heard them planning an attack on you, so I stopped them."

"An attack on me?" she repeated with undeniable confusion. "Wait a bort. You stopped them? What exactly does that mean?" Josy asked, delving a little deeper into the story, and fully aware of his propensity toward permanently damaging his opponents.

Ron smiled sweetly at her.

"I didn't kill them, if that's what you're asking. I heard this man...Raif...telling the others you were not to be harmed in any way, so I suspected what was going on and had a bit of sport with them."

"What do you mean? What 'is' going on? And where are the other two?"

"One was carrying a rope with him, so he's hanging just there," Ron pointed to the east, "upside down. The other is unconscious further to the north of that guy's position."

"Oh...well...I suppose that's not so bad...and they'll be all right?"

Ron nodded while taking another drink.

Josy's mind raced and she looked dazed, wondering what to make of this new dilemma as her eyes flitted over to Raif. She still held the sword, but it felt suddenly unnecessary and she turned to replace it in its scabbard. "Waaaaait a lita," she added, spinning back to face Ron and using the tip of her weapon to gesture with. "What do 'you' think was going on?"

Ron chuckled a moment.

"Raif; I believe, was out to prove to you that you needed 'him' for your protection...that I wasn't worthy of guarding you. He and his accomplices...a couple of young men without the proper skills for such a venture...were attempting to place you in mock danger by circumventing my abilities, thereby inducing his own necessity as your champion."

Josy looked at the sleeping fellow at her feet and her heart warmed at his poorly executed, chivalrous gesture. He truly was a wonderful man and had been patiently trying to get close to her for cycles.

Josy put the blade away and went over to the unconscious suitor and sat down, pulling his head up and into her lap. She then picked up the water flask and poured some onto a bit of cloth, soaking it thoroughly before she dabbed and wiped his brow and drizzled a bit over his neck, stirring him to his senses again.

He looked up into her dazzling eyes and smiled for a moment, until he realized where he was and how his plan had failed so miserably.

"Josy!" he blurted before he turned flaming red.

He sat up hastily, rubbing the swelling side of his face before turning to the beauty who was his heart's desire. "I...uh...well, I...oh, sharn! I'm sorry, Josy."

Ron went back to his work and slipped on his shirt and hat as a disguise. Raif had seen him briefly, but that was all. The other two he completely blind-sided.

"What on Caron were you thinking?" Josy questioned him as she handed him her water flask.

"I just wanted to impress you, Josy," he said, too ashamed to look at her. "I thought if I could convince you of my devotion to you...to show you I could protect you and provide for you...then you might grow to have feelings for me like I have for you.

"I'm in love with you, Josy."

She was surprised at his announcement, even though she had suspected his amorous intentions for the last cycle and a half. It placed a duty on her that she had hoped to avoid...indefinitely. She stepped back as he regained his feet and he took her hands firmly in his and moved very close to her. He gazed longingly down into her sparkling eyes and continued the profession of his heart.

"I made a complete fool of myself here today, Josy...I know...but I would spend my life in the effort of making you happy, and give my life toward the protection of yours.

"You know that pasture land I've been talking about for the past few cycles? I finally bought it and we would live nearby so we would be close to your family and..."

Josy put up her finger to silence him, looked over to Ron, and then tugged at Raif to follow her. She led him back in the direction of his men and as she passed Ron's position, she told him she would return shortly.

"Please do not follow me. I will be safe...all right?"

Ron glanced over to her and nodded, keeping his face away from the young man's view.

Ron did nothing to stop her from walking away with Raif and hardly broke the rhythm of his picking when she addressed him. Nonetheless, he could feel the heat in his face as he watched the two of them walking shoulder to shoulder, quietly talking as they vanished from sight. He was jealous...he knew he was...and he berated himself harshly for that emotion.

"She's not mine!" he forced into his mind with a real, angry growl. "She should be with someone more suited to her life. They are closer to the same age and would make a fine couple."

He had every pragmatic angle covered as to why she should accept the fellow's proposal and couldn't understand what the hell was going on when he crushed five perfectly good buonta beans in a row. He then pushed himself hard to refocus his thoughts on the task in front of him and was greatly relieved when he finally succeeded.

Josy returned a long while later, alone, and went immediately back to work without a word of explanation about what had taken so long. Ron was drawing almost even with her in the count of the harvested bushes and was now only trailing by one. He glanced at her several times as she quickly finished up the bush she was stripping and repositioned herself to the next. His curiosity was eating away at him...trying to get a reading from her demeanor about her decision. Instead, she returned to the line of chat they were having before Ron went missing.

Her voice was upbeat, even joyful, and so he knew she was very happy about whatever she'd decided, but she wasn't divulging a word.

"So, would you like to try and find some of the herndon I was talking about?"

Ron resigned himself to the fact that she was not willing to speak of her conversation with Raif, so he calmly went back to his previous state.

"That sounds good to me. When would you like to go?"

"We have to wait for the rains to start, which will be soon, and then..."

They finished up another two bushes before stopping for lunch and concluded the afternoon without any more interruptions.

When they stood in the barn once more, with all the animals tended to, the carts put away, and the sun gone, they strolled wearily toward the house. The stars were out in full force, but the moons weren't up just yet, so it was an enchanting time of very limited vision.

"I'm going for a swim," Ron told Josy, awaiting a decision as to whether she would join him.

"Wait for a moment, please," she replied as she stepped hurriedly across the wide porch and into her home.

Ron was stripped again when she returned and he noticed she was carrying a long dagger in a scabbard belt.

"Wear this!" she pleaded.

It was slim and light and wouldn't impede his movements in the water. It was also the first weapon he'd been given since his escape, although he didn't know if that was intentional.

"Thanks!" he told her as he strapped it about his waist. "Coming?"

"Yes, I am. Oh, wait. Be careful of that."

Ron glanced down behind him, in the direction she indicated and Josy quickly slipped her heel behind his and shoved him hard, slamming him to the ground.

"Race you!" she shouted as she cackled with glee and tore out across the closely cropped grass.

"You little..." Ron chuckled again as he realized she'd duped him once more.

He was up and gaining on her quickly, but she dived out ahead of him and was enveloped by the water before he reached her. He launched himself out a good fifteen feet further than she had and made a guess as to where she would surface...but guessed wrong.

When he came up, her laughter was ringing across the water and it made him join in just because of the deliriously funny lilt of her voice.

"You wait!" he declared before he spread his long arms out and headed straight for her.

"Aah!" she chirped as she took off in the opposite direction.

Ron found out something about that little lady in the next billot of water sports...she could really swim! He half-heartedly gave chase, thinking he would catch her easily, but noticed right away that she was a regular fish in the water. After a while, he decided to end her mockery of him and put everything he had into an all-out sprint to reel her in. He almost got her, but when he was just about there, she disappeared under the surface and changed direction, coming up well behind him in a new fit of delight.

Ron was blowing hard by then and resigned himself to defeat.

"All right! All right! I give up. You've beaten me," he announced as he flopped over on his back and half floated, half back-stroked around to catch his breath.

He grunted and huffed for a little while, staring up at the glorious stars, and the newly risen, glowing moonlight of Vorac, Caron's smallest moon. That was one other thing from his imprisonment he had really missed...the open sky at night.

"Gotcha!" Josy cried when she surfaced only inches from Ron and goosed him in the ribs for fun.

Now it was Ron's turn to be startled and he grabbed her firmly in reaction and pulled her to him, pressing her body against his and holding her tightly.

They still kicked to stay afloat, but their laughter swiftly died away as the closeness of their bodies undeniably alerted them to other forms of play.

"You're a fine swimmer," Ron said softly as he held her to him.

She smiled in the starlight and the glint of her amazing grin shined brightly at him. "So are you."

There was a long pause while they just looked at each other, each of them longing for the other to take the next step.

"Well," Ron began, "I suppose we should head back to the..."

Josy silence him with a lunging kiss that was rife with her pent-up desire and Ron received it greedily; their lips engulfed with fiery passion and their tongues probing one another gently as the heat of their fervor soared.

The taste of her was to Ron so sweet and wonderful that he pulled her to him even tighter, feeling that if they were to part, the dream he was enjoying would end. At that instant, he wanted time to halt...to live the rest of his life in the enchantment of the moment.

Josy was even more enthralled than Ron; her arms reaching out and encircling his neck. She pulled him to her hard as she tried to melt into his body, to read his mind, to bond with his deepest emotions.

Finally though, Josy pulled back ever so softly and looked at the man in her arms. He thought himself a monster, and wouldn't have recognized his appearance if compared to the figure he'd first seen so long ago back on Rauld. But to her, he was beautiful. She saw it in his eyes, in his laugh, in his smile, and she felt she knew what was in his heart.

"I'm famished!" she said to him as she caught her breath. "How about you?"

Ron's mind was still reeling from that kiss, but he managed to laugh and agree with her. "Yes. As a matter of fact, I am."

Josy kissed him again, just a quick pressing of the lips and then she spun around to go.

"Race you!" she cried, as she blasted off in a flurry of churning water.

"Damn!" Ron said to himself as he followed, barely able to keep up with that stunning woman.

They were up in the house shortly and separated to clean up.

"I'll meet you in the dining area shortly," she told Ron as she walked briskly to her room.

Ron bathed in the giant tub and went to his own quarters to dress, returning to find Josy pouring them drinks to have with their meal. She had on a garment that was very different from her normal, snug-fitting attire, but one that he still found delightfully sensual. It was sleeveless, full in length, and conservative at the neckline, yet still maintained a sexy elegance the way it draped her exquisite figure. The material could have been satin, but it had a softer sheen to it that lent added subtlety to the overall appeal, and it was loosely laced across her shoulders. The one aspect of the gown that would certainly catch any man's eye was that it was brilliantly white, and that nearly iridescent color contrasted with her raven hair and bronze skin with scintillating drama.

"You look absolutely angelic, Josy," he told her as he slid into his seat.

"Why thank you, Ron," she replied with a sweet, deep-dimpled smile. Her movements were so graceful she practically floated into her chair.

They ate and discussed the usual things...the harvest, the weather, and the competition that was to be settled on the morrow.

"I have almost caught you, little lady," Ron told her, choosing a subject that was as innocent as he could. He wanted to believe in the feelings she'd fanned out in the water, but gazing into the mirror to shave had nearly smothered those flames once again. "How could she feel attraction to that?" he'd asked his hideous reflection. "But I've been saving up my strength for this last day, so you had better be ready, or I'll win that wager."

Josy smiled back at him and her eyes twinkled like diamonds in the firelight.

"Oh, I shall be!"

Ron was watching her closely and felt certain she had something secret in store for him. And from her past accounts, he was sure she would cheat in some way.

"So, what is it that you will have me do, if you should...by some miracle...beat me tomorrow?" Josy asked.

"I don't know really," Ron replied, never having actually given it any consideration, his mind too caught up with other thoughts at the moment.

"How about you?" he returned, studying her expressions closely.

"You will just have to wait and see," was all she would say, but her face denoted more.

They finished off the fabulous meal a billot later and cleared the table. Afterward Josy went to a large couch which sat in front of a fireplace that burned low, its red glow ebbing and growing as the air drifted gently past it and up the flue. Ron joined her for a bit, the two of them watching the fire and their minds wandering without much more conversation.

It was very relaxing after such an arduous day but the emotional tension that started out in the river loomed heavy in the room with the two of them so close.

Ron was still fighting with himself about maintaining his objectivity around Josy. His wish to do her no harm was valiant, his justification of his position was confident, and his practical resolution to their relationship was ironclad...but his heart and his soul threatened to sweep all that away. Any minute chance that he might be with her was simply too desirable to dismiss.

He finally let out a huge yawn designed to bring an end to the evening and rose to take his leave.

"I guess this is good night then," he told her as he began walking.

Josy followed his lead, but as they reached the hallway where they would part...

"Ron, would you mind helping me with something before you retire?"

Ron's internal turmoil was clouding his mind and he stammered a bit when he replied.

"Huh? What? I mean...yes, of course."

Josy slipped her hand inside his, feeling the way its rough, callused fingers engulfed hers and loving it. She then wrapped her arm around his as she led him to her bedroom.

They entered her boudoir and Ron stopped in the doorway, stunned. There must have been a hundred candles burning in that space. He scanned the vast room and couldn't imagine how she'd been able to light so many in the time she had before dinner. There were also flower pedals strewn about the floor and the room smelled as floral as a botanical garden in mid spring.

Ron looked to the enormous bed and saw that it was turned down, as if beckoning...an invitation that set his pulse pounding. Josy urged him forward until they stood beside that berth and then she released her hold of his arm and stepped back, facing him.

She locked her gaze with his as her breath sped up quickly and then she slowly reached up, under her black mane of soft, wavy hair, and gave a tug to a single tie. That satiny cord was laced across each of her shoulders and when it released, her nightgown slid silently to the floor.

Ron felt as if his entire internal systems suddenly burst into flames...the heat of his passion surged instantaneously as did his adrenaline. He broke his bond with her eyes and slowly scanned her body, a figure he'd seen and marveled at so recently, but now it was entirely different. It was clear to him what she wanted, and that fact alone jolted him like a flash of electricity.

He studied the flawlessness of her feminine physique as she basked in the flickering light of so many candles, and found it difficult to believe that he was there at all. Could a woman so intelligent, so incomparably stunning, so compassionate, sweet, kind, and generous even exist, much less be standing in front of him? And if you factor in the reality that she was offering herself to him...it was almost too much to comprehend.

The points of her breasts danced with the rhythm of her quick, shallow breaths and her stomach undulated to keep up with that cadence as well, in a mesmerizing, insanely sensuous manner. Her tanned, silky flesh was smooth and flawless, and Ron's eyes explored her yet again. He marveled at the gentle lines of her brow that framed her exquisite face, and drifted along her cheek to her neckline that he craved to nuzzle and nibble. His gray eyes didn't blink once as they swept further along to her trembling shoulders, engulfed the perfection of her robust breasts, then continued to her tiny, hourglass waist, and settled at the graceful curve of her wide hips. His own body began to vibrate at the animal thoughts he was having, but he stayed in control enough to carry on, where his view soared downward to her gorgeous legs, so toned and fabulous. And in the area where they joined was a raven lock of hair that glistened as if it were a patch of dewy meadow...her own internal needs clearly apparent.

His chivalrous intentions were hastily being thrown out the windows of his brain while the practical, no-nonsense fortress he'd built to protect his objectivity went up in the firestorm of his desire for her...but he managed one last effort.

"What about Raif?" he murmured in a strained huff of air, fighting against an adversary he knew he could not rein in much longer...is wanton lust. "I thought that..."

Josy stepped up to him and placed her hand on his lips.

"I told him that my heart was given to another," she said in a breathy, sultry whisper. Then, alighting her small quivering hands on the broad expanse of his chest... "I offer "you" all that I have, Ron. My unending love I set aside for you alone. My body I present to you for your pleasure. The very essence of my life, I now bestow upon you...if you will have me."

### Chapter Twenty-three

### Pleasure

That was it. Ron was done. His plans, his excuses, his worries, and his internal battles were blown away like leaves in a storm. All that was left was the elation of the moment.

She was his! Had Josy really said that, or was he already asleep and dreaming it was so?

She answered his mental question immediately as her petite fingers unlaced his night shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. She then pressed the ripeness of her breasts against the well-defined ripples of his stomach...her lips and tongue exploring every inch of his chest.

She slid her hands down his torso as he stood there, his body trembling and tensing from the sensations he felt. Her fingers dropped into and traced each of the creases that separated those twisted bands of unstoppable muscle and slowly worked their way to his waist.

Josy dexterously unbuttoned his trousers and slipped them gently off his hips, being careful not to force them as his reaction to her advances had created a substantial obstacle to her goal. She pulled back from him enough to refocus her attention on the task and she guided the pants past that impediment without incident, dropping to her knees to work the garment all the way off, and then she flung it aside.

She ran her fingers over his long, muscular legs and continued her kissing of him. Ron stood like a bronze statue, totally enveloped in the pleasure that was sweeping through his body, and as she moved upward with her affections, his own breath grew deeper and more haggard. When her tongue traced the outline of his manhood, he gulped dry air, but when she took him in her mouth, he had to act.

Ron gripped Josy by the shoulders and lifted her clear of him, his jaws once again locked in a struggle against his body's drive.

"Stop!" he ordered in an expulsion of air that was barely more than a whisper.

Josy looked up at him with a smoldering glare that told him she was through waiting. He pulled her to him and they kissed again, like in the river, but this time with no trepidation, no thoughts of stopping. Ron held her to him, her feet well clear of the fine stonework that graced the floor of her room, and she felt his body pulsing with its hunger for her.

Josy enjoyed that for a bit, but finally pushed herself clear of his lips and gasped for air. Ron was panting as well and desperately needed a momentary pause to gather his thoughts. He let her down gently, still glued to her heated stare, but other plans were on her mind and she was already on the move.

She took his hands in hers, hauled him to the bed, and pressed him prone onto that soft surface, her lips devouring his once more. A moment later she was atop his waist, wriggling herself into position. She then sat up suddenly, her hands braced on his broad chest and her hips poised over his.

"I am yours, Ron Allison!" she repeated to him as she stared into his eyes and lowered herself onto him.

"Aaahh," she gasped abruptly as her hymen parted.

Ron gasped too, his senses ready to explode.

She paused for a few litas, her eyes shut and her fingers sinking into Ron's pectorals. Then she twisted a slight amount and dropped further down.

"Uuuhhh!" she grunted as she took half of him inside, pausing again, clenching and shuddering.

Ron was using every shred of his strength to maintain control of his own reactions, but watching her was not helping. The flush of her face, the sight of her figure writhing above him, and the feel of her tiny body gripping him was driving him out of his mind with craving.

A moment later Josy opened her eyes again and glared at Ron with the look of a hunter that had finally caught up to its prey. She squirmed again and he saw her juices running down him just before she dropped completely down to his base.

"OH!" she let out with a start, then, "Mmmmmmm!" escaped her as she expelled a low, moaning, drawn out exhalation.

The two of them remained almost motionless for a while, each adjusting to and absorbing the seemingly endless amount of pleasurable sensations flooding their bodies. And each was searching the face of the other for an indication of what would come next.

Then Josy began to move. She started by shifting her weight, judging the amount of tactile feedback she would get from so slight a change, and she gasped anew. Her eyes fluttered.

Ron continued to watch her reactions, his hands now resting on the flare of her hips. His own sensations were enormously strong but he was determined to wait for her.

Josy's hands left his chest and slid downward to his abdomen where she braced herself again, in a new attitude.

She moved a bit more, feeling the sliding of him against the inside of her and she quickly began the uphill climb of her first orgasm. She was extremely well lubricated but the instrument in her canal was not to be ignored. She felt the pressure of his size, the firmness...the heat. Her mind swam in the pleasure of it all, but that was not enough, and so she moved more aggressively.

The experience of her sensual grip on him and the slow, undulating rhythm of her movement made her breasts sway, rise, and fall in an incredibly enticing show and Ron began the climb with her.

She leaned down to him and the dense brown tissue of her bosom grazed across his chest, her long hair sweeping ever so slightly at his shoulders...and she rocked more forcefully.

Ron slid his hands up to cradle her fantastic breasts and he sat up enough to put his mouth to one, suckling it firmly.

"Aaaahhh!" Josy gasped once more as she pressed herself harder against his lips. Her breaths were now deep and regular, timed to match her strokes and a film of perspiration erupted from her skin, shining in the candlelight to make its surface radiate that glow.

Onward she went, increasing her movement to maximize the sensation that was ripping through her like a forest fire. She moaned as he escaped her, and gasped when she engulfed him...and then the hill was crested and she'd held out as long as she could.

Ron felt the spasms of her cradle tighten even more, clamping onto him in her last moments of control and then she threw her head back and screamed...wriggling and twisting in ecstasy, panting for air...desperately needing the sensations to stop but praying that they would not.

Ron was pacing her climax well and when she threw her body back in a breathtaking arch, her mouth searching for oxygen and yielding her passionate vocal release, he gripped the swell of her hips tightly and crushed her down onto him. She screamed again and her cream poured out of her with a sopping, sloshing report that sent Ron over the edge.

He lifted her and crushed her to him again, and again, and again...his own fluids now surging into her body as he released the dam of his exultation.

He opened his eyes once more and beheld a glowing euphoric aura surrounding the angelic figure that defined the center of his existence in that instant. He knew then, unequivocally, that this was so much more than plain lust. They had bonded more than just their bodies, and he felt whole again.

At the last, he held her glorious form against his while his pulses continued, and she reached down to him and smothered his lips with hers, both of them still racked by powerful waves of pleasure coursing through them in exhilarating jolts.

Ron wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, her kiss allowing their intimate moment to carry on. The two lovers stayed locked in that position for several borts, gently rocking back and forth, their bodies intertwined and forever one.

Finally, Josy released Ron's mouth from hers and looked at him. There were tears draining down her cheeks and her body was mottled red from the flush of the act...and she smiled.

Ron laid his head back and smiled up at her, his own level of joy so high he thought he would never speak again.

"So that is what lovemaking is like?" Josy asked, lying on his chest, his body still entrapped in hers.

"Yes," Ron said with a resounding sigh and a long pause. "What do you think?"

She let out a lengthy purr and her eyes swam behind her lids.

"I love it," she replied, kissing his body repeatedly.

Suddenly she looked up.

"Can we do it again?"

Ron didn't hesitate in the least. (It had been a great deal of time since his last encounter)

"Absolutely!"

He pulled free of her and rolled her over to her back...and began again.

This time he was in control and he made the advances. He looked her in the eyes and she understood that he would do what he wanted this time.

He began by lifting her arms above her head and then he commenced kissing and suckling on her body, from the nape of her neck, to her shoulders, to her breasts...and on and on.

Josy followed his silent instructions willingly and it was almost immediate that her skin sprang to life with goose flesh, her nipples pursing so tightly they looked ready to explode. By the time Ron reached her belly button, she was quivering at his every touch and her breathing was shallow and fast.

Her body's reactions to his foreplay brought his own to life once more and he ran his hands down the length of her legs, feeling the unimaginable smoothness of her skin and he kissed her toes, one at a time. He suckled one of those little digits and Josy jumped with a gasp and a powerful shiver shot through her. She was ready!

Ron moved smoothly and swiftly, locking his lips to hers as he entered her again.

Josy pried her lips away from him and gulped in a huge amount of air, her hands leaving their position and clamping onto his broad shoulders.

"Oh, Ron!" she groaned through gritted teeth as her love passage gorged itself again.

Ron continued to kiss her body as she fought for breath and she squirmed under his motions, her mind blitzed with feelings and sensations that overloaded her. She wrapped her legs around him as he drove himself into her, and held on as his body began slipping out enough to repeat the sensation of his initial entry.

Her climax was almost immediate and she screamed his name when she gained it, a deep, throaty, wild call.

Ron waited until her hold on him let up a hair, signifying she was past her peak. That's when he repositioned her body for his own enjoyment.

He slipped his hand under the small of her back and pulled her hips to him in a strong action that put more pressure on her cradle as he inserted himself fully anew.

She jumped to life again.

"Oh, no!" she cried, fearing her heart couldn't take another round so soon. "Not again!"

Ron ignored her response and continued his motions, slipping and gliding within her while twisting his body for subtly new positions, each one coercing a desperate huff of rhapsody from Josy, overpowering her frantically rising urge until she screamed again...

"RON!...Oh!...I just ca...Ron!"

Ron's own pleasure threshold could take no more of the delicious way her tender channel gripped his physique. The squirming of her sweet body under him and the unbelievable satisfaction of hearing her grunt out his name in the throes of passion forced him to let go his attempt to hold back what would be caged up no longer.

As his name rang in his ears for the third time, he sought out a single act that could enhance the moment. While he plunged one final time into the boiling depths of her, he took one of her ripened nipples in his mouth and squeezed it with his tongue.

Josy's body arched and contorted uncontrollably as she crushed Ron's mouth to her even harder, her legs strained to pull him deeper, and her eyes rolled back under her lids...and she screamed yet again.

The two lovers were lost in the moment of joy...unable to speak or even to think clearly. They just held and kissed and listened to each other's racing hearts, their breathless inhalations drowning out much of the world around them.

Sometime later, when they finally caught their respective breaths, they both began to laugh.

Ron rolled off of Josy but held her to him as if she might vanish should he ever let go, and he doubted he'd ever felt so much pleasure in so short a time as he just did. The fragrance, the suppleness, the curvaceous and bountiful beauty of Josylinia Gitove had no equal. As he watched her expression and read the joy in her eyes, he carefully lifted a fabulous lock of her sable hair away from her face and kissed her.

She was exhausted, as was he, and seven billots later, dawn caught them still intertwined...holding on to one another in the pureness of their love.

### Chapter Twenty-four

### The prize

As the glow of the sunrise of a new day flooded into Josy's bedroom, a well-rested and completely contented Ron Allison awoke from his slumber.

He glanced about for just an instant before realizing he wasn't still dreaming, and he wasn't in some incredibly erotic fantasy...even though his fantasy maiden was still in his arms. He kissed her softly on the cheek and left her sleeping as he made his way out to the river for his morning swim. He couldn't get the smile off his face the entire trip across the wide river and back again, and when he hoisted himself merrily onto the long dock that served the expansive estate, he looked up to see another smiling face. Josy had staggered wearily out to the riverside porch to find him.

"Good morning, Josy," Ron called to her. "How did you sleep?"

She strolled out across the dew-strewn lawn and met him halfway back, where she threw her arms about his neck and kissed his lips firmly, ignoring the fact that he was dripping wet.

"I slept like the man of my dreams had just ravaged me to the point of utter exhaustion!"

Ron grinned as widely as he could at that, giving himself a hearty "well-done" inside his mind. He lifted her easily, crushing her to him and returning her good-morning kiss while he relished her figure molding to his.

When he allowed her to stand on the ground again, the places of her gown which had touched his body were completely transparent, and as she pulled away to walk with him back to the house, his eyes feasted on her beauty once more.

She noticed his attention and glanced down, only to giggle shyly.

"That's one way to keep your attention on me," she told him with a song in her voice.

"You will have no problem with my lack of attention!" Ron proclaimed as he pulled her tightly to his side.

They finished a large, yet hasty breakfast before parting to prepare for the day's work, but Josy didn't rejoin him until he already had the animals prepped with their carts. He was beginning to wonder about her when her scent caught his attention.

She was fresh from the tub, with her hair still damp, and smelled of her usual floral fragrance. Ron didn't need to turn to know she was approaching but he did even so, just to watch her walk. She was wearing a new halter-short pants combination that was fire engine red, and against her tanned skin it made Ron pant.

"You like?" she asked with a smirk, seeing his expression.

"Oh, yeah!" he replied.

"Well, if you are a good boy, I'll let you remove it later!" she told him with a wink.

Ron's mouth dropped open at the thought.

"But for now, we had better get going."

Out to the field they went for the final day of the harvest. They were in good shape to finish shortly after lunch and were in excellent spirits as they began.

"Well, it's down to just over half a day to the end and I'm even with you, Josy," Ron announced. "I suppose I should start thinking about what I'll win...what I can demand of you as my prize."

"Hah!" she replied as she began plucking the beans once more.

They worked furiously until the midday break, at which time Ron had pulled slightly ahead of her.

"It's in the bag!" he proclaimed when they sat down to eat in the shade of one of the more plump bushes.

Josy leaned over and kissed him.

"What was that for?"

"It's good to see you smile so much."

Ron kissed her back. "It's unbelievably wonderful to have so much to smile about."

When they got back to their chore, Ron had a slight lead of about half a bush and was immensely confident. Josy just kept to her work and said nothing about the contest, to his chagrin. After all, he couldn't fully enjoy his victory unless she fully felt the defeat, could he?

Finally Ron reached the last of the buonta bushes on his final row and dived into it with his hands flashing and his eyes on his competition. Josy was just finishing up the next to last one on hers and he saw her go around it an extra time, just to be thorough.

"She's tired and must be resigned to the fact that I've won," Ron told himself. "It doesn't really matter anyway. I'll just find some minor thing I can have her do so she doesn't feel too bad."

He kept watching her though and soon began to really wonder what she was doing. She emptied her basket into the cart and gathered up all the lunch materials as if they were done for the day. Next, she took some time to pet the animals and speak sweetly to them, scratching them vigorously until they purred like huge kittens. Then she sat back on the cart and regarded Ron.

He was puzzled to the nth degree and finished his plant a bit slower than normal due to his constant checking on his partner, who appeared as if she had had enough...one bush short of her specified goal.

Ron finally climbed down from his ladder and emptied his basket into the cart, even further perplexed at Josy's attitude. She still hadn't made a move to start the last plant.

"I'll take care of this last one, Josy, if you're too tired to work it." Ron volunteered, thinking she was just disgusted at losing.

"What do you mean?" Josy returned with a pronounced amount of innocence in her voice, acting oblivious to his implication.

Ron caught her inference immediately and his reaction was just as quick. He stared hard at the plant in question for a brief moment...then he jumped toward it, his face fallen and his eyes spread wide.

"What the...?"

The plant was picked clean!

He searched it over thoroughly and found not a single buonta bean.

"Son of a b...!" he began as he turned back to a smiling Josy who was batting her eyelashes at him innocently, leaning back temptingly with her legs crossed and an air of boredom about her countenance.

"So, is that it? Are you finished?" Ron questioned of her.

"Of course! Now, if you're quite ready, we can send our little friend along and head back to the house."

"Wait a bort!" he continued, needing to understand what had just occurred. "Why is this bush bare? When did you clean it off?"

"The day before we started the harvest," she replied easily. "We always pick one bush for a sampling of the ripeness of the crop...this is the one I used."

He'd been had. She had outmaneuvered him with unbelievable ease.

"Oh, that's cheating!" he accused, racing over and sweeping her up into his arms, threatening to toss her in a large mud puddle that was a few peors away.

Josy laughed and clung to him, squealing with mock fright when she hovered over that little pool. Instead of dropping her though, Ron crushed her to him and kissed her passionately, feeling the sensual delights of her body in such close proximity to his.

When their lips parted, he gave the pandere the order to go and then he carried Josy back to the mansion, up the stairs, and straight into bed. Twenty borts later, Josy's cries of fulfillment rang out again.

After their lovemaking, they spent the afternoon swimming and playing and touching and kissing. Ron couldn't remember such bliss in all his days. Joy like that was what he'd always dreamed his life would be like.

That evening, after darkness had fallen and the evening meal was done, they enjoyed a sensual bath together; one that quickly led to another round of love play while they were both lathered up and slippery. After that was past, and they were dressed for the night's sleep, Josy cuddled up next to Ron on the huge couch by the fire.

"You've given me no clue about what I'll be required to do for you because of your winning our little bet," Ron softly said to her.

Josy nuzzled his neck warmly and then looked him in the eyes with a purposeful expression that got Ron's attention immediately.

"Before I tell you, I have a few questions. Would that be all right?"

"Sure. Fire away!"

"Do I make you happy?"

Ron was stunned by that.

"What? Can you not tell?" he responded, watching the blue rings of her eyes glittering in the firelight. "Josylinia Gitove, I'm so filled with joy and happiness and contentment that I could never have even fantasized it could be so! And it's all due to you!"

He pulled her face to him again and kissed her hotly...long and wet, pouring his soul out to her. She smiled when it was done, inching her way closer to him, her legs wrapping themselves with his.

"You spoke my name with perfect annunciation, as if you came from where my mother did. I love the way it sounds in your voice."

She then laced her fingers in his. "Do you feel that you can trust me?" she asked her second inquiry.

"Of course. In fact, weeks ago, when I first awoke and I sat in the tub while you cared for me...you remember...when I couldn't even see you."

"Yes, of course."

"Your tenderness and gentleness was like water to the fire that burned in my soul. It was genuine and honest and I felt safe for the first time in almost an entire cycle.

"I'm glad for that," Josy whispered to him. "Then my request of you is this..."

She scanned Ron's face carefully and continued.

"Would you please tell me why it was that you were so brutalized by the Kreete?"

Ron was shocked at that. His face moved away from hers and instantly turned blank, his eyes locking onto the fire. She felt a rigidity snap into his body as if a shield of immense, impenetrable security had suddenly been thrown up to expel any intruder. It was as if their entire time together had been instantaneously ripped away and he was once again the dehumanized animal the Lords had imprisoned and tortured. He was stone!

"You do not have to tell me!" she quickly backtracked. "It is not important! You are my Baushe` and that's all that I need to know! Please...forget that I asked! Don't be angry!"

Ron's mind was thrust back into the chambers he never wanted to revisit. He was back in the chains and under the interrogators' whip. "Who are you? Where is your army? What is your mission? Who do you work for?"

"Please, Ron!" Josy was pleading, "I'm sorry! Don't shut me out! I beg you. Come back to me! Baushe`!"

Ron blinked at the repeat of that name. It drew an image in his mind's eye...an image of love, of peace, and of hope. Somehow it was enough to crack his armor open a hair.

He began to take in the sounds around him again...but it was as if from a distance. He could hear the distress in her sweet voice again and it grew slightly louder. Soon he could make out the sounds of tears striking the soft leather surface of the couch.

Like an old rusty hinge, he slowly turned back to find Josy's breathtaking face filled with distress and dribbling salty droplets off it, begging for his forgiveness. His impenetrable armor gave way under such gentle, compassionate pressure.

"What is this, that you call me?" he asked as he lightly wiped the tears from her flushed cheeks.

She squeezed him tightly and surged forward to kiss him again.

"Baushe`!" she explained with unbelievable relief saturating the sound. "It's what my mother calls my father. It means 'heart of my heart'...'the center of my world'...in the native tongue of my mother's ancestors."

Ron smiled at her warmly and gave her a return squeeze. His armor returned to the storage closet in his mind. He was himself once more.

"Well, Josy, if you wish to hear this story..."

"No, Ron. I shouldn't have asked. It was too bold of me. I was only curious to..."

"Please," he said, placing a finger over her luscious lips. "I'm sorry that I reacted the way I did. It was an automatic response I developed to keep them from rending any information out of me. Really, it's okay."

He kissed her forehead and the worry was swept from her furrowed brow.

"It will be a long story though, I have to warn you."

"I have nowhere else I have to be!" she replied sweetly, molding herself against him again.

"All righty then!" He took a moment to think of where to start, and then he began.

"Firstly...do you know who the Kreete are?"

"You mean...do I know they are not native to Caron? Yes."

"You are aware of other-world beings then?"

"Yes," she smiled brilliantly. "I have been schooled in such matters."

"Very well then...I am from a planet called Earth. It's a smaller world than Caron and is extremely far away. I lived there until my twenty-third birth year when..."

Ron talked for billots while Josy lay across his lounging form, transfixed with his story. They got up once for a "facilities" break, a snack, and a drink, but otherwise, he spoke through half the night. The tale was a broad overview of his past years of life. He told her of his marriage, his transformation, Earth's horrible demise, and even his feelings for Cache. But he managed to steer clear of a few key points, like where the Darlile was moored and what he'd done to Neadorn in order to get the information from Tarvis. At the end, Josy was crying again at the thought of what the torturers had done to her beloved. He skimmed over most of that part of the story, preferring not to remember it anyway, and finished with a dry throat and a weary tongue.

Josy escorted him to bed in the early morning billot and they made love very slowly...gently...and with extreme tenderness, drifting off afterward in a state of quiet rapture and not rising until mid-morning.

Ron arose that day with a new purpose. The harvest was behind them and he was ready to get his body back into shape. He set down a regimen to follow and asked Josy to help him keep to it. She swam with him in the Kessleton, rode alongside him when he ran, and visited with him during his repetitions of stretching, weight-lifting, crunches, and jump-rope. He found a heavy rope which he affixed to a tree limb for climbing, located a cross-member in the barn for pull-ups, and threw sacks of feed about for an all-around workout.

A week later, when the fields were flooded again Ron decided that his running would continue...the knee-deep water adding additional enhancement to his labors.

He and Josy grew very close, sharing their every preference and dislike, making love twice a day and just lounging about during their down-time. Ron was in absolute heaven...and Josy would agree with that statement easily.

### Chapter Twenty-five

### All good things must end

Across the Kessleton River from the buonta-bean plantation, and fifteen hoz to the southwest, lay the city of Tabey. It was a fair-sized town and had a robust amount of traffic to feed its growing economic needs. The Kreete had no outpost station there and little real presence in the area at all, passing through with a military contingent such as the Vanguard only occasionally. For the most part, the Lords utilized their human servants a great deal in that sector...spies and security men who reported directly to the territorial Kreete leader. That was all they deemed necessary.

The Lords liked to use this method in differing municipalities. It was a successful campaign to corral certain underlings into taking their unsavory cliques and rebellious groups to these type places, where they thought it was safe but where they could be watched and hopefully infiltrated.

Into that scenario rode a woman. She had no affiliation with anyone of the township but she was unquestionably beautiful, and that simple truth alone provided her an abnormally wide range of access. She talked her way into a partnership with the local physician...not without a skillful sell of her abilities in that field of course...and put her exceptionally high degree of medicinal talents to good use.

She was a tremendous boon toward helping the injured and suffering in their rural locale, and more than happy to travel to wherever the patient might be...no matter the remoteness of the area or the type of injury.

She wove herself into the community over a few weeks, always gregarious and inclined to keep the secrets of those hiding out from authority, or who were birthing children but didn't want that fact known to the Kreete. She quickly became extremely popular, and news of her spread throughout the immediate area rapidly, yet discretely.

On a day that started off with gray clouds overhead threatening rain, a young man rushed into the doctor's office. He was a teenage boy in need of help for his grandfather who'd been bitten by one of the trytons, in an area swamp. The old fellow was unusually fortunate that the creature had only nipped him, and he was able to escape when it released its grasp to get a better hold. The water beasts were heavily armored and cunning, and were known to reach the length equal to two grown men's heights, so his successful getaway was extremely rare.

The man lived far out in the forest though, where the water moved slowly through the lowlands adjacent to the Kessleton River. Whomever the doctor was that would go to him had to be amenable to hiking down a long game trail with many potential dangers to get to their shanty. The woman healer didn't hesitate.

The entire family, consisting of three of the old man's sons and their wives, as well as ten children amongst them all, shared a small, dry-ground knoll and had their bare-bones homes built closely together. They all accepted the probability that the old man would die from the bite which tore his leg down to the bone, but the woman doctor wasn't so pessimistic and spent two weeks out in that wilderness location patching him up.

The boy was jubilant when she was finally able to proclaim the patriarch of the family would walk again and should make a total recovery. The family offered her anything they had as payment of her healing duties, but she just politely declined and asked if they had seen, or heard of, a large stranger anywhere in the area, possibly wounded or in need of her aid. They hadn't, so she took her leave and headed back toward the town.

When she'd gone, the lad set off in the quest for food from the watery wilderness in which they lived, his spirits soaring with the birds that took to flight at the passage of his flat-bottomed boat. The young man was extremely close to his grandfather and had lived with a very heavy heart the entire time he'd been ill. Now he poled his boat swiftly and skillfully, his delight giving strength to his arms and his soul as he made his rounds of the traps his family had strewn about the swamps.

Late in the same day the woman doctor left his home, he was skirting the edge of the Kessleton, across the way from the Gitove's sprawling buonta-bean farm, and he slowed his pace. The wind was mild, but blowing straight at him from the direction of the farm, and he poised himself there for a bit, enjoying the breeze and watching the distant shoreline.

There was a beautiful woman who lived there and he was always on the lookout for her. His adoration and amorous hopes lay across the wide waterway in the form of that lovely lady, and he wished with all his heart that she would take notice of him. But he also kept a watchful eye out for her father. He wasn't someone to trifle with and he set the boy's fear ablaze whenever he was about.

This day though, he saw nothing stirring and no one around the grand home of the plantation owners and was turning around to start back to his own place when a distant sound reached his ears. It was high in pitch and feminine in tone. It was laughter.

"You just wait!" came a shout followed by a long series of fitful merriment. "I'm going to..." more laughter cut her off, as she couldn't finish a sentence without bursting forth another round of sidesplitting hilarity.

The boy slowed his light craft and swung back around to face the river again. Across the half-hoz wide river he could see a strange sight...and his mind spun as he tried to understand it.

There was a man running away from a boat much like the one he now stood in, and within that little craft sat the object of his heart's desire, Josylinia Gitove. She was apparently trying to paddle the boat, but the man running out front was towing her with a rope he had slung over his shoulder. He too was laughing raucously as the boy soon came to hear and a grand spray of water flew from his legs at every step. Each time Josy would begin to paddle or gain some distance with the fellow, he would give the rope a hard jerk and send her flying over backwards and into the bottom of the skiff. At that point they would both roar with silly laughter.

The boy could clearly tell the man was not her father and so he started across the river directly. He was immensely curious as to what was going on over there, and he knew Josy wouldn't mind his inquiry since they'd known each other for cycles and often sat together and fished off her home's expansive dock. They were old friends.

Ron chugged along handily, even with the considerable draw on his lung capacity due to the nearly nonstop laughing he'd developed just ten borts ago when he and Josy first began this little round of "catch me if you can".

He'd started the day just as he had for the past week, with a long swim out and back across the Kessleton River...after making sure it was deserted. It was a morning filled with the chores of the farm, intimate midday time with Josy, and then a grueling run in the fading daylight.

At that point in the afternoon, the grounds of the plantation were bathed in shadow from the angle of the sun cutting through the tall trees bordering the river. It gave him enough relief from the heat so he wouldn't be out too much in the glare of the Caronian sunlight...or open to the casual passersby.

The farm was once again flooded with knee-deep water and Ron found it an excellent anaerobic workout to jog around the fields through that fluid. He was back to his normal mode of almost constant workouts with regard to his physical regimens, and enjoyed the strain of the exercise tremendously.

He'd been cooped up for so long during his captivity, and then felt weak and drained for a good while because of the poison, and that combination had given him a bad case of cabin fever. This new schedule made him feel alive and free out in the warm afternoon, and he was exhilarated.

Josy joined him this day in her little boat and paddled along with his workout, but after the first lap she'd tired too much due to the wind and couldn't keep up. Ever willing to try something new, Ron scooped up the rope used to secure the craft when at the dockside and towed her during the more difficult parts of the loop he ran. That's when she began to chide him that she could outpace him if she really wanted...and the race was on.

She was well accustomed to the use of the paddle and swiftly caught up with Ron's splashing gait on the "downwind" side. But his manly pride wouldn't let that go and so he pressed on even harder, his knees churning like huge pistons in the murky water.

Josy picked up the pace too and nearly had him passed when he grabbed the stern of the boat and gave it a sharp tug. She toppled forward into the bow of the skiff and Ron splashed past her quickly. She popped her head up as he passed and got a face full of water from a well-aimed spatter, and then Ron high-stepped out of range of her retaliation quickly.

"You big old cheater!" she screamed at him after spitting out the water and clearing her wet hair from her eyes. "That's not fair!"

Ron just laughed and ran...the rope still firmly in his hand. He could tell he was slowing up due to his gaiety and the fact that he'd been out there slogging through the fields for over a billot already, but he didn't plan on losing the race back to the house either.

Josy righted herself to a kneeling position once more and paddled hard, trying to catch up again...determined that he would not succeed in his goal. That's when he began his "less than upstanding" method of staying ahead that the boy was witnessing.

His playtime with Josy made him careless though, and if it hadn't been for the clumsy slap of a paddle on the water from the curious youngster closing in on them, he would've been seen and possibly identified. As it was though, that splash brought Ron back to the present in a flash, and he immediately cut left and disappeared into the nearest buonta tree.

Thirty litas later, he'd doubled back and lay in wait for the interloper from a totally different angle...his foolishness gone and combat in the forefront of his mind. The intruder would be dead in short order.

Josy stopped her laughing quickly when she caught Ron bolting into the cover of the plant.

"What's wrong, Baushe`?" she asked quickly, startled by his move and instantly frightened.

Ron made no reply, so she scanned the surrounding area with all haste. She had to sweep it twice before she noticed the approaching boat in the river, thirty peors away and down the embankment. It took only a moment to recognize the youngster and then she smiled and waved.

"Hello, Calobe!" she called to him sweetly.

"Hello, Josy," the boy shouted happily, returning her wave and drifting up to the bank of the river.

His head vanished momentarily until he disembarked and made his way up the berm of ground that held back the waterway in the form of a natural dike.

The buonta fields were actually almost six feet above the level of the Kessleton River at that point and were flooded by means of the Prant, which was partially diverted for that very purpose. It was a highly sophisticated series of gates and chutes designed by Josy's father to extend the range of the flood plain as far as it had, allowing the plantation to grow by almost thirty percent.

Calobe crested that loamy ridge as Josy hauled in the rope Ron had been holding.

"How are you Josy?" Calobe asked excitedly, while his pulse raced and his eyes shined.

"Fine, thanks," she said as she tried to make some much needed adjustments to her dripping locks, "and you and your family?"

"Everyone is well this day."

"What brings you out this far so late in the evening?" Josy inquired casually while slowly looking about for where Ron had gotten off to...trying not to let on about what she was doing.

"I was just starting home when I heard you laughing and came over to see what all the fun was...maybe I could play too?"

"Oh, well...we were just joking around and things got a bit out of control."

"Who was that man with you? I've never seen him before."

Josy thought quickly and tried to seem calmly disinterested in the subject.

"That was...he's my cousin; my father's brother's son. He's staying with us for a short while."

"Oh? Really? Your father is here?" Calobe asked with a little quiver in his voice, looking in the direction of the house.

"No. He's on his travels right now. It's just my cousin and me. As you can see, the fields are flooded and there's not much to do around here at the moment."

"Your cousin didn't look well...his skin was strange, like he was badly scarred. Is he all right?"

"Yes, yes...he developed a bad rash, that's all. He's allergic to the moosha stew we had last night, and we didn't realize it until today. He should be fine in a few dactrais. He would probably say hello but is a little self-conscious right now due to the rash; you understand."

Calobe loved moosha (huge, freshwater crabs) and his mouth watered at the thought of such a feast, but he was also aware that some people did have quite bad reactions to them, though he didn't understand why.

Josy wanted to change the subject then, just to be sure they moved past the focus on Ron.

"How is your grandfather? The last time I saw Father, he said Rashie had been injured by a tryton...is he all right?"

Calobe's face brightened considerably at her concern for him and his family. Her remembering the names of his relatives showed him that she wasn't just patronizing him when they spent time together. To his burgeoning adolescent ego, it proved of her affection for him.

"He's much on the mend now," he replied cheerfully. "A doctor from Tabey came all the way out to our place and repaired his leg. She was very nice and so skilled that my father was even impressed with her...and he never gets excited about anything. She stayed with us two weeks and never complained about the place once, even though I know it must have been horrible compared to her home in the city."

"You shouldn't think like that, Calobe," Josy told him sweetly. "Many folks understand the difference from urban living to rural living, and are not as shocked as you may have expected. You have a good home where your family members work hard and care for each other. That's all that really matters. I'm sure she understands that as well."

Calobe smiled even brighter upon hearing Josy express her solid opinion about what was truly important in life. His heart ached for her even more.

"What was this healer's name? Perhaps I've heard of her."

Calobe's face went blank...then bright red. "I...don't know," he admitted shamefully. "Everyone just called her 'doc'."

Josy saw his embarrassment and let him off the hook.

"That's no matter...I really can't remember meeting a woman doctor anyway."

"You would have if you'd seen her," Calobe added emphatically. "She's really pretty...not as pretty as you, of course, but she has a special quality I've never seen, or heard of before. Her eyes are a brilliant murge!"

Josy pictured that image and was duly impressed at such a unique feature, but her thoughts went back to her personal situation, and to that of her charge.

"That is quite remarkable, no doubt about it, but more important is that she was able to help your grandfather. I'm very happy for you, Calobe. Now the light is fading quickly so you'd better be off before your mother and father get too worried. Come by earlier in the day sometime and we'll fish together like we normally do."

Calobe's grin went to the very limits of his face as he thought of just the two of them alone for the day sitting side by side...it was a wonderful dream.

"Okay then! Bye, Josy!"

She watched the young man make his way across the river and disappear into the swampy opposite shoreline before she began looking for Ron in earnest.

"Baushe`!" she called out, not wanting to shout.

She peered all around the area they'd been playing in, but saw nothing.

"Here," spoke a deep voice from behind her, causing her to jump and spin about.

"Oh! For the love..." Josy squeaked before she recognized Ron. "You scared the wits out of me!"

"Forgive me," Ron said absentmindedly as he stared out at the area where Calobe had vanished.

Josy followed his gaze with puzzlement. "Is something the matter?"

Ron didn't answer, but instead, stood as still as a statue, unblinking.

"That was just Calobe Sharei. He lives three hoz to the southwest...at the edge of the Choat Tree Swamp."

(The choat tree is a large tree whose wood is strong and dense and resists insects...excellent for building a multitude of things.)

Ron turned to her slowly, his eyes no longer filled with laughter or play.

"Where is this city of Tabey?"

"Fifteen hoz in that direction," Josy instructed without hesitation. "Why?"

"I must go!" Ron announced abruptly.

He turned toward Josy's house and took off without further explanation, blazing along at a dead run with water flying up behind him like he was a speed boat.

Josy was left dumbfounded. She looked to the southwest and then clambered back into the little boat and set off in pursuit of Ron. He was really moving though and she had no way of catching him until she got to the house.

He'd toweled off and changed by then and was hurriedly stuffing items into a pack.

"Ron, what's going on? Why are you leaving?"

"I must find this doctor and see her for myself."

"The doctor? Why? What's this about?"

"It may just be a coincidence, although I think that highly unlikely, but I must know for sure."

"Know what? Who are you looking for?" she asked, her stomach twisting into knots now...her heart pounding heavily. A quick stabbing jolt of understanding hit her just then. "Is it her? The one you spoke of?"

Ron didn't reply.

"I'll go with you, then," she told him, assuming she was correct.

"No! That's not possible. I'll be moving very fast and it will be dangerous."

Josylinia stood stock-still, her face filled with shock and gut-wrenching despair.

"Are you...are you...coming back?" she questioned as her eyes dripped huge tears and she choked on the words.

Ron was finished by then and was just fastening the long dagger at his waist as he looked into her frantic eyes.

"Josy, I honestly don't know what's going to happen. I have every intention of returning, but I also won't lie to you. When I leave here, I may find things have changed out there and those changes may not allow me to come back...for your safety. You know who I am, and to what lengths my enemies will go to find me.

"I am forever grateful to you and your family for saving my life and keeping me from harm while I recovered, and now I must do what I can to ensure your safety."

"I knew this day would come," she sobbed. "And I suppose I deluded myself into hoping that it would not...but please...please listen to me."

She grabbed Ron's face in her small hands, forcing him to focus on her...on what she had to tell him.

"Let me caution you on your journey to her. Things aren't always what they seem! Sometimes situations arise that cloud one's perspective into seeing what they understand, and not what is completely true.

"Please, Ron...do not let your anger overshadow your reason. Some of the most unbelievably complex realities have the most simplistic explanations!"

She saw that Ron was listening, but not really understanding...his anxiety foremost in his mind...so she abandoned her attempt to calm him with advice and switched to supporting the man she loved...her beloved Baushe`.

"I wish you well Ron Allison. May the Guardian protect you in your journey...and may my love for you keep you warm."

Ron kissed Josy deeply and held her to him for a long few litas. Then he left her in tears on the wide porch as he dashed from the house and down to the boat dock. A moment later found him skimming across the river in one of Josy's canoes as the twilight of Caron's setting sun settled about the land.

Dark clouds were gathering to the west, stretching the length of the horizon. It turned out to be the first billots of the rainy season, and it closed in on them with rolling thunder and a torrential downpour.

Ron Allison paid the weather no mind, but to Josylinia Gitove it appeared to be a dread-filled omen.

### Chapter Twenty-six

### Cache

Ron reached Tabey just after sunrise on the following day, although he could barely tell with the darkness of the storm draping over the soggy land. He decided it was best to stay in the side streets and alleyways as he searched the town, his wish to keep his presence secret foremost in his mind.

He spent the first day cataloguing the small city's layout, and then drifted back to the woods where he located a tall tree he could use to look down on the main road running through the heart of the community.

He detected nothing of interest in the way of danger that entire day...and no sign of Kreete activity or search parties. When the citizens retired to their homes that night, he skulked about until he found the doctor's place of business. It was clearly marked with a man's name and even had an instructional note directing a patron to his home if urgent care was needed. There was no mention of anyone else. Ron even considered meeting with the man to find out about the woman, but thought that avenue extremely risky in the shape he was in.

His body was once again whole, but the scars on his face were still glaringly visible and he didn't want to draw attention to himself if he could avoid it. He decided to wait and continue his stakeout.

Another day's watching provided no further clues and Ron was beginning to wonder about the validity of Calobe's story. He'd seen no one but the male doctor in the office all day and began entertaining the possibility that there might be two such healers in the town. He was about to begin his search anew when a small, two wheeled, one horse cart drew up to the building with a petite driver. The rain was a steady torrent and he couldn't make out the person well enough from his perch, so he scampered down the tree and made his way as silently as he could to the main street, opposite the clinic.

The cart was gone by then but a quick look to the stables halfway down the street produced the results he wanted as that slight driver was just leaving the place. The person was hunched over as if tired and worn. The person he watched was wearing a large, wide-brimmed hat and a long cloak, both of which hid their features well from the distance Ron stood.

He followed the individual around the town assuming it was a woman as "she" had long, braided dark hair dangling from under her hat, dainty feet and small hands, and walked with a pronounced feminine sway. He continued his pursuit as he watched her purchasing foodstuffs and then followed her back to her home.

She entered the tallest structure in the city; a broad, stone constructed, three-story building that appeared to be an inn or apartment complex. Ron didn't want to raise suspicions by entering the place, since he would no doubt be easily recognized as a stranger, so he continued his surveillance from the shadows of the street.

The sun dropped out of sight again as he waited impatiently, and the town turned into a couple hundred windows with candles and fireplaces blazing inside, shining out against the dark like living paintings.

After several borts went by, he saw a newly lighted opening come vaguely into view on the top floor, so he moved up to the second level balcony of the building on the opposite side of the street. There was a mercantile at ground level, with a clothier's shop located above, both of which were closed for the day.

Ron strained for long, tense borts until a petite shadow walked past the lit opening twice, and he felt confident that the person he sought was there, so he looked about for his next move.

The apartment building was very plain but was constructed well, utilizing large stone blocks for the outer structure. A small, private balcony was an added attraction at each floor, to give the place a more open feel, and so Ron decided to make use of that feature.

He drifted silently down from his perch and made his way to the corner of the building. Once there, he carefully gave the area one last look for witnesses, and then began scaling those dripping blocks as easily as climbing a ladder. Two borts later found him slipping over the third floor railing where he dropped down onto the balcony and entered the extensive accommodations.

Ron stopped inside to allow his vision to adjust to the darkness, and noted a distinctively masculine scent. Whoever the woman was, she did not live alone. A man shared the domicile as surely as he was standing there.

He cautiously moved into the main living space without a sound, and waited in a corner, shrouded in the gloom of the shadows with his dark, wet cloak covering his bulk.

There was the familiar sound of water splashing and Ron concluded the woman was bathing, so he assumed a comfortable position and relaxed where he was. His patience turned to that of a hunter of the night...he would not be rushed.

Finally, she walked out of the bedroom carrying a lamp that showed her face as clearly as if she stood in the glare of the sun. It was Cache Kuar!

Now it was Ron's turn to feel his stomach wrench and his heart jump so hard that he felt it pressing against his chest. After all those santaris of waiting...all those sessions of torture...all those matches in the arena; she was there...ten feet away!

Cache was once more utilizing her Caronian disguise of black hair and a well-tanned exterior, apparently wishing to blend in with the populace with as few questions as possible. Even Ron might have been fooled if he hadn't taken the time to memorize her look back in the confines of the "Safe Haven's" domicile, but since he had, he was now positive that it was she whom he sought.

She was wearing a long, sheer gown that would normally have set Ron's senses stirring, her beauty and the memories of their time together were so vivid in his mind, but those thoughts couldn't begin to eclipse her treachery.

Without a sound, he slipped up behind her, his pulse racing now...his anger, his hurt, his disappointment, and his love for her all doing battle at once.

She walked to a cabinet and opened it. Ron stopped short...another jolt to his system. His weapons of war were there; all of them.

He was confused for a spell, his brain unable to comprehend why or how she could still possess those devices of his. She gently passed her hands across the ebon sword as if she were caressing a lover...slowly and with great care...and then she leaned forward as if deep in thought.

Ron approached to within arm's reach of her and stood there like a dark monolith, water dripping from his long outer garment. His strongest emotion...that of rage...was mounting an attack on the others, forcing them from his thoughts until he was a statue of uncompromising hate. His blood pressure rose sharply as he watched the slim, curvaceous figure of the woman whom he once thought he could love.

She raised her head slowly and reached up to close the cabinet...but then paused, her hand an inch short of the cupboard door.

Suddenly, she whirled about; one of his blue throwing daggers gripped firmly in her little hand, and her countenance a mask of determination. She would not be taken without a fight.

Her arm stopped in the middle of that action though...as if it had struck a concrete barrier. That wrist was suddenly locked in a grip that could not be broken, even by her heavy-worlder strength, and she knew it instantly. Her eyes then flew open as wide as they could possibly go. She stood between the lamp and the stranger so she couldn't see clearly in the dim lighting of the room, but she knew she was in grave danger if this assailant meant her harm.

She could tell it was a man...not a Kreete warrior...but she had never felt anyone's grasp as firm as she now did. She immediately brought her knee up in an attempt to deter the fellow's attack, but that was slapped down off-handedly, and when her free hand struck out, it too was batted aside as if she were a novice attacking a master.

Then the pressure she felt on her weapon-wielding arm increased tenfold, causing her to drop the knife and scream as her knees buckled from the pain. Her squealing cry then turned to a gasp of agony, and she was sure her forearm would snap.

"Why?" she heard the tall man ask of her. It was all he could manage at first, fighting so hard against his urge to just kill her without further thought.

His voice was very familiar to her. She'd heard it many times...in calm tones, in tense tones, in passionate whispers...and now it vibrated with nearly uncontrollable fury.

"Ron?" she squawked...her emotions spiking with elation and trepidation at the same time. "My darling? Is that you?"

Her words of affection would previously have quenched his anger as easily as a hammer breaks glass, but now they fell against armor that had been systematically layered against them with every lash of the whip.

"Why did you betray me?" he growled.

"No! I did not!" she said quickly...fear jumping into her mind's realization of her predicament. He could kill her with one blow of his iron fist. "This has all been a terrible misun..."

Instead of a quick death though, Ron's free hand slapped against her neck hard, his fingers encircling her throat easily. He paused for the briefest of instances as he felt of her. He'd been so drawn to her at one time, her velvet covered skin having such a silky, sexy texture. He had experienced tremendous pleasure from the mere touch of it, and that heavenly feeling had soothed his angst under many different, harrowing circumstances. Now his rage crushed that memory aside like a gust of wind blowing out a match. His fingers applied more pressure.

The small form of his one-time lover slowly lifted from the ground as he pulled her up to look him in the face. He casually released his hold on her arm and unlaced his cloak, letting it drop to the floor before he placed that hand on his hip and stared through the gloom at her silhouetted figure.

Cache would have gasped at his ruined body if she could have, his once godlike perfection was now just a mask of horrible, heinous cruelty, but she could not breathe. Tears crawled down her cheeks in a stream and her heart felt as if it would implode as she regarded him...at what had become of him.

She desperately grappled with his arm but, finding it to be as inflexible as a tree limb, instead went after those digits clamping off her oxygen. She may as well have saved her strength. They were granite!

She mouthed the words she hoped would get her released... "I did not! I did not!"

But Ron just glared at her and tried not to enjoy himself too much. He had trusted her with his life, with his heart, with his very soul...and she cast them aside like the core of an apple...the part she wanted gone, used up.

He could tell by her diminishing actions that she was just about out so he released his grip enough to allow her to recover...still holding her off the ground by the throat. His left arm showed no sign of weakening as he allowed her to cough and gasp back to full consciousness, her hands now clinging to his knotted forearm to ease the weight at her neck.

"How does it feel?" Ron asked her through the gritty clench of his teeth.

He would never have thought himself capable of such an act against a woman before that moment...but he suddenly found it to be quite easy...his rage running so high.

Cache coughed and gagged while her feet swung weakly about.

"How does it feel to be choked to the edge of death only to be brought back again to go through it all over once more?"

He squeezed her throat again and saw her panic as she clutched his arm tighter, her nails sinking into his skin and drawing blood. He paid that no mind at all. After what he'd been through, he barely felt it.

"Do you know how many times they did this to me?"

She couldn't reply as she began to fade again, her tears dripping from his hand, and so she just stared at him in horror.

"I can't even remember the count."

He looked off to the side nonchalantly and tried to recall the information but could not. Then he returned his blazing glare to her face.

"Do you know how many beatings I had...how many bones they broke...how many lashes they wore out...how many times they worked on me until they were too tired to continue?"

He began to walk over to the open window. The three-story building had an excellent view of the stormy sky, and the twinkling of firelight at different homes in the distance came and went through the sweeping deluge.

He eased his grip again and Cache began to recover once more, choking and gasping, tears flowing from her eyes in rivers. He lowered her until her bare toes could just touch the smoothly polished floor as he pondered what he should do next. His body trembled from the stress his mind was putting it through...fighting his urge to end her.

Cache was in bad shape by then. The renewed flow of blood to her brain made her head pound and swim badly. She tried to swallow but couldn't due to her coughing and gagging preventing that simple action.

Ron released her and she dropped to her knees, bracing her hands on the floor as her lungs refilled completely, further aggravating her spasms.

He then went to the cabinet and emptied it of his gear, finding that she even had his clothing folded neatly away. He hastily stripped and toweled off before dressing in the garments that had been custom designed for his exceptional physique by the super-computer on her home planet of Rauld.

A tremendous blast of lightening lit up the room as he dried himself, and he used that moment to check the cabinet for its contents.

Over at the window, he heard the distinct sound of vomit hitting the floor, followed by more coughing and retching. He didn't even turn around.

Shortly thereafter, Ron cinched the sword harness tight and secured the bow into position neatly. The throwing blades were each stowed in their special pockets crafted into that outfit, and he felt more like himself again...fully armed and ready for war. He then returned to Cache, clipping his waterproof Raulden cloak into position over it all.

He crouched down in front of her and looked into her eyes in the lamplight. She looked back at him with those violet orbs gleaming, and strained to tell him something, but his abuse had trapped her words, leaving a pathetic squeak where her once delightful, lyrical voice had been.

His face was a visage of hatred. No longer did she see the beauty of the man...the majestic appearance that was once Ron Allison, the man she worshipped. That was all gone. It had been stripped away by the santaris of torture, brutality, and defilement that were too horrible to contemplate. All that was left of him was the remorseless shell of immutable sinew and bone...they had summoned the demon in him...and it was now loose.

"I love you," she chirped feebly as she watched his piercing eyes bore into her.

That was too much for Ron. He'd seen this scene played out in his mind a thousand times...him confronting her and she trying to talk her way out of the sentence that he'd condemned her to.

"You love me?" he asked in utter disbelief. His mind nearly exploded in rage at those words. "Could she be so stupid as to play that card again?" he thought.

"Is that why you delivered me to THEM?" he screamed at her.

"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" he growled as he snatched her up by the throat again. He used his right hand that time, the dagger Josy had given him for protection in the river pressed to her chest with his left.

He locked his hateful glare on her for a long moment, ready to plunge the blade into her tender flesh...but...unbelievably...inconceivably...his hand was frozen. He could not make it obey that command...and after several long litas ticked away, he began to shake and sweat burst from his forehead.

Ron's intellect was now at full-on war with his emotions, each wielding the strength of his unrelenting determination against the other. He was convinced she had earned his loathing, his wrath, and his vengeance...but to see the blood run out of the woman he'd once cherished was too much. Even his hate-ravaged brain could not justify the act.

He glanced down at the weapon he intended to use to end Cache's life, and his only thought was of how ashamed Josy would be if he were to use her gift of love and protection to murder this woman.

As suddenly as his fury had forced the attack, he withdrew it. He would not run her through.

Instead, he slammed that weapon back into its sheath, moved quickly over to the opening of the window, and thrust her out. The heavy rain instantly soaked through her nightgown and plastered her long black hair to her body. Cache's little feet dangled freely in the cool air of the night, dripping with water.

"You've put on a few pounds," he said to her as the inundation of unrelenting rain pressed the thin gown snuggly against her skin, revealing a slightly plumper figure with a rounder waistline than he recalled. "It would appear that treachery and subterfuge suits you well."

The drop would kill her as surely as his blade, and at least this way she would simply disappear and it would be over. Yet still he hesitated.

"I trusted you!" he told her...his heart shattering at the thought of what she'd done...and what he was about to do.

"No!" Cache mouthed before his hand tightened and she felt her spine pop as the vertebrae realigned themselves to compensate for the pressure. "Please, no!"

As his stare bored into her, he couldn't stay the flashes of his memory recalling her stunning appearance and devastating smile that day he walked out of the shower and found her reclining on his bed back on Rauld.

"I trusted you," he growled, grinding his teeth and trying to hang onto his rage.

The day before they left for Earth, she had been so distraught at his leaving. "Can you not tell that I am in love with you?" she'd pleaded, her tears falling in rivers as they were now. Those were tears of true heartache...heartache at losing him.

"I killed for you," he added, his voice turning desperate, his conviction faltering.

He then remembered the look in her eyes when she gave herself to him back at the little hideaway cove, before the Kreete had come. There was no deception in her passion for him.

I...loved you!" he said softly, and then his grip on her relaxed. "I would have died for you!"

He stood there with every intention of letting her drop, his pain and anguish pushing him onward to complete what he had started...but again, he paused. Litas ticked by as he stayed locked in that stance, and then his own tears blurred his view.

He focused on his revenge...the necessity of completing his task...retribution for her traitorous partnership with his enemy, but those tears could not be stopped.

"You cannot do this!" boomed his own voice in his mind. His steadfast resolve buckled under the new onslaught. The hammering sound of blood pulsing in his ears began to subside. He felt the hardened stone of his fury soften and crumble...and then drain from his thoughts as he heard Josy's words echoing above all else; "Please, Ron...do not let your anger overshadow your reason. Sometimes situations arise that cloud one's perspective into seeing what they understand, and not what is completely true. Some of the most unbelievably complex realities have the most simplistic explanations."

The words from her goddess lips were like a warm blanket on a chilly night, wrapping him in comfort and insulating him from the ice-cold cruelty of his malice. The armor plating around his heart began to crack, and the glare in his eyes eased off to a look of uncertainty.

Cache had stopped struggling by then, resigned to her fate...but then she saw the change in him, and it gave her a tiny shred of hope. If she could just get him to listen.

Suddenly though, a sound came to Ron's ears from behind him. It was a clicking sound followed by the dragging of wood against stone...someone was opening the door.

"Cache!" came a call from a deep voice, followed immediately by numerous feet shuffling through that portal. "Cache! He has been found! He is here...in the city!"

There were many sounds now. The room was full of men and Ron could detect the clanking of armor and the rubbing of metal against leather...they were heavily armed.

"Cache! Where are...what the?" said the voice.

Ron recognized that voice and he stood his ground, his arm still extended with Cache's drenched figure suspended from it...and it was stone once more!

"You!" Ron roared to Roelantish Sonebane of the Chavarre Territory.

"Wait Ron! You don't understand! This is not how it appears!" Roe told him.

"No, it is you who does not understand," Ron replied harshly, his temper flaring even more now, having found the two whom he'd sought for so long, still conspiring together. "If you want your little whore, have your men drop their weapons!"

"Do as he says!" Roe ordered to the silhouettes of at least eight men.

Several swords hit the floor immediately, along with two crossbows.

"Ron, wait!"

Ron looked down, out the window, and then regarded Roe again. He guessed that his odds of making it through those men were bad since he was framed in the light of the Caronian moon, however dimly it pushed through the rain, and they were well spread throughout the dark space.

"Ron, you need to listen to me."

"I've heard all I want from you," Ron returned, cutting him off, "but I will tell you this. We have a saying where I come from. What goes around...comes around!"

With that announcement, Ron pivoted sharply and slung Cache's body at the dimly lit form of Roelantish. She flew through the air like a half-filled sack of wheat, straight at her partner. He caught her roughly and together they were plowed to the ground with the collision, but unhurt. When they looked up, Ron Allison was gone.

Down he leapt, to a banner pole that was mounted just above the header of the next lower window opening. His weighty frame struck the wooden device and it bent down sharply. He hoped it would hold, but that was not to be as it quickly succumbed to the strain of the impact and snapped. Luckily though, it lasted long enough to redirect his momentum and allow him to grasp the lower sill of the opening. He hauled himself into that room in a blink and was racing across the cool stone floor before the men upstairs even made it to the window.

The occupants of the room were in a heated, passionate embrace, their bodies locked together firmly, but they both sprang apart as his huge bulk whisked passed and ripped open the door.

Ron flew out of their room and dropped down the nearby stairs in a flurry.

When he reached the street level he bolted from the building opposite to the way Cache's balcony faced and sprinted into the night. His entire being was vibrating from the adrenaline surge of the last few moments, but he really couldn't tell whether it was from anger or relief. He felt cheated of bringing their reunion to a final conclusion, but too, he could not stop his mind from being relieved that Cache still lived. His gut still twisted in turmoil even as he ran through the cold rain.

Ron blasted beyond the town's border in no time, making a wide loop until he found the road leading southward. He was sure any trackers would look in that direction since the Kreete's search net lay to the north. Cautiously he followed that hard-packed dirt path until he was nearly two hoz away from Tabey, and then he got off the road to wait for signs of pursuit.

After a billot had passed and not a soul was seen venturing down the trail, Ron headed back to the Kessleton River. His thoughts were in shambles and any plan he might have had was badly fragmented, lacking cohesive, conclusive decision. That in itself was so foreign to Ron that he felt lost.

He spent the entire next day slogging through the rain-drenched forest, working his way northeast until he retrieved Josy's boat and set off after dark for the plantation. It was the only place he felt he could be even marginally safe.

He needed time to think.

### Chapter Twenty-seven

### Ambush

Cold drops the size of grapes fell from the sky in a never-ending inundation from the heavens, plunging the unfortunate souls who were caught out in it ever deeper into obscurity. The night was so dark that visual perception beyond the length of Ron's arm was nonexistent as he glided quietly across the Kessleton River only a half hoz from his newfound home. He didn't fear pursuit any longer since he knew the trail he'd left was gone before he moved a hundred peors, but he looked forward to reaching his goal with great anticipation. He would soon be able to rest and consider his options; to plan what it was he should do next.

Now that he'd been spotted, undoubtedly the authorities would be made aware of his approximate location, so he knew he would have to get moving again. It was time to get back to the mission he crossed the stars to complete...but then it occurred to him that maybe now the mission itself was moot. He had no control over the construction of the planetary shield generator far up in the thin-aired peaks of the Taerdrasseg Mountains. That was in the hands of the automatons of the Rauldens' designs, and it would initiate with or without his involvement, so why should he return to the danger and hardship of a war that did not involve him?

He'd already given more to help the Caronian people than most of their own citizens had. His blood, his pain, his every waking moment for nearly an entire cycle had been poured out and sacrificed to try and help those natives rise up from under the tyranny of the Kreete overlords...but what had it accomplished? There was no one to help him when he needed it.

Where were the armies of Caron, fighting to save him; or for their own freedom for that matter? The only reason he ever agreed to come to this planet was back there in Tabey, nearly dead at his own hand. The one person he thought would never have turned against him had done so much worse than that.

Cache had betrayed him in every way! She played his emotions against him, used every sensual weapon at her disposal, and there were many, just to present him on a platter to those he despised the most...and whom she claimed to despise as well.

Ron cursed his line of reasoning. That entire series of thought seemed to contradict itself. He tried to introduce pragmatic reason into the mix as he paddled along, but it was difficult. Back in Huinrag he'd been confused and badly abused during his imprisonment...starved, mutilated, and bombarded with nonstop rhetoric and accusations. But now the recollections of what had occurred shattered his logic and caused him to question his own earlier conclusions.

"If Cache and Roe were in league with the Kreete, the interrogators would have known exactly who I am, wouldn't they?" he asked of himself. "They would know who was in league with me, where the Darlile was, and also would have the transport device as well as the defense shield technology!"

Ron's brain chased theoretical scenarios around for a few borts, just as he had over the past two days. "But if they were not, what could possibly explain away the fact that they turned me over to my enemies?"

His suspicions that somehow Roe was manipulating Cache came into play again.

"Maybe whatever leverage he has over her is insufficient to get her to tell him the whole truth. Maybe she is resisting his demands.

"She didn't seem to be resisting him at the cove though," Ron recalled with the bitter taste of bile in the back of his mouth. "And she didn't even fight back in Huinrag!"

There was definitely more to the story than he could see...or imagine...and he meant to get to it eventually.

A sudden flash of light in the distance and a reverberating roll of thunder shook him enough to return his attention to the present. He noticed the canoe was filling quickly with rain and took more powerful strokes to reach the dock before he would have to really begin bailing. But just then something in that inky dimness jumped out at him and gave him cause to halt.

Burning through the heavy rain was a glow...as if every window of Josy's home was shimmering brightly. That was not normal...she never did that. She was always conservative about the use of her home's luminaries; except the night she'd laid that sensual trap for Ron.

"Possibly her family has returned and are spread out across the house," Ron rationalized as he sat perfectly still in the boat, his Raulden cloak creating an excellent barrier against the torrent, and any prying eyes as well.

His mind wanted to explain away what he was seeing in a hazard-free way, but his inner suspicion, his gut instinct, told him something wasn't right.

After a short while of contemplation he moved onward again, slower this time, his eyes straining in the dark for signs that reported all was safe...or not. He could see nothing obviously perilous about the place, but kept his distance a while longer...his senses tingling through his body as if a silent alarm was going off.

Soon thereafter, a silhouette walking across a long, well-lit window made his heartbeat skip and his body draw tense. It was the image of a large man, tall enough that his head almost reached the upper framework of the opening...and he carried a crossbow.

"A Kreete scout!" Ron's brain screamed as his stomach knotted and clenched yet again, only this time for an entirely different reason. "Oh, my god...Josy!"

His heart jumped into overdrive at that, as he recalled with perfect clarity the last time a woman he loved...at least his Kaskle half had loved, was under the thumb of the Kreete. His entire body began trembling with intense foreboding while that image clouded his vision completely. It was so clear, so powerful that he had to slam his eyes shut and shake the memory free to regain his ability to focus on the existing situation.

He brought the slim craft to a stop again, paddling upstream just enough to hold his position while he formulated a plan on the spot and executed it immediately. He had been in the canoe for a good while by then, and it was easily a third full of liquid. The small craft was staying afloat by a very slim margin so he leaned over carefully and allowed the lip of the canoe to drop below the water's surface. It made no sound but the little boat filled in a blink and disappeared into the murky blackness of the river.

Ron had everything he needed on his back as he carefully breast stroked his way across the remaining distance separating him from the eastern bank. The rain pouring down on the water's surface and splashing up his nose made it difficult to breathe since he was maintaining a very low profile, but his resolve was undeniable and he hesitated not at all.

The current of the river quickly carried him past the long dock he and Josy had spent billots jumping and diving off of, and he worked his way ashore a bit further downstream.

Ron took his time and released not a single splash as he slowly crept up the bank, just behind the southwest corner of the large woodshed that he and Josy restocked a few weeks in the past. There were several large shade trees decorating the bank in that area, as well as sporadically positioned around the main structure. He eyed them intensely and inched his way from one to the next until he reached the side of the shed closest to the house.

Once again the Caronian weather was on his side. His need for secrecy was profound and so he utilized that cover to his utmost advantage, slithering his way stealthily around the shed to begin his survey of the grand home.

There were guards stationed at every corner and also patrolling the grounds. He watched the men a long while and found the patrols followed no set routine, which concerned him greatly. Either they were terribly undisciplined, or they were brilliantly trained. If they were the latter, he knew his plan of infiltration would be tenuous.

Ron watched for a bit longer until he caught the reflection of a symbol in the light, when one of the men turned around. It was the Vanguard! He was positive! That increased the difficulty of his mission tremendously.

He instinctively reached back to get an arrow, thinking he might have to make a play for Josy by force, but an empty quiver erased such action all together. His hand fondled the handle of one of his throwing knives, but that was extremely risky due to the distance, the rain, and the unknown number of adversaries.

He racked his brain in an effort to lay out a plan to get to the second floor balcony, but every angle held tremendous risk...with no way to get back out with Josy.

A guard trudged around the corner of the building just then and made him reconsider his route, falling back into a darker pocket of shadow.

The fellow went to the shed and stayed for a short time, emerging with a large item hanging from each hand. He went straight over to the house and set them down under the overhang of a small panel, like a service access door for a coal chute. He lit a large lamp that was stowed in a side niche and then slid the panel aside and began transferring the items he'd carried to the inside of the opening.

"Of course!" Ron thought. "The dumb-waiter for the wood."

Each end of the huge home had a large woodshed positioned closely to it so that the necessary fuel was always nearby, even in such weather as this; which was not uncommon. The split wood could be piled into this three and a half foot cubical that might then be hauled to any floor in the house. It was quite handy and kept the carting of firewood to a minimum since the fireplaces were fairly close by to those devices.

Ron waited impatiently for the guard to finish his work and then return the carrying slings to the shed. As that individual finally rounded the corner of the house, Ron retraced his path to that little portal.

He hastily glanced about and then slid the door aside, crawled in, and closed it behind him.

The shaft was empty and the small elevator was stationary on the second floor. He could hear someone unloading the wood twenty feet above him and then the sound of the door to that level slid shut. He waited a bit more to see if they would hoist the carrier back down to his position but nothing happened.

Ron felt around until he found the rope that operated the contrivance and, ever so slowly, he began to haul on it, sending the device gradually upward. He heard no sound escaping the movement and took a guess that it had cleared the floor's level. At that point he started up the shaft by bracing his back against one side and his feet at the other. That worked better than he thought it would, so Ron was able to scale the tight space fairly handily.

He was gambling that no one would make use of the system again until he gained the second floor, and his good fortune held. When he detected light at the second level leaking by the panel for that floor, he gently pulled the sliding door aside and peered in.

There was nobody around and the corner of the hallway he was in was well lit, so he opened the door all the way and shifted his body enough to slip through, squelching the lamp as he did. He was slow and methodical at his execution of that maneuver, not wanting to make any noise, and thereby didn't realize his mistake right away.

The inhabitants on the main floor were many, and there was a great deal of sound coming from that direction, echoing up the staircases, but not so much that Ron could understand the words to their conversations. He really wasn't interested in that anyway. His focus was on his personal stealth, getting to Josy, and whisking her out of harm's way.

On the first floor level however, a man was sliding the panel aside for the use of the wood hauler. He was in a discussion with his friend and reached inward for the rope without really looking at it. Ron's penetration of the house would have gone unnoticed had it not been for the fact that the rope was wet. That dampness caused the man to look into the opening and see a large puddle of water at the base of the shaft. Still, with the weather outside, he would have dismissed the nonconformity except for the fact that there were drops still falling into the puddle.

Curiosity drove the fellow to stick his head into the opening and look up; searching for a possible explanation of the water's source. What he saw was a sinister figure slipping out of the shaft and onto the second floor...and then the light went dark.

The man immediately turned to his partner and gave him an order.

"Find Karne! The house has been breached!"

The hallway Ron was in was long and dimly lit, with cased openings leading into a cozy sitting area on his right, where a small group might entertain or have friendly conversation, and the floor's laundry room to his left. Josy's bedroom was on the northern side, thirty feet down the corridor and to the left.

He stopped and listened for a few litas, to see if anyone was in the side rooms, and then moved onward. Down the way another ten feet was a large, decorative chest against the south wall, with a beautiful mirror above it, and Ron made his way to that. There were two lamps at the sides of the mirror but they were turned down for the late hour and merely served as nightlights to any sleepy wanderers of the evening. He extinguished those lamps as he crept forward, his steps falling softer than the pad of a cat as he advanced.

Ron could hear the sounds of many voices from the lower level and thought he detected a rise in volume as well as urgency, but couldn't ascertain the nature of it all due to the Caronian weather. The pounding rain continued unabated, and the sound of that torrent was garbling the men's words.

He went out across the floor, only twenty feet from his goal but there he froze...feet were approaching quickly from directly ahead of him. Down the hallway past Josy's grand room was a staircase to the main floor on the left, and to the next floor on the right.

That's when he was finally able to distinguish the verbal noises from below.

"The first room on the right!" shouted a deep, grating voice echoing along the ten-foot-wide hall. It was the voice of a Kreete soldier. "Search and secure it!"

Ron quickly looked all about himself. He had to stop them before they reached Josy's room!

"Halt!" ordered a new voice, coming from one of the leaders of the group as he crested the last stair and found a surprise. "The lamps are out!"

"Secure the room to the right!" repeated a more forceful order from behind those men and angry jostling began. "MOVE!"

Ron backed down to the cover of the mirrored chest, but now he had to make a decision...charge or retreat!

Josylinia was twenty feet away and in grave danger! He would not retreat!

He gripped the large, ornamental chest and heaved. It was five feet long and two deep, made of some exotic hardwood that had been intricately carved and stained into a stunning peace of artwork. It was thick and heavy and would suit him well.

"Ggggggrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaahhhh!" he screamed as he hefted the huge piece of furniture and set off at the Kreete.

The scouts who had lunged forward per their leader's command now stopped again and Ron heard five crossbows fire. The impact of the heavy wooden missiles slammed into the chest but did nothing to deter the man behind it.

Ron raced on and crashed into the soldiers who couldn't get clear of his path and bowled them over with his wooden battering ram. He turned loose the chest and instantaneously there were sharp reports of two ultra-hardened steel blades clearing their sheaths. One ornately carved short sword and a longer rapier that was as black as pitch.

Ron could see much better than the scouts due to their night vision being less than equal to his, so when he attacked the nearest guards, they fell back quickly.

The crashing of steel blade against steel blade rattled through the enormous house at such a rapid pace that the fellows behind the front-line soldiers thought surely there were multiple adversaries challenging them.

Ron's blades slashed against shields, armor, and swords with the force of a sledgehammer, but their numbers were great and the space was tight so he barely drew blood...yet they fell back nonetheless. He pressed his position forward and nearly had them stonewalled until something astounding happened.

"Lights! Full!" cried a deafening voice from the center of the Kreete group.

The entire ceiling of the corridor suddenly exploded in light, temporarily blinding the participants of the frantic duel. It was like the fantastic luminescent panels in the underground complex of Gammone, on Rauld, and everyone recoiled from that blast of illumination.

Ron's auto-shades jumped into action enabling him to recover first, by a hair's margin, and when he saw what he was faced with, he immediately pivoted and crashed through the tall door to Josy's bedroom.

There were a dozen Kreete soldiers clogging the nearby stairwell!

"Josy!" Ron shouted as his eyes panned a hasty search of the room and found no one. "Oh, shit!"

He spun back around then and met the charging scouts at the door...the blood-red haze of fury sliding down over his vision as it always did when he clashed with the Kreete. They couldn't get more than two men into the battle now due to the bottleneck of the doorway and Ron stood his ground with a growling, snarling, vicious assault of razor edged wrath.

He slashed and parried and punched and kicked the men at the doorway until, as if by mental coordination alone, they suddenly lurched back and stepped aside, creating an alleyway between them.

Ron didn't pursue, but rather looked about again very quickly, searching for any signs of what had become of his gorgeous lover. There was nothing. Not a single item was out of place...other than the fact that she was gone.

"JOOOOOOOSSYYYYYYY!" Ron bellowed at the top of his lungs, in his deepest voice...it carrying through the huge home like a thunderclap.

At that point, another figure came upon the scene...and Ron's blood sizzled through his veins...his muscular frame surging in open rage at the enemy stepping to the bedroom's portal.

The Kreete's bald head barely cleared the upper frame and his shoulders' width nearly spanned the four foot wide opening. His skin was adorned with so many tattoos that they merged in a multicolored collage of overlapping inked creativity. His uniform was a deep red color and fourteen ragged-looking stripes; appearing like tears in the fabric, swept down the front of it at an angle.

Ron didn't move, refusing to give ground to anyone, his deep growls vibrating the room. He was a demon-beast and he would not yield!

"Stand down!" ordered Karne, the Reaper class leader of the Vanguard group, the Hellions. His imposing voice boomed as if he were speaking through a twenty-gallon wooden barrel, but its authority held no meaning to the opponent before him.

Ron was a hardened, sinewy package of pure energy, his body now fully recovered and ready for battle with such a creature. He didn't falter or sway in the presence of the giant, but rather swung his swords smoothly and with such rapidity that the leader's eyes seemed to widen a bit.

Ron brought the exhibition to a quick end with both sword tips pointing at the massive soldier.

"I take no orders from you, slag!" Ron told the giant warrior. "You will produce the woman, Josylinia Gitove, now! Or I will wash the floor of this room with your blood!"

### Chapter Twenty-eight

### Foe and friend

The Reaper class soldier gripped his two short swords tightly...the leather wrapped handles creaking under the intense pressure of his huge digits, and then he gave his own brief show to those in attendance. He set his blades in motion and they quickly began whistling and sliding across one another in an equally fluid and flashy display as Ron's until he felt prepared.

The two champions then clashed steel in a fantastic battle of the best the Kreete had to offer and the finest human swordsman who had ever swung a blade, and the ringing of steel was absolutely deafening.

The deadly weapons began smashing, clanging, sliding, and dancing off one another in a barrage so swift that those of the Reaper's command nearly cheered. On and on the attack went until the giant commander of the Hellions suddenly jolted back just a hair and locked his blades with Ron's, their faces barely a foot apart.

"Where did you get those weapons?" questioned the leader in astonishment.

Ron said nothing. Speaking was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.

A thick, reddish-brown fluid spattered to the polished floor. Both seething adversaries glanced furtively down at the sound. It was from a minor wound across the Kreete's chest, but it was first blood.

"Aaaaarrrrrggghhhhh!" roared the Reaper, shoving Ron back ten feet with his immense strength before he made as if he would lunge into the battle once more...but then a completely new commotion unexpectedly raced into the fray.

"Father! No!" came an order from a feminine voice that both shocked and bewildered Ron. "Let me through!"

"Step aside Horst!" ordered one of the men at the hallway-side of the doorway opening. "Reaper Karne...she is here!"

Ron watched the great brute before him for signs of the impending charge, but his mind was buzzing. "What was that?" he questioned his senses.

For an immediate answer, a figure not even half the size of the creature who challenged Ron came rushing into the doorway.

"Father! Please!" said Josy as she shoved the gargantuan warrior hard, but did not move him.

Karne stared at Ron for another moment, and then stepped to the side and allowed the fantastic figure of Ron's concern to shoot passed him and into the arms of her Baushe`.

Josy looked like a billowing angel as she ran toward him in a beautiful evening gown, and his mind silently lurched hard, as if he'd been slapped solidly across the face, and sternly examined what he saw. She was adorned with a simple, soft yellow, multi-layered silk dress that had a braided silk sash fastened at the waist, but she wore no footgear.

Ron didn't know what to do in that instant as Josy leaped into his arms and covered his lips with hers...her feet dangling in space and her arms locked around his thick neck.

"I was so worried!" she finally told him when she pulled back to look into his eyes. "Are you injured?"

He still held his swords out in a defensive pose, but his attention was now diverted to say the least. "No, Josy...I...I'm fine...now. But..."

The Kreete was no longer in an offensive pose, and he sheathed one of his blades while Ron studied him. Ron was obviously bewildered, but took the big fellow's lead by reaching up carefully and stowing the black sword, guiding it around Josy's delicate features and safely into its scabbard. Then he used that arm to press her body against him hard, greatly relieved to feel her exquisite figure crushed to him again, but his apprehension was still clearly written upon his face.

"Sweetheart, you need to stay behind me," he told her as he sat her down gently and placed himself between her and that gigantic intruder.

"No, Baushe`, you don't understand," she corrected him softly, watching his reaction of even deeper confusion.

"Father, please put aside that sword and send your men away."

Ron looked at her...then at the Kreete...and back to her again.

"Father?" he posed. "What...I...that's...your...what are you saying?"

Josy stepped quickly around the bewildered Ron Allison and marched right up to that ten-foot-tall tower of tattooed muscle.

"Father! You are injured! Come down here!"

The Tusepten commander of the awesome strike force, the Hellions, obeyed that little curvaceous woman without hesitation, dropping to one knee so she could examine him...but he never took his eyes off Ron.

Josy pulled the fabric apart and examined the cut. "This will need to be closed...Mother!" she shouted out the door.

The giant broke his gaze from Ron then and stowed his still brandishing blade, waving his hand to the men behind him. They all moved off but two, who now flanked the Reaper closely.

"Larsen," Josy said to one of the nearby scouts, "would you go find Mother and have her bring a med-kit? Thank you."

The scout set off up the stairs to the third floor immediately.

"It is barely a scratch, baby girl," said Karne, his gravelly voice sounding odd to Ron and his hand gently sliding under Josy's chin. "Where were you? I thought someone was attacking you."

Ron watched that grotesque and fearsome face contort around into a smile that only a mother, and apparently in this case, a daughter and wife could love.

"I was sitting in his room, Father. I missed him terribly and wanted to be near something that reminded me of him, so I curled up in a chair with the blanket from his bed. I would have come much sooner, but I could not get through the army you have up here, so it took me a few borts. I am sorry to have worried you."

Karne slid his hand up beside her ear and it enveloped the entire side of Josy's head, so enormous was the man, and he gave her a kiss on her forehead.

"That is all right."

"It is very bright, Father. Can we return the lights to normal?"

He smiled at her plea. "Lights...one third."

The bright condition hadn't affected Ron at all due to his Caronian safety screens, and when the room dimmed to a normal level, those shades drifted away again leaving his gray eyes looking like any other man's.

The silver orbs of the Hellion Commander swung around to Ron again and the two opponents stared at one another until another shock broke Ron's attention.

A woman came rushing in at that point and unraveled Ron's perception of reality even further. He would have sworn she was Josy's twin sister! She was dressed in formal attire like her daughter, wearing a striking cerulean blue, full-length gown of multi-layered silk with satin trimmings shimmering throughout, and it was tied at the waist with a gold-threaded, white sash. She, like Josylinia, was absolutely breathtaking, and her features were scandalously fabulous.

The two women's garb gave him the impression that they were hosting a ceremonial dinner party, which made the scene he was witnessing even that much more bizarre.

She paid no attention to the armed man in her daughter's room until she'd cleaned and dressed Karne's wound, at which time she gave the huge brute a kiss and patted the side of his hideous face.

"There you are, Baushe`," she told him with a parting hug.

The woman finally turned and regarded Ron with Josy at her side.

"Mother, this is Ron Allison."

The woman whom Josy referred to as her mother was truly stunning. She looked to be about five cycles older than her daughter, which sent Ron's mind swirling through this impossible situation all over again. He had to think for a moment and recall the extended life-spans of the Rauldens to understand that not every species aged at the rate of Earthlings.

"How do you do?" asked Josy's mother, walking forward and extending her left hand as if she were meeting a casual friend at a luncheon and not the mortal enemy of her husband.

Ron moved to shake her hand but realized he was still gripping his short sword, so he hastily sheathed it and took the offered greeting, feeling a dainty but firm handshake.

"I am Mishea."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mishea," Ron replied with his head so full of questions he could barely speak.

"I am very impressed, Ron," she told him calmly. "I have never known a human to have even come close to Karne with a sword. You are the one we have been hoping for, I think."

Ron didn't know if he should thank her, smile, or question her further, so he merely stood his ground and inspected her, as she was doing to him.

The woman before him was an inch or so shorter than Josy, and instead of wavy, her hair was as straight as a stereotypical Japanese girl's. Her skin was tanned with the same tone and hue as her daughter and their facial features were nearly identical as well. She had a marvelous, warm and delightful smile, and when Ron was close to her he saw where Josy got those fantastic eyes of hers. Mishea's were a brilliant cobalt color, the same as the outer ring of Josy's, but instead of a brown center, were solid blue, glistening in the light like a pair of huge, round sapphires.

Josy went to Ron and plastered herself to him in a scintillating hug of her lover that brought his anxiety back down to normal. His quest for blood and his fear of her being brutalized were now completely gone, although replaced with utter bafflement.

"Josy, I...I...don't understand...I thought that th...I was afraid that...you're all right?"

"Of course, my love. I'm in my home. I'm safe...and so are you!"

Mishea slipped up next to her daughter's beau and took his right arm, with Josy at his left, and then they gently urged him forward to Karne, who still hadn't moved from the doorway.

"This is my father, Karne Gitove," Josy said, calmly introducing the two men who had just been in bloody conflict with one another.

Ron was still hesitant, his mind not wanting to accept this crazy predicament he found himself in.

Karne reached out and offered his hand to Ron...a very odd gesture since his own culture did not submit to such contact, even with comrades.

Ron didn't want to embarrass his "host" so he took the offered greeting, and they clasped in a show of friendship. As in the Earth's social scales though, the two warriors each added pressure to the other, a test of manhood to the both of them.

Ron was at a distinct disadvantage due to the sheer size of Karne's hand with its seven digits...each one considerably thicker than Ron's thumbs..., but he found enough strength to ward off the assault until...

"Stop that you two!" Mishea ordered, slapping the two men's hands hard enough to get their attention. "We are supposed to be allies...are we not?"

"Allies?" Ron questioned as he released his grip. "What do you mean? He's the one who captured me, who had me chained and beaten and tortu..."

"No!" shouted Josy as she stepped in front of Ron and glared up at him harshly; her never before seen temper flaring instantly. "My father did not!"

Ron recoiled from that berating with incredulity and peered dumbfounded at the luscious woman at his front. She was looking up into his face with real anger, not the gentle, tender object of his affections anymore.

"He saved you! He did everything he could do for you...you cannot say..."

"Josy...darling, it is all right," Karne jumped in, trying to calm his distraught daughter. "If I were him, I would feel exactly the same way. He does not understand what all has happened, and how things got so out of control."

The Reaper then turned to Ron again.

"You have suffered a tremendous amount over the past cycle, Ron Allison, and for that, I am truly sorry. How you could have ever survived that time is still a mystery to me. The Creator surely has something important laid out for you.

"Please come down stairs and have a meal with us, and we shall try to explain what has occurred outside of your knowledge over that period...to allow us to be standing here together now."

He ended that statement with a sweeping gesture that offered Ron the open doorway, and they all strolled leisurely toward the stairs to the main floor. Josy was clinging tightly to Ron's side again, her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapped up with his. Her anger had vanished and her adoration was firmly in place once more.

Ron stepped out into the hallway and tensed instantly. Being surrounded by the Vanguard was inexplicable, and he bristled like a rogue lion in a new pride.

Josy felt his muscles turn to stone and looked up at him, then suddenly realized by his quick check of the soldiers what was going on.

"These are my brothers...Larsen and Neidar."

Ron glanced up and nodded hesitantly to each of her siblings, both standing a head and a half taller than him, and he calmed down once again.

"Karne, dear," Mishea said to her enormous spouse, "run up and replace your shirt. Our guests need not be further worried by the sight of blood."

Karne glanced down and then indicated his understanding with a grunt...he being a man of few words.

When the group reached the stairway to the other levels Josy abruptly remembered Ron's reason for having been gone.

"Would you all excuse us for just a few borts?" Josy pleaded to her family as she stopped short of the stairs. "We should get Ron out of these wet and muddy clothes and into something more suitable."

They all looked to Karne and he took a long glance at Ron before consenting.

"Try not to be too long...we have much to discuss."

"One more thing, Karne," Ron asked before they parted. "If you knew who I was back there in Josy's room, why did you engage me?"

Karne looked down at the man his daughter clung to and grinned. "For fun."

With that, the Gitove siblings, save Josy, continued down the stairs and out of sight, and her parents disappeared from view...and earshot...the other way, leaving Ron to ponder that last little statement.

"You'll forgive me, darling, won't you..." Josy began tentatively, "for not telling you about Father, I mean?"

Ron's thoughts were still spinning from that unfathomable revelation, but when his gaze found Josy's, he could only feel at ease. Her very presence was like a drug of euphoria. That in itself added to his puzzlement.

"Yeah...I suppose...I mean yes, of course! I totally understand. I can't even imagine what would have happened if I'd known I was living in a sla...that is, a Kreete's home. It's just such a shock...you know?"

"Yes, I do. I worried over your finding out every moment...imagining what your reaction would be. I'm so glad it all worked out so well!"

Ron eyebrows rose at that, thinking about how close he'd been to being skewered by her father's troopers.

"Was it Cache?" Josy then asked breathlessly, breaking Ron's concentration. "Did you find her? Was that who you went looking for?"

Ron's attention returned to his previous predicament and his face was stern as he replied. "Yes, it was her...and she was with the other traitor I told you about."

"Oh, Creator above us!" she said with fear openly displayed across her heavenly face. "What happened?"

Ron then thought back on the things he'd said and done...and was ashamed. His face turned drawn and hollow and his eyes drifted from hers pointedly.

"Baushe`...my love...please tell me you didn't...kill her?"

"No," he said softly and then his legs felt weak and he slumped heavily to the uppermost stair. "No, I couldn't."

"Thank the Guardian, Ron," Josy whispered to him in relief as she knelt at his side and ran her fingers through his short, wet hair. "I'm so glad that you didn't."

He regarded her a long moment, and watched her expression of such deep compassion for his plight. He could see that she desperately wanted to ease his conscience, and share in his emotional burden. Her love for him was so pure.

She noted his careful inspection of her and gave a tiny, timid smile...just enough to test his mood. He couldn't resist her incomparable charm and swept her into his lap in one smooth move, her evening gown now filthy and dampened all around from his soggy clothes. She paid that no mind whatsoever. Her heart was reaching out to him in his time of need...everything else was on hold. She laid her head on his shoulder and stroked his face gently, waiting patiently for him to begin.

Ron spent the next ten borts recalling everything he'd seen and done on that rainy afternoon, and he felt drained when he was finished...saddened more than he could have imagined.

"I was so angry, Josy. I can still taste the bitterness of my hate when I think of it. I felt like I could destroy the whole world...and had the right to because of what I'd been through. I was a mindless, vicious animal...like everyone expected of me in the Games. I don't know if my sanity can ever fully recover. Sometimes, when I feel threatened, I find it so easy to revert back to that beast they called Shartae...where all I have to do is survive, and not worry about what's right or wrong.

"Maybe I'm ruined...you know...unable to feel pity, or mercy. Maybe I should've just died in the arena."

Josy sat up at that and kissed him long and passionately...feeling his powerful embrace engulfing her totally, knowing she couldn't break free even if she wished to...and she absolutely did not. He overwhelmed her completely, both physically and emotionally, and his strength only drew her to him more.

When at last he released her, she kept her face nearly against his, wanting to stay as close as possible. Her eyes danced in his gaze.

"You didn't kill her," she told him frankly, "and I am eternally grateful that you did not, my love. That proves to me that you are not 'Shartae'...not governed by him at least. You become him when you need to, but Ron Allison...the man whom I love and respect...is who you are! He...you...are in control! That's why she still lives. You are not a murderer...and before you say anything, killing and murdering are not the same! You have killed many times...I know...but surviving in a match to the death can never be called murder...nor is protecting innocent victims from depraved sociopaths.

"As far as this matter with Cache and Roelantish, the whole story is not known to you right now. Perhaps when it is, you'll be able to make a decision that feels right. Only then will it be over...and only then can you ever find peace.

"As for me," she added with a gentle kiss, "...you loved her, did you not?"

Ron looked deeply into those gorgeous eyes and hesitated. He didn't want to do her harm.

"It's all right, my darling. I want to know."

"Yes...I'm sure that I did...and...I think I still do."

The look on her face didn't change in the slightest. She heard exactly what she expected to hear...and she repeated the kiss.

"I don't feel that you could have fallen in love with someone who could do that to you, Baushe`. She loved you too...yes?"

"I was convinced she did."

"Then an explanation for the actions she took is out there, somewhere. That should be your goal...finding the truth...not vengeance."

Ron was astonished at how perceptive and insightful Josy was. He now wished he'd listened to her and waited to discuss the whole matter before he left. If he'd had more of a plan, perhaps he would know what that explanation was...or if not, at least that chapter of his life would be over. As it was though, he was still filled with doubts, anger, and guilt.

"I'm sorry if this is painful to you, Josy. It was never my intention to involve you in these matters. I especially didn't want to hurt you in any way."

Josy just looked up at him lovingly.

"I'm not hurt by what's in your heart, Ron. Exactly the opposite is true in fact."

Ron gave her a look of puzzlement.

"Now that things are out in the open, with my family and all, I would like to tell you something else about myself...something important."

Ron couldn't imagine there could be more to her story than the mind-reeling revelation he'd already experienced.

"You should know that I'm not like other women you've met."

"That's an understatement!" Ron's brain screamed out, but his mouth stayed silent.

"You could never have hidden your true feelings from me even if you tried. You see, I am a Shavara...an intuit. I can actually feel much of what you feel...as far as the emotional conflict and anxiety in you...especially when we touch. I know your heart has sustained nearly as much damage as your body, and I can help you heal those wounds as we have done with these," she told him as she traced one of his more prominent scars.

Ron gazed at the incredible woman before him with deep wonder. Was there no end to her alluring attributes? "An intuit?" he asked softly. "What is that, exactly?"

"My mother is from the planet Tregasia. It's a class 9.6 world in the Goanstin solar system. Some of the females of her people have the gift of being able to read someone's emotions...not their actual thoughts, mind you...but their intentions, fears, worries, likes and dislikes, deceptions and truths. It makes them immensely valuable in a number of ways. She passed that talent on to me. You see, I 'know' what you feel for me, and that security enhances what I feel for you! If you weren't honest with me, tried to deceive me for ulterior motives like others have done in the past, I could never have fallen so hopelessly in love with you."

She accentuated that profession with another tender press of her lips to his. Ron welcomed the kiss easily...and the statement even more so. The tension in his face relaxed a bit more. He felt so at ease around that breathtaking woman that it amazed him.

"You don't believe in those types of games though...and such sincerity and openness just add to your overall magnetism. That's why so many women are drawn to you.

"I also know what you feel for 'her', but it doesn't frighten me, or cause me resentment or envy. She came before me, as your wife did before her. It is simply timing, and I can't allow that to worry me. Shavara don't get jealous because jealousy is derived from mistrust, insecurity, and doubt...and we can almost see those emotions, especially in those closest to us.

"I don't know what will happen when this is all resolved in your mind, Ron, and in your heart, but whatever you decide will be what has to be. I will accept that because it will be the truth."

Ron found himself even more dazzled at that fantastic woman in his arms. She played no games either, and her intentions were more honest than anyone he'd ever met. Those facts merely enhanced her devastating beauty all the more.

He pulled her to him and they kissed for a long while, each holding the other and reveling in the splendor of the moment. Both of them were supremely aware that the next few billots could change their lives a great deal and wanted to prolong their simple happiness...but too, they knew that all good things must end.

They finally separated and Ron stood up, rising with Josy in his grasp easily. He sat her pretty little bare feet down on the floor and frowned.

"I'm sorry, Josy, but it looks like I wrecked your dress."

"It's no bother, Baushe`...now that you're back."

"Well, if it's any consolation, it was beautiful!"

"Thank you. I'll go see if I can find something else suitable to wear. I won't be long."

Ron then started down the hall. "Your father seemed serious about this meeting, so I'll hurry and get cleaned up and meet you downstairs."

### Chapter Twenty-nine

### Reunion

Ron walked slowly down the stairs twenty borts later, clean and refreshed of body, but his mind was yet troubled by what had happened in Tabey...and he was still reeling from what was occurring here, in this very house. He once thought this whole business with the Kreete was perfectly cut and dried...good versus evil...us against them, but it was now turning out to be so very far from that.

He was in dry clothes again and didn't smell of river mud, but he felt far from carefree with a Kreete strike team surrounding the house, so his swords were strapped to his person as he passed the midpoint turn in the stairs. From there he could see into the expansive room before him, it being scattered with furniture which encouraged comfort and ease, thus promoting openness and visitation.

At the very bottom of the stairs was Mishea, apparently waiting for him, but for what reason, he didn't know. Ron joined her there and she looped her arm with his, directing him to where he was requested.

"May I escort you, Ron?" she asked in her sweet, melodic voice as she walked slowly and deliberately, intent on a few moments of undisturbed conversation.

"I would never turn down the company of such a beautiful woman," Ron returned, although his mental guard shot up around him. "And might I add that your daughter is quite the remarkable young lady."

"You may indeed! She is her father's...and my...pride and joy.

"Do not take this incorrectly, as we are equally proud of our boys...but she is almost too perfect to believe."

"I heartily agree with you!" he told her, grinning broadly.

Mishea smiled a dazzling smile that forced his tension to ease another notch without uttering a word. They proceeded slowly onward.

"May I ask something of you?" Mishea inquired a few steps later, stopping their progress for just a moment.

"Of course."

"May I ask you to keep her and my heritage from anyone else?"

"Of the Shavara?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely. I am honored that you two would trust me with such a secret."

"Thank you," she told him as they began their walk once more. "There is also one other thing I should tell you, just to clear the air. My husband, Karne is extremely protective of Josy. He was furious when I told him she had bonded with you."

Ron instantly felt like the "bad seed" boyfriend of the homecoming queen.

"Forgive me for..."

"Please, do not fret. She is of age to make her choice and he knows that. He is only concerned that she will be devastated in the event that you should leave and never return or, may the Guardian forgive me, be killed in this extremely dangerous mission into which you have been ensconced."

"I'm afraid I can make no promises toward the escape of either possibility, Mishea, because even I don't know what tomorrow will bring...as this night has undeniably proven. But you have my solemn word that I will do everything I can to keep either of those two scenarios from coming to pass."

"I am certain that you will, Ron, but...may I beg your indulgence, on his behalf...in this one last request which is a bit of an intimate nature."

Ron's curiosity spiked at once. He stopped again and turned to his lovely hostess.

"And just what may I ask would that be?"

"May I read you?"

Ron hesitated only a fraction of a lita, wondering what she could possibly be after, but he felt no threat from her in the slightest. He recalled everything Josy told him of the Shavara...that they could almost see emotions in others, but not read their thoughts, so he consented.

She carefully unlaced the top of his shirt and placed her warm hand to his bare chest. She could feel the ridges of scar tissue that adorned his flesh but did not pause or shrink from her intent.

"Please, Ron...think of Josylinia now."

Ron flushed instantly, realizing what he was allowing her to experience, and the heat of his emotions surged so high that any mother would have been able to read his feelings, intuit or not. Mishea felt the clarity of his soul's intentions immediately, and that powerful surge of passion rushed into her like a flash flood. She quickly found herself blushing as well, so she removed her hand and hugged him tightly, as if she were welcoming a new son-in-law...one who met with her full approval.

"Thank you for allowing me that examination, Ron," she told him as she tugged him down to her and kissed his cheek. She then stepped to his side once more and escorted him into the largest sitting room.

Karne was standing next to one of the oversized fireplaces, in a huddled discussion with some Kreete soldiers who were mere silhouettes to Ron and his escort. The Reaper looked up pointedly as Mishea entered with their houseguest. He regarded her closely and when she smiled at him, squeezed Ron's arm tightly, and nuzzled his shoulder with her cheek fondly, he let out a great sigh.

Undoubtedly fathers were the same all over the universe!

He immediately went over and joined the two of them with a lighter conscience. If his wife approved of the little man, then that was good enough for him.

"She is safe with him," was all Mishea said as she took her leave of the group and went off to take care of some prior business.

Karne watched her retreat and then gave Ron the once over again. He still had a difficult time comprehending how such a compact person could be so powerful...but he didn't say that.

"If you will come with me, there are some people I would like you to meet."

Ron followed the gargantuan soldier around a wide island bar arrangement that separated two halves of the great room, and into the far section of the spacious area. When he rounded an elaborately carved column, he received yet another surprise.

"Ron!" cried four people at once...astonishment clearly evident on their faces.

Karne jolted to a stop, not believing they could possibly know each other.

Ron stood there thunderstruck as well, but for different reasons. After all the hoz he'd traveled since he came to Caron, all the time he'd been incarcerated, all the people that had entered and left his company, there stood four of the very first citizens he happened to meet.

"Oh, thank the Guardian!" Lilea squealed as she rushed over to him, leaped into his arms, and kissed him on the lips...nothing romantic, merely a firm, friendly peck.

Ron hugged her tightly and swung her about like she was his baby sister.

"Lilea! My God, how in the world did you get here?" he asked into her ear before he lifted her from her clasp of him and held her up to view her more clearly. "You sure are a welcomed sight!"

Ron then sat her back on her feet and scanned the rest of the entourage. Jarle and his younger brother Janson were there, as was Heath Sarvand. When Lilea dropped back to the ground, they all rushed in and clasped his hands and slapped him on the back and shoulders...positively thrilled that he was alive.

Ron smiled and laughed with them for a time and then he turned back to Lilea.

"Where is your husband? We finally got you two back together and now you're apart again?"

"Only for a short while," she replied with a small pout. "I couldn't rest while you were missing. He will be joining us when things are finished where he is."

They tried not to let their reaction to his disfigurements show on their faces, but were unable to, so he decided to head off the multitude of worries they obviously had.

"I'm fine...really. Much of this," he said as he waved his hand about his face and bared arms, "will eventually fade away, but for now, try not to feel bad about how I look. If I stay away from a mirror, I don't even think about it. I'm still the same person I was."

There was a bit of a pause with that statement, no one daring to ask what they really wanted to until...

"Let us all get down to business," Karne interrupted, ushering them over to a sitting area. "You will find that I am not one to mince words. I will be direct...even harsh and to the point."

He wasted no time before beginning.

"Obviously we will each maintain some secrets from the others of our group...that is only intelligent and prudent thinking...but trust must be part of the process as well. If we are going to collaborate with any possibility of success, we must be able to trust that our allies are faithful to us, and to our cause. We are in this together now, since merely being at this meeting is a death sentence to us all.

"So, in order to begin building that trust, there are a couple of things that need to be brought out into the open. First off, I will begin with a quick explanation of my involvement in your capture, Ron."

Ron took a seat with the Lampsh contingent, they all having been lounging in a half-ring of chairs that roughly surrounded another huge fireplace which radiated a strong orange glow about the room.

"It is simple. I was informed that a transport caravan was overdue for its normal schedule and ordered to find it. We investigated and found signs that an aggressive force of an unknown size had attacked the convoy, and it appeared as if this force had followed and killed many of the members of that party.

"Two possible routes were available to this outlaw band, so I divided the strike team in order to cover more ground. My second in command, Brauchic Thiese located the last point of contact this murderous group had with that caravan of men and slaves.

"The trail was old and badly obscured, but he fortunately came across another fellow who was apparently trailing the same band...a man who was very skilled at tracking, so he recruited this mountain-man to expedite the matter. That tracker had been on the trail for days already, having followed the convoy in search of his slave woman who had mistakenly been included in the caravan. He made a deal with Brauchic to continue the hunt if he could have his woman back. I approved the arrangement by way of radio transmission, even though her new owner would be sorely upset. My goal was clear...and it had nothing to do with any slave girl. All we were interested in was catching up to the raiding party which had attacked our transport.

"This woodsman was quite remarkable, and even though it took many dactrais, he eventually found the girl with a lone man who was as of yet unidentified. I was delayed far away across the gorge due to finding some survivors of the devastated caravan. They were probable witnesses, so we were obliged to give them aid in order to keep them alive, hoping they could identify the attackers...which they did later by means of a video relay.

"This unidentified man...you, Ron...and the woman were in a box-canyon where Brauchic surrounded and captured you. The tracker fellow took the woman and Brauchic set off toward Huinrag with you, sending a courier to me to guide us to the rest of my team. I met up with them a dactrai later.

"The first time I saw you, you were staked to the ground and unconscious. At that time I took command of the Hellions once more.

"You killed three of my men that day, while chained to a stake that was made to hold a rouker. Do you remember that?"

Ron nodded.

"My men wanted to slay you for that, but my orders on that particular dactrai were to bring you in to Huinrag, alive and unbroken. However, if I hadn't seen your attack in person, and not been so impressed with that incredible feat, I would have killed you then myself and faced the punishment later. But I was there, so that is why you lived out that sunset. I had my physician tend you when one of my men errantly almost killed you with his wand, and I ordered you carried instead of dragged, for the first bit of our journey.

"I was called away to Pigonta that very night, and left in a shuttle. My men delivered you to the constable of Huinrag and I thought that was the last of it. However, when you killed three more scouts on your first day inside the city walls...while chained to that massive pillar...and then escaped recapture for so long, I began to seriously consider the fact that I could use you for my army."

"Army?" Ron queried.

Karne merely held up his hand to that question, indicating he would get to it later.

"I nearly lost all hope of that though, when you were gone for so long in the dungeons of the Justice Commission."

Ron translated that authority group into 'Torture Squad'.

"I began following all the initial reports about you and my optimism was greatly rekindled as I saw your ability to resist our interrogators was so high.

"Eventually though, the reports stopped and no further news was to be had, leaving me hanging with nothing to go on as to where or how to find you. After a santari, I just assumed they had killed you and kept it quiet...until your remarkable reappearance in the Retribution Games.

"I knew immediately that it was you when I heard of how you ended your bouts in the manner of the savage mountain men...the Piercellione...just as you had in my camp that afternoon.

"I began following your progress and even saw a few of your matches when my duties allowed. I waited and watched for the opportunity to make a bid to buy you for my own training centers, but your owner was making so much money with you, I had no chance. Finally though, you once more did the impossible and escaped, arriving like a gift from the Guardian, right on the northern section of my land. Of course you know the rest...but for the westerners, we took him in, hid him, and my daughter nurtured him back to health."

"You mentioned an army?" Ron inquired again, breaking into the story, "What army? Why are you involved with the rebel forces against your own command?"

"In due time," Karne told him, showing uncharacteristic patience with his daughter's suitor. "The next thing we should speak of, Ron is what you may have told your interrogators...what may not have been written in their reports."

Karne said that straight out, and with no sensitivity whatsoever.

Ron saw no malice in him however and, even though it went against everything he felt and knew about the Kreete, he trusted the enormous soldier. After all, as insane as it seemed, he would probably be dead if it weren't for this gargantuan, hideous fellow.

"As far as I know," Ron replied, moving from one pair of eyes to the next, pausing and locking gazes to show he wasn't withholding anything, "I told them nothing...not even my name. I never spoke once."

The individual members of the group each glanced to the others, and then back to Ron, wanting to believe him, but having a difficult time at it.

"My information collaborates that statement," Karne then told the group. "I just wanted Ron to confirm it.

"As you may know by now, I have contacts in many places, and with my rank, I am assured this information is legitimate.

"There was an extensive investigation into Ron's identity while he was in Huinrag, tracing him all the way back to the Flouret outpost...the first place he was sighted with any real certainty. Dozens of interviews with people who claimed to have some knowledge of him yielded no less than ten different monikers, so the investigators settled on the only one that showed repetition...Ronin. They assumed Ron was a shortened form of that title. After investigating that title however, our rulers decided not to use it during the questioning. They knew it was not his real name and felt that dubbing him with the elevated status of the Caronians' savior would only help to bolster the resolve the prisoner.

"At any rate, every report I read was filled with loathing, frustration, and failure. There were numerous teams assigned to the task and each one was disciplined severely for lack of productive information retrieval.

"There was substantial pressure for success from the ruling council in Pigonta as well, especially from one particular Reaper-class Septuagent...Treage Vitrauge. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Ron thought for a moment. "No. Should it?"

"Probably not, since the circumstances of your interaction with a mutual acquaintance was quite short.

"You were involved in the Kreete massacre on the planet known as Rauld, were you not?"

Ron wasn't sure how best to proceed. Tell the truth and let everyone in on the secret of his origin...a secret that only he, Cache, and now Josy lived with; that he was not of this world, or try to keep them all in the dark and pretend to be ignorant. In the few short litas that he contemplated his answer, he knew he could no longer hold back his past.

"Yes, I was there."

"What is this battle that you refer to?" Jarle questioned.

Karne took a deep breath and told all he knew of the ill-fated attempt to assimilate the planet of Rauld and all of its wondrous technology. He had seen reports that detailed each of the scout units Ron and Cache destroyed, and their desperate attempts at stopping this man of unfathomable talents.

He ended his story with a couple of questions for Ron.

"Is this black super-ship for real?"

"It is."

"Were you at the controls?"

"I was."

Karne stared at Ron in dead silence for a long while then, thinking. Thousands of Kreete military troops were killed in that tremendous battle and Ron didn't know how this massive fellow would take the news of his involvement.

The rest of the group just watched the two of them with anxious expressions...waiting for the entire story to be completed.

"Was it fun?" Karne asked as he broke out in a huge and hideous grin.

Ron allowed himself to relax a bit and returned the Reaper's enthusiasm.

"You have no idea!"

"You will have to speak with me about that experience some day, Ron. I would be very interested in hearing every detail of that battle."

"I look forward to it."

There was an audible sigh from the rest of the assembly as they saw the growing comradery between Ron and Karne.

"Now...back to the matter at hand. Do you remember facing a Master Killer at an entrance to Gammone...and subsequently breaking his arm?"

Ron recalled that fight with astounding clarity, since it had ended in his death...which would have been a permanent state if it hadn't been for the Rauldens' miraculous technological abilities.

"Yes...I do."

"Well, that soldier was a fellow by the name of Kale Vitrauge."

"He is a relative of this, Treage, I presume?"

"Yes...his younger brother. Treage was convinced...and still is...that you are the fugitive known as Kaskle Dangarth, the great champion of the Aredanz Mountains. He lobbied the Caronian Leadership Council to have you publicly killed for the heinous murders of all the lives lost when the Armada was destroyed. You would have been too if your DNA testing had concluded you were that man. But even when the tests showed undeniably that you were not Kaskle, a scan of your skull revealed a new source of intrigue...a tiny chip which was located at the base of your brain. It was a device our doctors could not positively identify, and though Graigo kept that information tightly under wraps, it gave Treage's theory some additional leverage.

"That is why your interrogation was so long...and, I am truly sorry...so immensely brutal. I followed the schedule through the reports I procured and frankly, I was completely amazed you survived at all."

It all made sense to Ron now. This man, Treage...a leader of some substantial influence...had used his political pull in trying to extend Ron's interrogation in an effort to guarantee that he would confess to being Kaskle. It was an effort to invoke revenge on his brother's killer.

"As it was though, the physicians finally concluded the chip was nothing more than some old experiment that meant nothing. Many different tests have been done over the cycles to try and control, or enhance differing species...with little, if any success. They theorized about that scenario for a while, but also speculated that it might have been a failed locator chip...they just did not know. Whatever its purpose, it was deemed too dangerous to remove, and they saw no advantage of killing you to get it...especially your new owner, Reaper Dekin Lapscon. He is Commander over the Mirshice Province...where Huinrag lies."

"After all the tests, the hypothesizing, and the fruitless questioning however, you were found guilty of the destruction of the Flouret guard post, due to a surveillance video account of the act. Also, the assassination of all of the soldiers there and in Gruinshawe. Add to that the obliteration of the caravan, and they had more than enough crimes to condemn you."

"The Council did not accept the evidence showing you managed all that alone either, and so were convinced you were part of a strike force which had assisted you in your campaign. But when all methods had been tried, other than those which would surely have killed or ruined you, and you still could not be forced to talk, they sent you out to the Retribution Games as your death sentence.

"For all of you to be perfectly clear on this matter," Karne said with a look about the group, "every report I received ended the same way...'Unable to extricate any information from the prisoner!'"

### Chapter Thirty

### Plans

The giant warrior and each of the persons sitting there regarded Ron with open awe. The people of Lampsh could only imagine what he'd been through and this information only convinced them further that they sat with the true reincarnated, Ronin of Erthania.

Ron's thoughts couldn't help but drift back to those endless days of agony, but luckily that only lasted for a split lita before his attention was snapped back by the two men to his right letting out a conjoined gasp.

He looked up at that sound and then glanced over his shoulder in the direction of their stares.

Josy was just then rounding the side of the bar and approaching. She had indeed changed her clothes and now wore an outfit that made even Lilea drop her jaw.

The dress was a satin material of deep burgundy that reflected the candle and fireplace light with every sway of her magnificent hips as if she had burst into crimson flame. The top of the formal gown originated at the back of her neck, like the halter tops she normally wore, leaving her shoulders seductively bare. It then swept down and around her glorious bosoms, enveloping each of them in a cradle of shimmering cloth that covered only eighty percent of those sensuous mounds, exhibiting an ostentatious view of cleavage. The two halves of that scintillating top were held from exploding only by a tiny golden chain that joined them below that heavenly valley.

The upper section of the dress was coupled to the lower by a thin ribbon of gold that crisscrossed from the ends of the chain to the points of her hips. That design swept across her tiny waist in a delta pattern that framed her bellybutton to perfection, and her well-tanned middle made the gold of the ribbon practically glow.

That sight drew even more unblinking, dry-mouthed attention...but it wasn't the end of the show! The skirt clung to her skin like it was sprayed on, and her perfectly sculptured hips, accentuated in the clingy wine colored fabric, allowed no sign of undergarments...a visual detail not neglected by the male members of the group.

When she stepped forward, her incredible legs were granted passage unheedingly by two slits in the front of the floor-length evening dress which ended at the very apex of her thighs. Between them hung an overlapping drape of cloth just barely wide enough to keep up its duty of her privacy.

To the gawking men on the guest list, the temperature in the room felt as if it had jumped twenty degrees as she grew closer, and each would have sworn she was walking in super-slow-motion. Her dainty feet were adorned with sandals that identically matched her breathtaking dress and completed the ensemble to the utmost as she glided effortlessly across the marble floor.

Ron's face lit up with delight as his eyes consumed the exquisite sensuality of her. His body responded as well with a sharp rise in his pulse, a pronounced dilation of his pupils, and a lump in his throat caused by his animal-craving of her.

Her long, wavy, slate-black hair was pulled up over her left ear and cascaded down her right shoulder, exposing the line of her neck with mouth-watering results. And even though she wore no make-up whatsoever, her ebony lashes framed her jewel-like eyes in mesmerizing fashion, and the deep red of her full lips was not outshined by the dress.

She smiled at them with her sweetest, warmest, most dazzling smile as she noticed all eyes turned to her...just as she'd planned.

"Good evening," she said to the group who returned some stuttering, half intelligible replies.

She walked right up to the close-sitting bunch as they all rose to greet her and, taking Ron's face in her delicate hands, she pulled him to her and thrilled him with a lingering kiss hello. Ron slipped his hand to her slim waist and found the back of the dress was non-existent above the flare of her derriere, and his pulse climbed another notch.

Janson and Jarle both licked their lips absent-mindedly and then forced themselves to stop scanning her body in the presence of their gargantuan host.

Josy's eyes glittered and danced when she and Ron separated, and she smiled warmly up at her lover...her heart singing in his presence.

"Baushe`, would you introduce me to your friends? No, wait," she corrected herself, turning eagerly to the group. "I think I will do it myself...as a proper hostess should.

"Welcome to you all. I am Josylinia Gitove...Karne's daughter."

They all nodded politely and smiled back at her.

"Mother mentioned two of your names and I couldn't believe it! I got so excited that it took me some extra time to make myself presentable enough to come and meet you. Ron has told me the story of how you all met, and the harrowing adventures you had, so now let me see if I can get this right."

She then locked her gaze on the wizened older man of the group.

"You must be Heath Sarvand," she said as she reached out to take Heath's hand.

"It is a true delight for me to stand in the presence of such a lovely young woman," Heath replied to her smoothly, his own pulse racing, yet mature enough to still be able to collect his thoughts.

She thanked him for the compliment and then turned to the other men.

"You two would be Jarle and Janson Raidene, right?"

"Yes, that's correct," Jarle answered for the both of them, bowing deeply. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Josylinia!"

"Thank you so much, and I am immensely pleased to meet you as well," she told them both, before turning to the only woman present. "And you have to be Lilea Sevraign!" she said as she stepped over and hugged her tightly.

"You really do have the most beautiful green eyes I think I've ever seen. Your dark skin and hair really make them stand out. Ron has spoken of you very warmly. I'm so happy that he was able to help you get your husband freed and back to you. Is he well?"

The group of men allowed the girls a moment to visit, not at all in a hurry to continue the meeting in the midst of such a fine looking pair of ladies. However, Heath and Jarle felt the void between them and their wives sharply and Janson instantly longed to hold his sweet Sharlese.

When they were done, Josy made a little confession.

"I must apologize for being so rude, and not having introduced myself to you all sooner, but I was terribly concerned for Ron," she explained as she rejoined him. "He was caught out in this horrible weather for a couple days, and I guess I just feared the worst."

They all waved off her apology and then started to sit down again, but...

"Come, all of you," called Mishea. "We have a late dinner prepared for you weary travelers."

The ten of them followed Karne's lovely wife to the huge dining table in the formal area of the main floor where they marveled at the fantastic spread before them, never having seen so fancy a feast. Because of the meeting's need for secrecy there were no servants, so Mishea and Josy took those duties and made the rounds to serve each of their guests. It was all so polite, so composed, and at the same time; so bizarre.

When they were all settled, Ron began the next round of conversation with his own questions.

"Karne, if it isn't too much to ask, I would like to hear the circumstances that led up to a Reaper class Kreete warrior being in the position to sit at a table with a group of Caronian freedom fighters."

The explanation was long in coming because they all took time out to indulge in the fine meal, but their host eventually complied.

"I have been in the Kreete military for the past one hundred and eighty cycles," Karne began, shocking all of the Caronians at the table since they couldn't imagine he was of an age that would substantiate his statement. "But I am not a pure-blood Raulden.

"I was born on Ghensiia, a world newly conquered and under the control of the Kreete Empire. My father died in the battle to take the planet and left my mother pregnant while already rearing three other children.

"By the time I could stand, two of my siblings had already perished in the camps set up to integrate the natives to the new world order. My oldest brother was later killed in a failed uprising when I was three.

"My mother and I lived in the shadows after that because the Kreete typically kill all family members of any 'traitors', to quell such rebellious action. She somehow kept me fed for another seven cycles, until she succumbed to disease and died during my tenth winter.

"While hunting one day a few santaris after her passing, I was captured and sent to a work camp. I was young compared to the others but I was of good size and already knew well how to defend myself, so I survived.

"After five cycles, I was practically running the place and caught the eye of one of the Kreete overseers. He offered me a way out of that place and I took it, even though it went against everything my mother had ever taught me.

"I was young and wanted a future without the yoke around my throat. I was primed for the Kreete indoctrination schools.

"Once there, they opened my eyes to a world of fantastic advancements, to education I had never dreamed of, and to the prospect of seeing other worlds. For a young man, it was simply too much to pass up.

"I was placed in a group of seven hundred students who spent every moment together...under strict discipline...in a dormitory setting that provided no privacy whatsoever. That stripped away any efforts at individuality, creating a massive collective all moving in the same direction.

"The instructors in that place were excellent at their craft and slowly manipulated our eager minds into believing exactly what they wanted us to believe. Over the next ten cycles, we were carefully tested, weeded through, and eventually placed in the vocations where we each excelled the most.

"I volunteered for the 'Transformation' and was sent to the military...and by then, I was fully immersed in the mindset of the Triad. Following the six-santari-long regimen of genetic alteration, I was a Kreete soldier, and the feeling of power my new body gave me was like a drug I could not get enough of.

"In the Triad's Academy of Interstellar Warfare we were all taught that strength and honor were above all else, and any who stood in our way would just have to submit or perish as we were the ultimate species in the known galaxy. It was something I readily believed at that time.

"I started out as most of the lower ranked scouts, bent on moving up and accomplishing great feats of prowess and glory, and extending the mighty empire of the Kreete Triad.

"Over my time in service, I have done unspeakable things in the cause of those goals, things that I will not tell of here, in the presence of my family. Mishea knows of what I refer to and Josy will never know...I refuse to admit my past openly to her."

He made that statement calmly and looked to his daughter. She sat next to Ron enjoying her dinner and didn't protest. His will would not be challenged on that matter.

"I was stronger than most, skilled with weapons and fierce enough to continue through the rankings until I reached our highest position...the Reaper classification. I was Commander of a Dreadnought and have captured worlds for our dominion, feeling nothing but power and conquest coursing through me...until Tregasia."

Ron couldn't help a quick glance at Mishea, his sorrow for her instantly on the forefront of his thoughts.

"We ran into a powerful resistance force on that world, both in weapons technology and in the spirit of the people. They fought long and hard, and after twelve cycles of conflict and struggle, we overcame them...crushing their military under our heels.

"Josy, sweetheart, would you be so kind as to refill this cider jar? It is in the preparation area."

Josy took her father's hint and disappeared into a distant room where she was out of earshot.

"We ordered their surrender but they refused. They were an honorable and worthy enemy, but our command from the Triad was to achieve total submission or kill every resister.

"We killed every resister.

"Mishea is from Tregasia and knows this story only too well; to my profound chagrin. We slaughtered every man from her world...even the male children who dared try to defend their mothers, or sisters, or girlfriends, or wives.

"There was no call for that. The Triad had gone too far.

"When I watched a Master Killer class warrior sink his sword through a five-cycle-old boy who was brandishing a dagger to protect his dying mother, I reached the breaking point.

"There is no honor in 'that'. There is no strength in 'that'. Our code does not justify 'that'.

"The next day I was surveying one of the final war zones...our victory complete. The women were being gathered and herded through the blood-soaked battlefield, forced to walk to our slavery centers across the bodies of the men who had been slain trying to defend them. I came across a large group of soldiers who were picking through the crying and grief stricken souls and dragging them off for the pleasure of their bodies...trophies for the victors, as they called their acts.

"I saw a beautiful young woman walking with her head still high, her spirit not yet crushed by the butchery around her. That Master Killer I had seen on the previous day spied her as well and plucked her out of the throng, towing her by the arm even when she tripped and fell into the bloody mass of corpses strewn about. She looked over to me in a single flashing moment and I knew I had to do something. When he reached a bare spot, he ripped her garments from her body and threw her to the ground beneath him, reaching for his belt.

"I grabbed him by his sword harness and hurled him away from her as hard as I could.

"I claim this woman!" I shouted to the mass of soldiers gathered about, as I stood guard over her. I could not save them all, but I would save this one.

"The warrior, Cagnon Shiry, was furious and came at me. We fought and he died.

"My rank and position meant nothing to the Krosepten's men when they saw their leader fall, and an ensuing riot from his troops broke out. A wild melee raged in an attempt to reap vengeance against me as I was foolishly away from my own warriors.

"I was able to reach a position that kept me from being surrounded, so I could not be overwhelmed by their sheer numbers, but it was a horrible battle. The entire ordeal lasted over six billots and I killed thirty-seven Kreete soldiers to defend that woman.

"Finally, another of my rank arrived with a fresh Strike Team and assisted me with transport away from the area, feeling that since I had survived that carnage then I had earned the woman, and his aid.

"We made it to one of the medical stations where I received treatment and got the woman cleaned and dressed properly again. When we were safely away from that world, I granted her freedom and secure passage to any place she wanted.

"She has stayed with me from that dactrai forward."

"He had sixteen arrows in his body when we were finally rescued," Mishea piped in, laying her hand on Karne's huge arm. "And he bled from so many wounds, I thought he would perish for certain."

Josy came back at that time and placed the drink container on the table near her father before slipping back into her seat. She did not mind her parents trying to protect her from such horrors of the Triad. She could feel their love, and respected their wishes.

"I was changed that dactrai," Karne continued. "I could no longer blindly accept the orders and expectations of my superiors. Over the next few cycles, I gradually slipped back away from the frontline battles and gave up my command status to take this position, here on Caron, as a Vanguard leader.

"It is rare to leave the front lines and such a lofty level of authority, but not completely unheard of, so I drew no real suspicion and did not lose face. I started this farm with Mishea and have reared my family away from that life.

"My sons," he said as he looked to his boys, "have been taught to live with respect and honor, and have done me proud...and have my blessing if they ever wish to travel the stars and chase their own dreams. Obviously they have chosen to remain here...for now.

"As for my plans, I have made alliances with many Caronians under the guise of my duties of running this business while still maintaining my position as an enforcer, or policeman, for the Kreete. It is a noble duty, being the Vanguard. The people in these lands are brutal and ruthless at times, and our presence, even though feared and hated in places, is a necessary evil to keep a relatively stable economy and social scale intact.

"As far as my allegiance with the Caronian resistance forces, I have come to believe that this planet...my home...would be better off without the Triad's influence. They would tame it, and strip it of its minerals for their own gain. I like it the way it is...wild and exciting! So when I heard the rumor that spoke of help through an emissary from Rauld...a mythical place to me and my generation...I carefully spread the word throughout the province to gather all information about it that I could.

"What I have learned has led me to many far-reaching, as well as extraordinary associates, and through the use of these various informants, I have recruited hundreds over the cycles. My latest acquisitions are here tonight...including you four people sitting at this table, plus one other who could not be here.

"As one might imagine, with the unparalleled search for 'Shartae' under way, such loyalties as we require are difficult to ascertain. This small group of individuals represents the only ones who I thought I could trust enough to invite to this meeting. Each of them had explicit knowledge of the Raulden contact...which I did not realize was you, Ron, until today...and your claim to be in league with the Kreete's ancestors.

"I have put together a network of trained men in the region I patrol, and they are ready when we get the message to call to arms.

"Ready to do what?" Ron pressed.

"We intend to drive the Kreete from our lands!" Karne replied, sounding more like a Caronian than a Kreete.

It took Ron a few moments to let that announcement sink in. His mind was still spinning wildly at the seemingly insane gathering he was now part of.

"This shield generator that is in the assembly stages...is it the same as what the Rauldens use?"

"Yes, it is," Ron replied. "Only it has been modified to accommodate the more intense atmosphere of this world, and should be substantially stronger."

"And so the Kreete's particle cannons will be eliminated?"

"Any matter disrupter, plasma cannon, or compressed light emission will not function. Radio communication, thermal scans...virtually any electronic scanner or transmitter will instantly be scrambled by the matrix. It will be down to the weapons that are common on this world...bows and arrows, catapults, swords, and such."

"What about the scout ships?"

"They will still be able to fly, but will have no way of being used as an offensive weapon, only transports. And they will not even have electronic navigation or location abilities."

"That should work out well to our advantage," Karne said while his mind rapidly played multiple scenarios through.

"What does all that mean, exactly?" Heath asked on behalf of the Lampsh contingent.

"It means that the Kreete will be reduced to using the weapons the natives have, and there will be no way to get reinforcements to aid them when the war begins," Ron replied. "They rely on advanced abilities of communication to stay in touch with one another and coordinate their men. If we can remove that capability, they will be sorely crippled and confused when we attack. We'll still have to fight a vastly superior foe, but at least we have a much greater chance of success this way."

The Lampsh group all nodded in agreement, their minds racing with plans for the future.

"Now, Karne," Ron said speaking directly to the Reaper, "you know that this will likely result in a great number of your people being killed?"

"Our military code is one governed by honorable acts and battles with worthy adversaries. Those who join the military are trained to fight, and death is part of their world. Those who die in this impending war will cause the rest of the Triad to pause and give thought to their plans of conquest and annihilation. We have been killing and pillaging worlds for centuries, and it is time to stop. The Triad Empire is not all-powerful, and should be held in check wherever it can be.

"Freeing this planet will be the beginning of that halt in expansion. I want my descendants to live in a free society where their worth can be measured...not exploited by a faceless power. They should be allowed to make the choice to become a Kreete warrior, or live as normal men. I hope that not all Kreete will be swept from the Caron's surface, because I have found many who feel as I do. We may never be able to live in harmony with the natives, but we can live in tolerance of our differences...of that I am sure. Life with family and friends you can trust can be much more enjoyable and fulfilling than the constant trials of war."

Ron accepted the statements of Karne as his true intentions, and questioned his motives no more.

"What about your partner, Ron?" Lilea asked. "Did you ever find her?"

Ron had just taken a large bite of pravort steak and carefully chewed it up before replying.

"Yes, I did. She is the one whom I was with when the Vanguard captured me. She apparently was in league with a man I met once and they conspired to deliver me to the Kreete."

"Baushe`!" Josy scolded softly in Ron's ear, reminding him of their earlier discussion.

Ron turned to her and squeezed her hand. "Although, I'm reminded that not everything is known about the matter, and I hope the entire affair can be resolved when I meet up with her again."

They spent the next billot discussing the most expeditious manners in which to organize the troops when the shield initiated, and what targets would be attacked in what order.

"The time has grown quite late and I know you all must be exhausted," Karne finally said to the group, "so I recommend we adjourn for the night and resume our plans in the morning."

The bleary eyes of the Lampsh folks were clearly evident even though no one complained, so they all rose and headed off to the second floor where the sleeping quarters were. The expansive home had six extra rooms for guests, and Mishea and Josy played hostesses again, guiding each of their new friends to their quarters.

The rain hammered away outside and the Vanguard troops rotated their patrols like usual...while inside, the rich accommodations were graciously accepted and much appreciated.

"You and I will have to get away from the men for a while tomorrow, Lilea, to visit about things other than war," Josy suggested when she bid her good night.

Lilea had a million questions for the obvious object of Ron's desire, so she agreed easily with that plan. When Josy closed the door to her room, leaving her in a grand bedroom that had every convenience a woman could dream of, she practically squealed. She spent the next billot soaking in a hot bubble bath before slipping into the enormous bed and wishing desperately that Crogan was beside her as she drifted off to sleep.

Jarle and Janson shared a room and Heath Sarvand was put across the hallway from Lilea.

When everyone was settled, Josy returned to her own boudoir and met Ron getting undressed for bed. He was dog-tired until she closed the door and slid the latch in place resoundingly. His eyebrows rose a bit at that, and by the time she glided over to him with a smoldering glare, his internal systems were kicked back in and his weariness was forgotten.

"I'm so glad that you came back, Ron," she began before she pressed herself to him, melting in his arms.

Ron kissed her hotly before sliding his lips around to her exposed neck where he nibbled at her nape as his fingers glided deftly up and unclasped her dress. He took a half step back and then smiled a devilish grin as he watched her wriggle out of that snug drape of shining fabric in slow, deliberate, sensuous twists and turns.

He was nearly crazed with desire when it finally hit the floor, and he rushed to Josy, sweeping her up and crushing her to the bed, their bodies locked in the pleasure throes of a lovers' embrace for the next billot.

Finally, when their heat for one another had cooled to a simmer, and the trials of the day tugged firmly at their minds, they drifted off to sleep. Josy found her favorite position; half on and half off of her fierce champion, their nude figures melding and their hearts beating in perfect tune with one another.

### Chapter Thirty-one

### Surrounded

On the morning after the rejoining of old friends, Ron awoke early and slipped out of Josy's bed, dressed, and restlessly wandered the quiet house alone for a while.

He was deeply concerned about the remarkable set of events that had led up to last night's reunion. Also he still felt extremely on edge having the Hellions patrolling the grounds of the house he was staying at, not to mention the fact that, apparently, the Gitove's house was fully powered with lights and no telling what else.

"No wonder the third floor is off limits," Ron surmised, "That entire level is probably state-of-the-art! They could have surveillance gear, weapons, communications, the works! That's how they didn't need any servants! The whole place is probably scoured and maintained by Cnauts!"

He was immensely curious to find out just how close his theory was to being accurate, and stood for a time at the foot of those stairs, just staring upward. But he'd given his word to Josy to stay out of there, and he had no legitimate reason to break that promise, so he went toward the kitchen instead.

Even after enjoying last night's late supper, he was famished, so he quietly drifted into the well-stocked pantry and found himself a bite to eat while his brain ran in circles trying to understand what all was happening around him.

"How could it be that the four people on the planet I trust the most are hundreds of hoz from their homes, mixed up with this Reaper class Kreete warrior, and we all ended up fighting together?"

He was stopped in mid stride just then by the sound of a petite figure approaching him from down the hallway, the soft padding of her little bare feet being just audible enough for him to make out. Her hair was dark and curly and her green eyes fairly glowed in the dimness of the lighted lamps that were used for negotiating the home at night.

"You're up awfully early," Ron whispered to Lilea. "Is everything all right?"

"Is everything all right?" she repeated his question in a low but harsh tone with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "My husband is a santari's journey away, I'm sleeping in a strange house...which is unbelievably fantastic, by the way...that's surrounded by our sworn enemies, even owned by a Kreete soldier...a person who admittedly turned over my dear friend to the most horrendous fate anyone could imagine, yet claims to be a pivotal key to our overthrow of his own government.

"That in and of itself is enough to make anyone lose their mind, but amid all that, after worrying myself sick over what had happened to my friend...you, of course...through yet more mind boggling circumstances, I also finally stumble across the very person whom I came halfway across the face of the known world to locate, right in the middle of that entire mess! My head hurts so badly just from thinking about it."

Ron squeezed Lilea's shoulder in comfort as she locked her eyes with his.

"Ron, you were reported dead so many times over the past santari that I almost believed it! In fact, if I hadn't heard the details of that little skirmish in Thackere, I might be on my way back home right now."

Ron gave her a curious look which nudged her to explain.

"A dozen armed men were found dead next to a woman's tattered garments. None of their blades showed signs of contacting flesh, but arrows were distinctively absent, so whoever annihilated them did so close in. The bindings and gag were found, so they assumed the woman was being attacked, and either the dead men were coming to her aid, or were the instigators. And since there were multiple containers of strong beverage about, the verdict seemed pretty clear.

"So, twelve despicable rapists found slaughtered by an unknown assailant who simply vanished into thin air...as did the woman? If that doesn't scream of your handiwork, then I couldn't think of what would."

Ron tried to break into the conversation, but Lilea was on a roll that he couldn't slow down.

"That incident drew us to this area, where we were approached and interviewed very carefully, and finally invited here. This entire meeting, in this house...with all of us...and you...is beyond a remarkable coincidence, is it not? Almost too coincidental for my peace of mind. It's like the Guardian is moving us around on some giant game board."

"Yes, I..."

"Next, to further throw my sense of reason astray, I find myself completely captivated by our new benefactor's wife and daughter, who, by the way, I find to be absolutely exquisite and endearing...both of them...which also makes me crazy because I had no idea that the Kreete could have 'normal' offspring. How is 'that' possible?"

"I don't..."

"And on top of all that, this unrelenting rain is miserable and depressing, so, no, I suppose everything is not all right!"

Ron watched the fire in her eyes and marveled at those emerald gems as they danced in the candlelight. He saw the strain in her face, the stern furrow of her brow, and the way she balled up her small fists when she spoke, and was inspired. But he also found the similarity of their two opinions to be so close that he had to smile.

She opened those jade colored orbs wide at that, and seemed appalled at his cavalier attitude until she felt herself reeled into his powerful arms.

"I feel exactly the same way!" he said into her ear as he squeezed her tightly. "It's good to know that I'm not the only one!"

Lilea sighed audibly and squeezed him back.

"I am so relieved that you are alive and well, Ron," she told him.

They held each other a long while, and let their worries fade away in the joy of the moment...two forever-friends enveloped in each other's comfort...until...

"I must remember not to let you out of my sight!" came a quiet statement from behind Ron, as Josy wafted into the scene. "Here you are in the arms of a married woman!"

Ron heard the glibness in her voice and didn't respond out of worry, but Lilea jumped away from him quickly and dropped her hands to her sides.

"No, no, no; it's not how it looks!" she tried to explain.

Josy slipped up beside Ron and kissed his neck while molding herself to his massive physique, not really understanding why she'd embarrassed Lilea. Ron swept his right arm around to entrap Josy and then did the same with his left to corral Lilea again.

"She is only being silly Lil," he told her as he crushed her to him strongly and kissed the top of her head like a baby sister.

Lilea let out a new sigh...one of relief.

"I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea," Josy told Lilea. "I meant no harm...please forgive me."

"Oh no...I should have guessed that...it's okay. I'm just a bit uneasy, I suppose."

"Well then, come with me and I will try to put you at ease," Josy told her as she locked her arm with one of Lilea's and led her down the hall in the direction of her bedroom. "We'll meet you in the breakfast room in a billot or so, Baushe`."

Ron watched those two disappear and then changed his plans, heading outside instead for his morning exercise. The rain was still coming down in a driving capacity, but he didn't let that dissuade him. He needed to calm himself and gather his thoughts, and the pounding drone of the water against his face was a good way to get that done. He wanted to take a swim but the level and speed of the river had risen quite a lot, which put a stop to that idea, so he chose a long run in lieu of the swim.

The Kreete guards paid his presence no mind as they continued their patrols, but when he stripped to his skin, they thought him a bit mad.

"I will be coming back from that direction in twenty-five borts," Ron told the Hellion scout who stood closest to his return path.

The big fellow just nodded.

Ron set off on his usual course at a strong pace. Able to see only by the slimmest of margins, he used his uncannily accurate directional control to tell him when he should turn, and thereby made a lap of the large grove area of the farm. He let his mind relax and focused on nothing at all as he allowed his body to slip into its automated rhythm and stride. His caution was down and his attention was turned off as he sped by the several hoz of forested fringe land, unaware of the many pairs of eyes that were watching his passing.

They made no move...the time was not yet right.

Ron returned to the house with a shout to the guards announcing his approach as the dim glow of the sunrise pressed itself through the gloom, and then he immediately went to the large washroom and cleaned up from the muddy workout. Fifteen borts later found him strolling into the breakfast area where he met with his host and hostess, their two sons, as well as the Lampsh men.

The large table was even more adorned than usual, covered with a lavish feast, and he greeted everyone as he found himself a place to sit, searching for Lilea and Josy.

He immediately noted their absence and so turned to glance in the direction they would come from. When he did, he beheld a sight that made his mouth drop open...as well as the others of the group.

The ladies were headed in their direction and were a feast of the eyes as well as the souls. Lilea was a woman of common birth status and normally wore simple dresses or an ordinary blouse and trousers...and she was a beautiful woman in both...but now she was dressed as Josy normally would and she was entirely breathtaking.

The satin halter top she was adorned with was a deep green color that shimmered in the firelight and displayed her wondrous figure well. It captured and flaunted her fabulous bosom in an exciting swatch of cloth which was even further enhanced by a matching, hip-hugging wrap of material which was outrageously short. That seductive skirt accentuated her well-shaped and perfectly tanned legs, each of which ended in a sparkling green sandal on her petite feet. The ensemble was trimmed in gold and had small golden snowflake designs embroidered about it that seemed to explode with flashes of light as they reflected off dozens of candles in the room. She had the toned middle of an athlete and the rocking of her hips tensed and relaxed those abs in a heart-stopping, enticing fashion. Her nearly endless mane of chestnut-colored waves and curls draped down one shoulder and she walked smoothly and sensuously as she drew near.

The men all stared unabashedly...even Karne...until finally Heath spoke up.

"Lilea! I've known you since you were a baby, and have always found you to be quite lovely, but may I be so bold as to say that you are absolutely ravishing!"

"Yes, yes...I second that!" joined the rest of the group.

Lilea smiled and blushed, trying to hide the pride in herself that she felt at that moment. She knew Crogan thought of her as incredibly desirable, but it was extremely flattering for her to hear it from others as well. She took her seat next to Janson and beamed through the entire meal, no longer filled with the dread of the earlier billot.

Josy was smashing as well, but had toned down her sexy attire pointedly to allow Lilea to shine all the more. She floated into the space beside Ron and gave him a quick kiss and a wink as she began to fill her plate. Ron winked back his understanding.

The large group devoured the meal with the normal conversation about the food, the drink, the weather, and so on, and then moved to the larger room again as they got down to more serious matters.

The folks from Lampsh filled Ron in on their adventures of trekking to this faraway land, and each had several harrowing tales of the road. Ron listened to it all with bated breath since it had been so long since he visited in such a manner and he was quite entertained with their tales.

"We should now get to the subject that we gathered here for!" Karne finally announced gruffly after each had taken their turn. "Do you know when this shield is to activate, Ron?"

Ron just shook his head and mentally kicked himself for not finding out from Cache when he had the chance.

"It should be very soon, but I really don't know. My partner was the only person who knew the exact schedule...or any changes that might have been made to that timetable."

"Very well then...we will simply exchange information of troop strength, weapons, and strategies for each of the objectives we covered last night."

"Crogan has his targets designated and prioritized as well as most of the caches of weapons and armor," Lilea explained smoothly, belying her devastating looks with her matter-of-fact demeanor. "On the west side of the highlands, all should be ready by now."

"Excellent!" Karne replied. "We have made similar arrangements here and all we need is the signal to begin. We can be armed, organized into two armies of five thousand men each, and moving within three days of initializing the barrier.

"Now, just how will we know when this occurs?"

Ron then took the floor of the meeting and explained what was to happen and how it would be interpreted. Without radio communication, the "signal" would have to be felt by each and every individual.

"Those in the west are already aware, Karne, but spread this news to your people," Ron elaborated so the message could be as simple as possible, "The animals...the birds, the small game, the dogs, and any creature we know the general tendencies of...will all be severely affected for a day or two when it begins. They will be greatly agitated, raucous, and frightened. After the new "feel" of the change is absorbed and adjusted to though, no one...and no creature...will be able to tell there ever was a difference."

The meeting continued all morning as they traded information about the heavy crossbows that had been invented to penetrate the armor of the Kreete, the fine details concerning the two separate campaigns, and the method of communicating the status of each group between the others.

That all lasted well past midday, and after another wonderful feast, Ron wandered out to the large barn and began his workouts anew. He practiced fervently with all his recently reacquired weapons, and continued his regimen of exercises he'd established weeks in the past.

Josy accompanied him every moment, not wanting him to be out of her sight again. His recent trip reinforced her fear that he wouldn't be around much longer, so she inwardly vowed to take advantage of all the time she had left with him. She didn't let him stray more than a few steps from her either, marveling at his abilities like a teenage groupie and keeping him company even when they didn't talk.

She was like a security blanket of passiveness to his adrenaline-charged demeanor, and he could feel that her presence kept him calm and stable, even in his current predicament. Being thrown back into the fight for Caron while still terribly troubled by Cache's heinous actions seriously strained his reasoning abilities. He'd fought the pain, fought the wish to die, and fought the isolation of his existence for so long that it was disorienting to have so many people in his thoughts and in his life again now, all depending on his help and leadership.

The weight of it was tremendous, but when Josy's voice reached his ears, or when he gazed at her, or touched her, it was as if he could do anything. He was not alone!

Ron set up a couple of targets to hone his skills with his throwing blades, so long had it been since he'd held them, but found out quickly that he'd lost none of his touch. In less than half a billot, his marksmanship was astonishing, and his faith in his abilities was restored.

After a particularly marvelous series of tosses, Ron went to retrieve two of those blades from a thick section of wooden beam he had tied to a rope and set into motion. It was swinging like a pendulum from the central rafter of the structure.

"That's fantastic!" Josy praised her lover as he made those throws. "How can you possibly..."

'Thunk!' Ron heard sharply as he stretched his hand out to stop that beam from swinging.

A new blade was sunken deeply into the wood next to his.

He dropped low and had his last dagger exposed and held high as he sought out the deliverer of that weapon, but his attitude softened when he found a gigantic fellow standing in the doorway of the barn.

"Bravo, Father!" Josy chirped when she recovered from her own startled reaction to that toss.

Ron stood up and looked at the massive Kreete for a moment, and then he continued with his task of retrieval. He pulled his two blue knives free and then the other...a larger, heavier throwing blade that could easily penetrate the chest armor of the Kreete race when wielded by someone of sufficient strength, like Karne.

"That was a remarkable cast, Karne," Ron complimented the Reaper as he returned the weapon to its owner.

"Father is the reigning champion of his class in this event!" Josy boasted with pride.

Ron was duly impressed at such a claim, knowing that it was an incredible achievement for the huge warrior.

"Why don't we have a little competition?" Josy offered enthusiastically, jumping to her feet and rushing from the barn.

Ron followed her fabulous exit and then looked to the Kreete who stood two and a half feet taller than he.

"What do you think?"

"It sounds like fun to me!" the great brute replied with a horrid grin.

They each picked four blades and decided on the targets as Josy returned, trailed by her mother, brothers, Lilea, and the Lampsh men.

The next few billots flew by in a heartbeat as the two ultimate representatives of their respective species shared competition. They started with knives, and then moved to the bow and arrow, which went well after Karne found some arrows that fit Ron's smaller stature (those made for his sons when they were much younger). Next, there were feats of strength and endurance, such as hoisting one's self with one arm, holding monstrous weights at arms' length, and a stone toss. That last one was using granite blocks equal to half the competitor's weight, picked out of a pile of stone left over from the construction of the mansion. That collection of rocks was currently used as counterweights for and improvised crane Karne had built.

The competition eventually moved on to the sword...which took substantial prodding from the audience, as well as a few of Karne's men.

The two combatants only agreed after lightweight guards had been affixed to the razor edges of the weapons. They didn't want to become too caught up in the battle to remember to pull back on a mortal strike.

Ron circled the Reaper slowly, and they traded half-hearted blows at first, testing each other's speed and reaction to differing, subtle changes of methods. The blows began to ring stronger and stronger until finally they were in all out warfare, and the watching individuals were nearly deafened by the clashing of metal.

Gone were the sounds of the driving rain and the goading crowd. Gone was the worry about hurting their opponent. The wide-open space of the barn's central workshop was a battleground for two titans...and neither would acquiesce to the other. The strength of Karne's attack was like a building falling every time Ron had to block the heavy blade he swung; yet he held it at bay time and time again.

Ron pressed his adversary at every opportunity, and Karne was forced to give ground many times to avoid a blow that would have caused him grave damage...if the blades had been naked. Ron found his own quickness was just barely beyond Karne's, and so he had to try and match the bigger man's power...to hammer at his defenses as if he, himself, were fifty percent larger and heavier. He adjusted to those criteria as the war carried on, and his assault drew cheers from the other Kreete soldiers...scouts who had never seen anyone able to give their captain a fight such as this.

Finally, after nearly a half-billot of unrelenting swordplay, Karne went all out in a barrage of furious strikes that forced Ron back ten peors. The heat of such a battle pressed Ron's inner drive hard as he matched the ferocity of that attack and his mind went into full-fledged preservation. His vision quickly faded to the red-hazed mode of determination and fury that had always allowed him to survive the Kreete clashes he'd been involved in. It was full-on war now, and he mounted his own counter-offensive in a blitz of swordplay that stopped Karne cold, and eventually drove him on the defensive.

The two super-foes suddenly burst apart after a powerful locking of blades, with Karne at the ready and Ron uttering his demonic growls of battle. By then though, Josy wore a new look on her face...that of worry...be it for the love of her life, or her father; it flipping quickly between the two as they battled. She was well past ready for the contest to end, and racked with fear, until...

"Hah!" Karne shouted with glee, slamming his long-sword into the ground and raising his hands in an enormous, grand gesture.

He stepped quickly toward Ron, frightening the two women who didn't understand what he was doing and thought Ron would kill him for sure...but he did not. Ron's face was filled with astonishment at first, and then went totally blank of expression as he held his sword to the side and allowed that enormous foe to engage him in a hug that lifted him from his feet as he'd done to Josy and Lilea. He felt small and childlike in the grasp of the monster Kreete soldier, but he was unafraid as he felt the laughter of the bigger brute shaking through him like an earthquake.

Karne roared with merriment and set the figure of Ron Allison back to his feet roughly.

"That was the best swordplay I have ever seen, little one!" Karne complemented Ron with exuberance. "I have been in battles too numerous to catalogue and I have never met an adversary such as you! And I hope we never have to find out just how this would have turned out...had it been for real."

Ron was still a bit taken aback, but managed to reply, "Thanks...uh...me either."

The rest of Karne's watching commandos rushed up then and they all slapped Ron on the back and punched him affectionately...thrilled to have been able to witness that unparalleled duel.

"I never would have believed it could be!" Larsen said to Ron in the deep grinding voice of the average Kreete. "A mere man who could stand toe to toe with 'my' father...the greatest swordsman on the planet! We are kinsman from this day forward!"

Neidar joined in with the acknowledgment of that proclamation and they all clasped arms as comrades. It was the most surreal experience of Ron's life.

After all the hoopla was winding down and the fight was cooling from their veins, Ron was joined by Heath, Janson, and the ladies.

"That was absolutely fantastic!" Janson told him with the others' acknowledging his praise. "I will never forget this day for the rest of my life!"

"Here, here!" added the rest of the group.

"Father likes you!" Josy told Ron when she was at last able to slip up beside him again.

Ron then felt like he'd just passed some sort of worthiness test with Karne...which made Josy exceedingly happy and filled him with a surge of pride he really didn't understand.

Why should he care if this Kreete accepted him or not? What could it possibly matter? But he inwardly knew it was very important in many ways. If he was going to have any kind of long term relationship with his goddess lover he felt it essential to be comfortable around Josy's family. And he absolutely needed Karne to have respect for him and his opinion concerning matters of the upcoming war. Also, getting used to the Kreete commander and his men was monumental toward breaking through the barriers of hate and disgust he held for his enemy. It was the only way he would ever be able to view them as allies.

Ron found himself looking at Karne in another light as well. Other than the Reaper class warrior he saw, this gargantuan individual was also a loving husband and father. It was true he'd willingly taken the treatments to transform himself into the creature that stood before Ron, and had admittedly destroyed many worlds' freedom. He was of a race of murderous and cruel beings having contempt for all life other than their kind and meant to conquer everything and everyone. On the other hand, he'd renounced the ways of his people and seemed honestly ready to help save this world. Also, Karne was an intelligent and learned person...one of thoughtful reflection and uncompromising moral duty.

Josy escorted Ron back to her boudoir and cleaned his sweat-drenched body while he rested in a long bath, enjoying the attention of that heavenly maiden who served his every need. She noticed he responded to her touch quite appropriately and was sliding into the warm water atop him before long.

They finished the bath a good while later as they both lost track of the time...for one reason or another...and eventually rejoined the rest of the group toward the end of the day.

Dinner brought on more discussion of the plans to return Caron to a free society and they spoke late into the night once more, retiring finally when the women all lay dozing on the shoulders of their companions.

Jarle delivered Lilea to her room, slipped her sandals off, and tucked her in neatly before retiring to his own quarters. Karne stopped Ron as he headed down the hallway to Josy's room with the buxom beauty cradled in his arms, fast asleep. Mishea lay across his own massive limbs in much the same fashion.

"Well done today, 'Ronin'!" the enormous warrior told Ron, his inflection vivid and his meaning clear. "We shall see you on the morrow."

Karne then turned to take his bride up to their floor, and Ron watched them go with a strong feeling of family ties he couldn't truly assimilate. He stood there for a bit and then carried his delightful load to her bedchamber.

The next morning started even earlier than the last for Ron, only Lilea didn't rouse in the premature hour like before. Ron however, noticed that he slept little these days, possibly because of the tremendous amount of bed rest forced upon him due to the treochy's poisonous quills, or maybe due to his anxiety over the future. In any event, he headed outside into the still pounding rain for his usual exercise.

He glided through the darkness guided as if by magic...traversing the well-known route with ease. This day he was much calmer and more alert, his questions about the Gitoves answered and his commitment to the cause renewed.

He was two-thirds the way around his circuit when he caught a brief glimpse of something in the woods to his right...movement. He didn't break his stride, nor turn his head, nor react in any fashion at all, but rather continued on as if all was as it should be, although now his senses were each on hyper-alert.

He shifted his mode of reality back to that which Kaskle had been ingrained with and listened for the subtle sounds which almost no one else could possibly hear and understand other than the Piercellione. Too, he tested the air like a wild beast, for any signs of what, if anything, was out there in that waterlogged wilderness.

Five borts later he picked up a slight scent. It was burning wood, perhaps a hoz away. He also heard the faint but distinct clink of metal on metal, like when a person shifts his position to avoid being seen, and then he noticed the musky, acrid odor of the enemy.

Ron made no outward motion that would give signal to those who lay in ambush...he just soaked it all in and carried on.

### Chapter Thirty-two

### Hunter and prey

"Reaper, Karne!" called his senior guard on duty, a Hunter class soldier named Lortes who utilized a radio communicator to summon his commander. "Ronin has not returned on time. He is fifteen borts late."

"Very well," Karne responded quickly. "I will be right there!"

He was already heading down to breakfast, but detoured to the western porch instead.

A quick scan of the dark, rainy grounds rendered him nothing at all, so his training and experience took over. "Take four scouts with 'enhancers' and set off in that direction..."

At that instant, a splashing sound was heard which drew six crossbows instantly leveled toward its direction.

"Hold!" cried a naked, shadowy figure as Ron rushed in out of the rain to gain the protection of the wide porch.

Karne strode quickly to Ron's position and regarded him intently, not bothering to ask why he stood there nude and covered in muddy water.

"Are you injured?" Karne inquired.

"No, I'm fine, but let me ask you a question," Ron told him. "Where are the rest of your men?"

Karne didn't hesitate. "They are on a much deserved leave. I only took these scouts who have my complete trust to guard my family...and our meeting. Why do you ask?"

"Because we could use their help. We are almost completely surrounded!"

Karne's eyes immediately scanned the darkness that still enveloped the land.

"What do you mean?"

"There are a great number of soldiers stationed at the edge of your property along the tree-line, from the bank of the Kessleton all the way to the eastern point of the orchards."

Karne looked at him with notable concern.

"Who? What soldiers?"

Ron opened his clenched left fist and handed Karne a patch with the symbol of a strange looking bird. It was part of a uniform.

"The Avators!" Karne confirmed as he studied the insignia. "Where did you get this?"

Ron smiled a sly, smirking grin. "I removed it from the uniform of a dead Kreete scout."

Karne understood his meaning, but still was somewhat mystified. "But you carry no weapons! How was this done?"

"Your people do not see well in the dark!" he responded casually as he made his way to Josy's quarters.

After a quick cleanup in her bathroom, Ron donned his Raulden clothing and strapped every weapon he had onto his person. He strung his bow and clipped that into place as well, and then turned to leave.

"What's wrong, Baushe`?" Josy asked when he looked up and noticed her standing in the doorway, having just returned from searching for him at the breakfast area. It was still quite early and few were up as of yet. "Where are you going?"

"He is going with me," Karne answered from behind his daughter as he descended the staircase from his private floor.

He appeared even more ominous to Ron now. He was garbed in full battle armor, and strapped to him were his long and short swords at his waist belt. His shield lay across his back, and six throwing knives were stationed at different positions, as well as a quiver of arrows. His right hand gripped his helmet, and a bow longer than Ron was tall was in his left.

Josy's expression switched from concern to fright as she saw these two fearsome warriors readying for a combat she was certain would follow.

"Father! Tell me what is going on!"

"We are not truly sure at this time, Josy. Get your mother and take our guests to the safe-room."

"But are you not going to tell..."

"Do this for me, Baby-girl. Do it now."

Josylinia did not hesitate further, but quickly exited the room and followed Karne's orders. Ron watched her disappear and wondered briefly about this "safe-room", but his attention was diverted.

"Follow me!" Karne said to him like a typical commander...expecting his order to be obeyed without question.

Ron started to query the Hellion leader, but Karne was already on the move so he just trailed him to the front porch.

The guards at the perimeter of the house were now fully armored as well, and even more wary than normal...which was saying a lot. Ron doubted anyone or anything could breach their boundary without the assistance of an aerial strike.

Karne turned to Ron, "Can you direct me to their skirmish line?"

"Of course, but there is another way...a path of stealth and secrecy."

"Elaborate!"

"I can get around behind them and attack from their flank. They will never know I'm there...until it's too late!"

"Very well. Let us be off!"

"Wait a bort!" Ron began to protest. "No offense, Karne, but you would be almost completely blind out there, at least until the sun is fully up again...but that won't be for another billot. I need to move now, swiftly and silently, if I'm to slip behind them."

Karne reached into a large pocket of his trousers and pulled out what appeared to be a pair of swimmers' goggles, strapping them onto his bald head quickly.

"There! Now I can see as well as you...maybe better."

"Night-vision goggles, eh? Excellent! Now we need a boat."

Ron and Karne ran off to the boat dock and hurriedly dispatched themselves in another of the canoes like the one Ron had recently sunk.

"The river is running very fast, and it will be difficult to keep pace against that water," Karne explained. "We must stay in sync with the paddles or the craft will be lost. Should I have one of my men assist us, or do you think you can keep up with me?"

Ron had a fleeting thought of hurt feelings, but he knew the giant had immense strength and made a valid point.

"We can't add that much load to the boat. I'll keep up!"

"Agreed then!"

The two warriors pushed off into that powerful current and put their arms, legs, and backs into the effort of moving enough water with the broad paddles to propel them upstream. It was an arduous task, but they glided swiftly away from the huge dock and across the river where they headed northward for a good two hoz, well behind the enemy's lines. Once there, they made their way back to the eastern side of the river.

When the boat was safely hauled to a point where it was clear from the raging torrent, Ron motioned for Karne to follow him. The rain was still dropping in sheets as they started into the dark forest, slogging through the mud and thick, soggy mat of the wooded land. Ron feared the giant would be clumsy in the wilds but Karne proved to be a remarkably stealthy partner and they moved quickly.

The beginning of dawn was by then prying open the domed darkness of the night and filling it with its limited glow. Ron followed his instincts to a point he felt was directly behind the most likely area to set up the surveillance of the farm. At that point, he and Karne began cautiously advancing only ten peors at a time...stopping often to peer about the land and listen for sounds of a camp.

It wasn't long before they came upon just what they searched for...the Avators' base. It was in a small clearing, and was only a few tents set up in a rough semi-circle, having the center tent lighted with lamps. By the movements of shadows against the fabric sides, at least four individuals were in that shelter. The rest of the encampment seemed to be empty.

Karne tapped Ron on the shoulder and pointed to his left. Following that sight line, Ron found a guard posted there, about thirty steps away. The Reaper motioned he would take the other way and see what he could find.

"Can you keep from killing him?" Karne asked in a whisper that barely reached Ron's ears through the deluge of the endless storm.

"I'll do what I can, if that's what you wish. Meet you back here in five borts."

They separated then and Ron worked his way around the unsuspecting scout easily with the roar of the falling water masking nearly all of the sounds he made. He got up close enough to leap at the fellow and land a crushing blow to the base of his skull, carrying him to the ground straight away with the weight of his body. Ron then tied and gagged unconscious guard and left him in the mushy turf. He checked the Kreete for signs of life and then headed back to his rendezvous with Josy's father.

"How did it go?" he asked the leader.

"Mine is down...yours?"

Ron nodded triumphantly. "What's our next move?"

"This is more than likely an attack on me," Karne explained, "You see, the leader of the Avators is a rival of mine, Mochor Harthen. He is undoubtedly positioning himself to make a play against me while my numbers are small. I only have fourteen of the Hellions with me at the house. If he can capture or kill me, he could have his command of my men, as well as his own. That would make him extremely powerful in the province."

"So you think this is only about a turf war?"

"Yes. It is the way of the Kreete."

"Very well then, what do you want to do?"

"If we can do battle as warriors, the result will stand as testimony of the victor and that will be the end of it. If things get out of hand...it will be open war.

"You stay out of sight and cover me," Karne instructed, tapping his huge finger against Ron's bow. "I will try to put an end to this."

Karne set his bow and quiver down and lashed his shield to his arm. Then he stepped out, removed his goggles, and headed straight for the lighted tent while Ron maneuvered into a new position...one that would ensure his unobstructed view of the scene. The dawn was more pronounced now and he could see almost fifty peors...more than well enough to comply with his assignment.

Karne stopped twenty feet in front of the tent and hailed the occupants within.

"Moch! Moch! It is Karne. Come out and face me!"

The four soldiers inside were clearly taken off guard and scrambled about quickly, putting out the lights and drawing weapons.

A moment later a large Kreete dressed in the blood red colors of his status...a Master Killer, slowly exited the tent flaps and stood there facing the Reaper. He was sporting armor like Karne but held a battle-ax instead of a sword. His men did not appear, and that made Ron very concerned. Mochor then nervously scanned the camp slyly for any indication that Karne was not alone. Ron made sure he saw none.

"We shall settle this feud here and now, Moch!" Karne commanded.

"As you wish, Karne!" the new fellow acknowledged.

The rain beat down in buckets as they squared off, and then Mochor snapped into motion and flung his ax at Karne, forcing the Reaper to lift his shield to deflect the weapon, which he did easily. But that move exposed his side...and the only clear weakness to his armor.

'Ffffthiiiit...ffffthiiiit!' sounded two arrows from the interior of the tent, both striking home in Karne's body.

Ron was ready for such treachery and clearly saw the opening they fired through, sending his own calling cards back to greet them. He wasn't sure if he'd done any good until one of the scouts staggered out into the rain with an arrow dead center of his chest, and fell to the ground.

Karne stepped back from the impact of those missiles, and Mochor took the advantage with an immediate attack. Drawing his long-sword, he pounced at the Reaper and rained blows upon him with tremendous force and speed. He was an outstanding swordsman, and had Karne on the defense quickly...Karne being gravely injured and only able to grip his own blade with one hand.

Ron felt sick from such a cowardly act, but knew he must stay out of their conflict, or risk exposure as well as insulting his host's honor. He understood warriors like Karne very well. He would rather die in perfidious battle than be given aid and live in shame.

"I would not have believed that you would conduct yourself in such a fashion Moch! I thought you had at least a glimmer of respect for yourself."

"Save it, Karne. This is all about winning...not how sporting the battle was."

Just then two of Mochor's men flew out of the tent to help their leader, but Karne simply smashed aside the latest attack from Moch, kicking him clear of any retaliation, and spun around to stop them cold with his knives.

The Reaper's long blade fell tip-down in the muddy ground and his shield sprang free and clear as his hands shuttled twin blades at his new attackers with sufficient force to end their cowardly impending assault.

Ron's eyebrows lifted at the sight of that spectacular defensive maneuver. "Very impressive!"

Karne had only faked losing the use of his left arm, suspecting more deplorable actions from those scouts. The Reaper was badly injured, it was true, but as his adversaries quickly concluded, he was far from handicapped. Karne then returned his attention to his primary antagonist and pressed his position with earnest.

Mochor cursed his bad luck and was visibly shaken at the fall of his men, backing away quickly while he tried to keep up with the incredible onslaught of Karne's blade. The Reaper picked him to pieces after that however, showing him just how futile it was to have challenged his superior officer.

The leader of the Avators fell to his knees into a growing puddle of his own blood several borts later...exhausted, beaten, and wounded in a hundred places. He dropped his sword and gazed at his hated enemy with open fury.

Karne lifted Moch's head from his shoulders with one swipe and then walked back the way he and Ron had come, plucking his knives from the dead as he went. It seemed all very mundane to him now...and that was startling to Ron.

"We will have to kill them all!" Karne announced in a dejected tone.

As the Reaper left the military compound, Ron followed in his wake, stopping only to peek into the tent to find a fifth scout dead on the floor with an arrow buried deeply in his left eye socket.

They worked their way back to the boat as fast as they could with Karne losing blood badly.

Ron flopped the Reaper to the bottom of the canoe and shoved off hard, letting the fast current carry the craft along on its own with Ron on his knees, his bow at the ready. The day was fully underway now and he could see much better, scanning the shoreline for possible enemy scouts. One came into view as they sped by, but he wasn't looking toward the river, so they passed undetected and were lost in the falling rain.

Ten borts later, Ron was guiding the canoe to the Gitove's dock, and four Hellions were there to help him get Karne out of the little craft and into the house as hastily as they could.

Mishea was aware of Karne's mission, and so she was standing by, ready to tend him if the need arose. When she saw the look in his eyes as she examined him, her heart began pounding and her stomach flipped and churned.

"Boys! Get him upstairs quickly!" she ordered and ran up the staircase ahead of them to prepare for her patient.

Ron began to follow but was instantly stopped by three of the huge warriors under Karne's command.

"We demand an explanation of why he is injured and you are not," growled Brauchic, Karne's second in command.

Ron looked from one scout to the next and tried to restrain his temper...easily understanding how it would look to him if the circumstances were reversed. Nonetheless, he was soaking wet and distraught for Josy's father, so his face grew hot and the scars that crisscrossed his visage stood out bright red. His hand ached for the hilt of his sword and he seriously considered breaking out that weapon until Josy came running up with a large towel...Lilea, Janson, Heath, and Jarle following closely behind her.

"Baushe`! Are you all right?"

Ron's mounting anxiety cooled with the sound of her voice and so he broke his glare at the soldiers who threatened him. He gathered her into his arms as she threw the towel over his wet hair and tried to dry him, but her efforts weren't working very well until he dropped to one knee to allow her better access.

"Where's Father? What happened?"

He quickly dried his face off, kneeling at her feet while water pooled on the smooth floor beneath him. His heart clenched tightly in his chest as he spoke to that angelic woman.

"Josy, sweetheart, you should go up and see your father now. He is gravely injured and your mother could probably use your help."

Josy instantly broke into tears at that and didn't pause another moment, setting off up the wide stairway with Lilea close behind her.

"You men," Ron said as he returned his attention to the Hellions still crowding him, "should warn your fellows that the Avator's commander is dead! They should prepare for an impending battle in retaliation!"

The Master Killer, Brauchic, the fellow who once captured and beat Ron into unconsciousness, and later had him whipped in the square of Huinrag, hesitated only a lita before dispatching one of his scouts to do as Ron had bid. He then followed Ron to the nearest fireplace and listened as he explained every detail of the last few billots.

Ron wanted badly to question him about what he said back in Huinrag, concerning Cache and Roe, but the time was not conducive to such discussion.

In the end, Brauchic strode out to his new command and transferred that information to his troops. They were infuriated at the cowardly act of the Avators and vowed that their rivals would all die if they tried to advance their position.

"You two," Ron said to Jarle and Janson, "should gather your weapons and join me!

"But they took all of our weapons when we arrived. Karne wouldn't allow them in his house."

"I will remedy that!" announced Brauchic's aide who'd been assigned to watch the two of them. "Follow me!"

"Heath," Ron added quickly. "I would appreciate it if you would stay and guard the house. If need be, get the women into that safe-room before it gets too late."

Heath acknowledged his duty and didn't feel affronted in the least. He knew he was well past his prime and this was one thing Ronin needed that he could do.

Ten borts later, Ron led his Lampsh men out the back porch and across to the barn where he took up sentry-duty, almost immediately seeing the first wave of attacking Kreete.

His bow sang and an attacking member of the Avators fell but was quickly followed by half a dozen more. Enemy arrows slammed into the wooden frame of the barn, but Ron never faltered. Again and again he fired that dark weapon until his quiver was empty and the ground was littered with the dead and dying. Jarle and Janson were doing rather well too, using one of the Kreete's crossbows that took both of them to load. It was a devastating weapon from such a high position.

By then the barn had been overrun, and Ron could hear the clash of swords all about him. He and the Raidenes then left their snipers' position and ran across the loft to peer out the back of the structure.

Just below his perch was Brauchic. He had an arrow sticking out of his left shoulder and was engaged with two Avator scouts with a third rushing in quickly.

"Haaaaahhhhh!" roared the mighty Piercellione warrior as he leapt to Brauchic's aid. It was a twenty-foot drop from the high perch, but he made it easily, striking the ground with the black sword already bloodied from passing through the body of that encroaching scout. He then whirled about and cut down the nearest of the two who were battling with Karne's lieutenant.

The other fell straight away under Brauchic's blade and then the two stood back to back as more of the enemy closed. Ron kept an eye out for Jarle and his younger brother and spotted them still inside the barn, doing well against a pair of the Avators. He had suspected that Jarle would be an excellent swordsman and he wasn't wrong. The Lampsh man was fast with his blade and skilled in redirecting the oncoming heavier weapon of the enemy...and he had instructed his little brother in that art as well.

After the next clash, Brauchic pointed to the corner of the house where it looked as if the Hellions might be losing their advantage, so Ron and he bolted off to give their help.

The Avators scouts didn't have a chance as they were cut down from behind without hesitation. Ron then yelled for Jarle and his brother to retreat to the more defensible position of the porch where they couldn't be surrounded. But as they ran for their lives, three more Avators rounded the barn's southwestern corner and threatened to cut them off.

Ron was off like a shot and had two blue steel needles of death at the ready when he got within fifty feet of the trio. The throwing knives found their marks and Ron's sword slammed into the offensive strike of the third scout, of the Hunter class. Ron smote him abruptly with a barrage of blows that destroyed all his defenses and left the Kreete's right thigh separated from his torso. Ron was gone before the scout could even expire, off to engage the next foe.

That battle raged in the downpour for over a billot, the Hellions making out remarkably well considering the vast advantage the Avators had with respect to sheer numbers.

Ron personally caused a tremendous amount of damage to them, and his Lampsh friends held their own extremely well.

In the end though, the remaining Avators...only about a dozen, decided to retreat and save their strength and their lives for another day. After all, their leader was gone and they had no real reason to keep fighting against a well-fortified enemy.

When Brauchic called for the final count of his men, he found five dead and six wounded...two of them were very bad. Ron had a few light cuts and a nasty lump on his head, Jarle was virtually unscathed, and Janson was losing a bit of his inner liquid from a deep stab wound to the left calf...but it was not life threatening.

Heath had watched it as best he could from his location and now came out to lend his assistance to the injured, setting up a triage in the main meeting room of the first floor. Neidar and Larsen were there as well, covered in their enemy's blood and carrying in their allies. One broke off and went upstairs to check on Karne and to get some help for the wounded.

Josy came down with Lilea and they began mending the troops after passing along the news that Karne would live. His wounds were deep and he had lost a great deal of blood but his internal organs were intact.

It was a greatly relieved group who finally slowed down enough a billot later to grab a bite to eat and thank the Guardian for their good fortune.

### Chapter Thirty-three

### Regroup

The nighttime following that fierce battle with the rival Avators was filled with both tension and relief...tension of another possible attack that forced Karne's men to maintain a high readiness status throughout the long billots of darkness, but relief in the form of a distinct change to the depressing weather of the area. The wind picked up strongly, blowing the moisture saturated air away from the buonta farm and opening up the skies once again to the brightly shining stars and a tremendous, radiant glow from both the planet's moons.

As the sun shone forth on the following morning, reflecting off the standing water that lay in every direction like a million different shards of glass, Ron Allison stood locked in the arms of his glorious lover. They were at the eastern edge of the large barn where he'd first been brought to her home, unconscious and near death.

He was dressed in his Raulden attire, but still wore that huge, floppy hat that left his face deep in shadow to disguise his disfigurements from the outside world. His cloak draped his figure well and further obscured any details that might allow for his potential identification.

It had been a short night for that battle-hardened warrior, and not totally due to the threat from outside. It was late when all the soldiers had been tended to and Ron was finally called in from his turn at sentry duty. Such a responsibility in itself was extraordinarily odd considering he was standing watch beside four of the Hellions who had imprisoned him nearly a cycle in the past. Neither he nor they showed an ounce of apprehension though. They had fought and spilled blood together...a bond that was difficult to ignore.

Josy whisked him to a late dinner and then into her private bath, where she was able to release his, as well as her own, pent up tension from the adventurous day. The two lovers slept all of about three billots before Ron's inner clock sprang him back to life to make ready for what he was obliged to do next.

"I am sorry that I must leave, Josy," he was saying to the tear-streaked face of that gorgeous woman who loved and adored him, "but this battle will surely bring more Kreete warriors to clean up the dead and sift through the evidence, so it will have to be so."

"I understand, my love," she replied, "but I can't help it if I never wanted this day to come."

Ron held and kissed and comforted her while his friends made ready for their departure. He'd known this time of sorrow was inevitable and desperately tried to keep it from coming, but that would have been as monumental a task as stopping the rain-swollen Kessleton. He was a man whose life, whose dreams, whose entire persona had been changed to coincide with his new body's abilities. His focus, his calling, his Karma, his fate...no matter what the term was that one wanted to designate; his destiny lay in war.

"All is prepared, Ronin!" Heath called out.

"I will return, Josylinia Gitove," Ron told her resolutely. "You have my word!"

"I shall expect you every day!" she replied with a smile on her beautiful face, but with tears dripping off her cheeks. "I love you, Ron Allison...my Baushe`! Be safe!"

He faced Josy's mother and gathered her into his arms. "Thank you for everything, Mishea," he said to her simply but with great feeling she easily interpreted. "It has been my honor to have been so well received into your fine home and I look forward to my next visit...if I am welcome."

Mishea Gitove smiled at him with a glorious, joyful gleam. "The heart of our daughter goes with you, so part of mine goes too. You will always be welcome in our home, or any place we may be!"

Ron then turned to the giant Reaper who'd managed to rise from his hospital bed to see them off. He was drained and looked weary, but was an incredibly strong individual. He would be fine in a week.

"Is there anything to worry about here, Karne?"

"I do not think so, my friend. We are constantly having Caronians in our home for trading and conferences and the like. Nothing more should come of this incident...all our secrets should be safe."

"Very well then."

Ron leapt to the saddle of the magnificent, chocolate colored stallion Karne had given him. The beast was huge, standing at least seventeen hands high...the size of a Belgian plow horse, but slimmer. He needed such an animal too if he was going to utilize it for more than a short stint, since his heavy-worlder frame was so large a burden.

He eased away behind his friends and trotted east toward Thackere with a heavy heart and a worried mind. He gave a final good-by look to his foster home as he crested one last hill, feeling a gnawing worry sweep through him.

"I hope you're right, Karne, and this mess all blows over," he thought as he considered what the Kreete ruling authority might find in their search.

They all rode off through the mud and muck of the draining land and were well away before the first scout ship arrived to begin the report of the buonta farm battle.

A billot later, as they slowed to a walking speed to meander through the town of Thackere, Ron recalled the first, and last, time he'd been there, and the horrific outcome to that visit. He kept his head down low and drifted along without so much as a hello from the inhabitants who were still shaken up by the memory as well. They were exceedingly wary of any strangers passing through, giving the group long stares of an almost accusation-implying nature.

Once past Thackere, the glaring suspicions faded away with it, but the road to the northeast continued to be quite busy due to the end of the rains and the need for almost everyone to restock their supplies. The Lampsh group trotted along in single file for a long while, allowing the passing wagons the main portion of the road.

Late the following evening, the remote outposts that relied on Thackere's goods were finally behind them and the wild, hilly lands of the Vostrol Territory lay all around. This road was new to Ron, so he merely followed his friends into that wilderness with his eyes and ears constantly sweeping the land like a living radar.

The five-person group rode steadily for the next three days before reaching the town of Gardilane. It was a moderate sized village of a few hundred souls and served as a supporting town for one of the Kreete's gladiator training facilities. Such games were widely hated by those forced to participate, but loved by those who watched. Generally across the face of Caron the men who stood in those contests were outlaws, bandits, thieves, and murderers. However, some of them were actually free men who longed to hear the roar of the audience and feel the rush of man-to-man battle...to test their nerve and skill in deadly conflict.

The blood-sports were always in need of new champions since those fellows didn't seem to last long, so similar ludi were scattered, secretive, and widely varied in talents and training methods. This particular ludus was known to few outside the town's borders and so was an excellent location for other secrets as well. Also, it just so happened to be owned by Karne Gitove.

The Kreete Reaper administered that facility surreptitiously, through trusted human intermediaries that masked his involvement very well. His presence there was rare, as was any other Kreete's due to his considerable influence in the region. This deception also allowed the town and its immediate area to become the designated rendezvous point for the rebels of the district without drawing attention of the Kreete oversight committees. After all, according to the scheduled reports it was being closely monitored by one of their most trusted leaders.

Gardilane was not a strange city to the four lifelong friends from the Yetsole Valley though, only to the mysterious newcomer in the large, drooping hat. Heath, Jarle, and Lilea knew just who to see and where to go to find exactly what they needed.

Their familiarity with the town had come about through an odd, coincidental, and circuitous set of circumstances.

When Lilea and Janson left the town of Wreetage in search of Ron, they ignored Crogan's warnings about the route to take. They traveled across the great, arid mesa of the Greishere Highlands, throwing caution to the wind in their haste to get to their friend and hero. They were young and brash, and a bit foolish, surviving numerous, harrowing situations that could easily have ended their hopes as well as their lives.

One such incident was toward the end of the first day in that furnace of hell. The sun was low on the western horizon, and would have blocked their inspection of anyone trailing them had it not been for one perfectly placed cloud drifting into position at just the right time. The two of them were so grateful for that momentary respite from the heat that they both looked back to see how long it might last. It was then that they spotted an approaching band of outlaws, and that fortune gave them enough warning to make a run for it.

They had been carefully monitoring their mounts all day, so they weren't spent just yet...able to pick up the pace sufficiently to keep a good hoz and a half distance on the bandits. That gap turned out to be exactly what they needed too when the sun touched the scorching earth on the western ridge. It was then that the majestic hunters of the plains...the ceatary...made their move. Those cunning predators also knew about the little trick of masking their presence in the glare of the white star, and six of them struck the dozen attacking men without a moment's warning. The marauding falcons left the killing field with five of the outlaw's horses and six of their men.

Lilea and her young companion heard the attack by way of the screaming cries of the mighty hawks blasting across the flat ground, and thanked the Guardian for their timing, and for sparing them the same fate.

Once past the "wasteland" though, locating the renowned fighter wasn't as difficult as they feared since every town was coursing with stories and talk of the mighty "Shartae". They spent the next few weeks in pursuit of the object of their quest, and finally caught up with the seemingly inexplicable Ron Allison in Gratoon. There, the warrior they preferred to call Ronin had just begun his final santari in captivity.

They eventually crossed paths with and rejoined Jarle and Heath in the city's coliseum, mere moments before a bout which pitted Ron against a pair of tigers, called gnates...from the planet Horshe. For the following two weeks, they all planned and schemed about different ways to assist their friend in escaping, but the security around him was simply too tight. There was never a lita allowed to pass without at least a squad of Kreete scouts surrounding their friend, and freeing him looked hopeless.

They were all seated together when that glorious, unforgettable day of his breakout finally came and changed forever the stigma of the Retribution Games. The Lampsh party was up on their feet as the crowd began filing out...not to leave, but rather to hopefully get their friend's attention...and possibly pass along some food to him.

Jarle and Heath tried many times to make Ron see them, but he only recognized one person in the teeming, frenzied crowds that chanted his name incessantly, and that was the boy who tossed him food at every match.

They situated themselves directly over the gate where the Kreete guards came through to gather Ron up after the match, and they all stopped cold when he broke into a run atop that wooden structure. The only unlucky aspect was that he was heading away from them.

After his death defying, magnificent leap to freedom, they got jammed into the seething mass of people who surged back into the stadium to see Ron's escape. It was only through a narrow archway from halfway across the arena that Heath Sarvand was able to witness Ron plunging into the water less than a hundred peors away. At that time, they frantically made their way to the exits, but were held up considerably from following his route.

When they finally broke free of the turmoil, they rode down the banks of the river that first evening and most of the night, praying they would be the ones to find him. But they were forced to use the barges' tow-trail, and so were on the opposite side of the river from Ron's eventual beach landing. They actually passed right by the Gitove farm that night, wondering who might live in that fine, enormous mansion.

Finally, as time dragged on with no sign of him, they had to relent as the Kreete took over the search. At that point, they traveled to Nurtey, five hoz southeast of Ron's shivering, catatonic form. Heath and Jarle were already well acquainted in the area, it being the rally point that the messenger, Pertus Urian had sent them to. However, after a week there with no hopeful signs of Ron and an increasing presence of Kreete soldiers, they were encouraged to move further from Gratoon, to the town of Gardilane...which eventually turned out to be a boon for them.

They were accompanied by fellow rebels who introduced them to some allies in that locale and the four comrades immediately commenced to making many much-needed contacts in the city before continuing the massive search for the escaped Shartae. They quickly found that Gardilane was a very well established center for the resistance forces of Caron, and that a great deal of men and equipment were supplied and controlled through the little town.

That's where they first got the information about the attack in Thackere, which eventually lead to their clandestine interview, and ultimately to the meeting with the wealthy plantation owner for the secret conference that also resulted in their finding Ron.

Now that they had returned, Jarle went forward to the gathering hall of Gardilane, and investigated the place while the others stayed out of sight and tended to their animals at the local stables. Precaution was always on the forefront of their minds, and a hasty retreat was preplanned and held in reserve...just in case.

Half a billot later, he returned and announced all was prepared and safe for them to settle into the accommodations Karne had ordered made ready for their prolonged stay. Also, the local leaders were being alerted to the need for an assembly that evening...one of great importance.

Ron soon found that his rebel friends were indeed deeply rooted in the town when those in his immediate group were given free range of the area. Such allowances included all food, drinks, and a restock of his depleted arrow supply...Karne's influence again, no doubt. They were treated like foreign dignitaries, with everyone eager to assist them in any capacity.

That night, Heath Sarvand stood up in front of the crowd of over one hundred and fifty attendees and gave a detailed recount of the information Karne had explained to them at his home. The rest of the Lampsh foursome sat along the wall behind him and Ron hunched down in the corner, seemingly insignificant and nondescript.

When Heath was finished with the briefing, he opened the floor of the hall up to questions. The first query out of a dozen folks' mouths was; "What of the news of Ronin?"

"Yes, yes! Is there any word? Does he live? Will he join us?"

Heath stood as straight as a spear-shaft, scanning the crowd slowly. He was an excellent orator and seemed to know exactly how long to allow the rhetoric to continue. Ron made no move whatsoever, his visage hidden from everyone's view by his cloak and hat.

"Ronin lives!" Heath proclaimed to the group, starting a loud rumbling of sidebars between the members.

The assemblage began a rising fervor of anticipation with that information, each of them having their own expectations of what the news would mean to the cause. They spoke and guessed and speculated for several borts before Heath held up his hands to quiet them once more.

"People, people, people," he shouted over the din. "My friends, allow me to ask a pertinent question of you all."

The assemblage quickly gathered their focus and waited for his inquiry.

"What would you have this 'Ronin' do if he were to aid us?"

"Fight!" roared the crowd in an uncoordinated, miss-mashing bellow. "Lead us into battle! He is the 'Great Leader'...the one who cannot fall!"

Jarle Raidene recognized the passion and excitement of the crowd instantly...as he had seen it time and time again in different places and with differing results. Many would complain and mock and challenge the Kreete, but few would actually stand up to deny them their demands. He felt the urge to jump into the discussion then and stepped up in a rush. Heath felt him coming through the vibrations in the floor of the wooden stage, so he moved aside and took his seat.

Jarle panned the keyed-up mass of common, ordinary folks and wondered at what they were really thinking. He'd been caught up in many similar rallies of late and decided to test their resolve.

"Are you sure that you want this?" he asked the throng of hearty, boisterous men and women.

"YEEESSS!" they all screamed back.

"Let me say one thing about this man, Ronin. He will expect 'you' to fight...each of you. Are you prepared to do that?"

The crowd half-heartedly replied: "Yes!" Many were baffled by the question.

"Of course! Isn't that what we're here for?" asked a man in the front row.

"I would like you 'all' to think hard about your answer now, because once this war gets underway, there will be no turning back. There will be misery, pain, and discomfort of a thousand kinds...and there will be death! Of that, I can assure you! It will be all or nothing."

There was a long pause after his statement as they mulled it around in their minds and among their little cliques...deciphering the intended meaning behind what Jarle was alluding to.

"What do you mean?" asked a burly fellow in the third row. He sat there beside his wife and amongst his friends and neighbors. "Are we not all here for the same purpose? To plan how best to fight for our freedom? What are you getting at?"

"What I mean is as clear as this blade," Jarle said as he pulled a long dagger from his belt. "When we declare war on the Kreete, there can be only one of two possible outcomes. We will win and destroy their tremendous and heretofore unstoppable army, with their flying craft, their superior soldiers, weapons, armor, and training...or we will be crushed to the last man and woman. That is the choice that you will each have to make."

The murmuring began anew at that point as the collection of Caronians from all over the territory spoke in small groups and clans. It was clear that there were many opinions to go around...but that would not do.

"Are you willing to fight to the last man?"

"Yes!" cried a handful of brave young men who had fire, strength, and determination in their eyes.

"...even if it means that your families, your homes, and your friends are at risk if you are caught or identified? That they could be tortured, killed, raped, or enslaved because you dared to stand up to the masters?"

"Yes!" shouted the same stout fellows.

Jarle stood at the center of the raised dais that they had appropriated for this meeting, and was disappointed. It was hardly a unanimous show of faith.

Suddenly the form in the corner, the one person who nobody had really noticed as being there, stood up and strode forward. The large, drooping hat and the drape of cloth that concealed his body's features appeared overly large and imposing, and he easily eclipsed the Lampsh furrier with his deceptively oversized bulk. Jarle saw the reaction in the crowd, turned, and then quickly stepped back as the shadowy specter approached him from behind.

"That is not good enough!" roared the deep, menacing voice of the shrouded man.

Everyone then dropped to dead silence, as he stood like a bizarre statue in his long, indistinguishable disguise. Anger grew quickly amongst the throng. They suddenly all wanted to know who it was who had the gall to chastise them. They, after all, were risking much just attending this meeting...were they not?

"You people do not understand what the question is," the dark figure bellowed at the crowd. The tone in his voice was stern, even bitterly harsh. "This will not be a battle between a few hundred Caronians and the Kreete forces," he scolded them as if they were a gathering of idealistic fools. "This is not the battle of 'Ronin' and Garnmole Trealnian...not some mythical story...something that will be over in one quick, decisive fight!"

His shrouded glare panned back and forth across the sea of faces transfixed on his obscured one. "It will be an all-out war for your very survival!" he growled as if merely having to explain it made him angrier. "And understand a simple, unequivocal fact...there will be only one winner. When Jarle said it will be a fight to the last, he was not joking or overstating the risk. We will prevail or EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US WILL DIE!"

The silence in the large room was palpable as they all digested his acerbic words.

"If you can't decide if that is what you want, then you have lost already!"

The prideful men in the audience felt the heat of embarrassment as their faces turned bright red.

"Who is this man?" demanded a large, powerful looking fellow from the front row, standing quickly and gripping the handle of a large knife in his belt, acting as if he would challenge the intimidating speaker.

As an answer, the cloaked form broke into movement so quickly that the belligerent chap barely cleared his blade from its sheath before his wrist was locked in an embrace of solid stone. A split lita later, he found himself lifted and slammed to the wooden planks of the dais as if he were made of straw...and then he felt his own stiletto at his throat.

"I am the very least of your worries, my friend," growled the darkened form through clenched teeth.

The outspoken man was too surprised to reply and a wave of panic swept through him as he felt the cold steel biting into his neck.

The dark face under the wide hat scanned the assembly again swiftly, and then grunted in disgust.

"Why have none of you leapt to this man's aid?" demanded the attacker, still holding the knife at a killing point. "He is one of you, is he not?"

They all stood at that, but didn't move...all perplexed and many frightened.

"If this is how you show your solidarity and bravery, you can count me out! You're not worth it!"

At that instant, a young man, possibly only fifteen cycles of age jumped up onto one of the benches thirty feet from where the prone form of the rebel now lay and pulled back on his bow.

'Thwuuungg!' went the weapon and an arrow sped straight for that cloaked man.

As quickly as that arrow took to flight, the ominous fellow leaned back and snatched it out of the air like a paper airplane. The boy's bow lacked the tension to really be a threat, but he gained a bit of insight into its owner as he examined it closely and then looked back at the belligerent man beneath him.

"At least one person in this room can be counted on!" he said, suddenly releasing that trembling man and rising again.

"Come down here boy!" ordered the gruff speaker. "Let's have a look at you."

The prone fellow rolled off the edge of the platform and stumbled back to his friends. He was as white as a sheet and trembled from head to toe.

The lad paused only a lita before throwing his chin out and striding forward through the parting crowd. He walked right up to the shadow-man, well within his reach, and stopped, looking up at the dark, mysterious void that would have been a face. He tried to appear unafraid in the presence of someone who was much larger than he and much more prepared for battle, judging from the easy way he'd snatched that arrow from the air...but the lad's body vibrated noticeably.

"Are you afraid of me, boy?"

"No!" the young man replied with a stout heart. Then after a moment of contemplation, "Yes," he admitted.

"Good! You see! This young man has risen above his fears to at least attempt to help his comrade," the cloaked figure told the assemblage. "I will take him as my aide!"

The mother of the lad then pushed through the crowd until she reached the front row. She was a robust woman in her mid-thirties and was fraught with dread.

"You cannot take him!" she screamed, her eyes swollen with tears and fearful as any mother would be. "He is my only child! What gives you the right? Who are you?"

The large fellow then reached up to the brim of his hat.

"I am the one that you 'think' you want on your side! I am the one you all wish to lead you! I am the one that some call 'Ronin'! But I do not trust those who have not proven themselves to me! As you can now see," he said as he unclasped his cloak and stripped his head of the large hat, his bared torso then fully exposed to the lamps of the room, "I trusted someone once and paid the price!"

The crowded room of people all gasped at once, many turning away at the sight of so much horrible damage. The boy next to Ron stood his ground though, and that made Ron proud. This little man would be a fine leader one day.

"I will tell you all something now," Ron continued, disregarding the open stares of the group. "We," he said, sweeping his hand around to his four companions, "have already seen battle with the Kreete! 'We' have already witnessed the fear that you are all feeling now...fear that we will perish at the end of a Kreete arrow, or sword, or spear...fear that those we love will come to harm because of what we do...fear that we will fail and all will be lost. 'We' are here to help organize 'you' and train 'you' in ways of fighting the enemy that we have already proven can defeat them. But this will only work if 'you' all work together.

"Not everyone is a warrior...of that, I am completely aware, so listen up! Those of you who cannot fire a bow or wield swords can, and must, lend their individual talents to the support of those who do. The battles will be won or lost by those individuals who stand and fight, but they cannot wage war alone. You must recruit everyone you can trust to give provisions to the armies that will be developing and may pass through your lands. The fighting men and women will need to move fast and light and there will be little time for camps with real, cooked meals. So when these folks come to you out of the darkness, or in the middle of the day, you will need to help them with whatever you can.

"And if there is 'ever' an abuse of the generosity of the support system," Ron paused to add weight to his statement. "Let me make this 'perfectly' clear! You will each spread this proclamation of mine to 'everyone' you know! If I ever hear of the exploitation of our support system, I will personally attend to the matter of reciprocity for that act!

"There will be no looting of anyone's home who is unwilling to help us either. It is 'their' choice, not ours, and 'their' consequence if they do or don't! Therefore, 'they' must chose to endanger themselves and their families for our cause.

"Also, there will be no coercion of the innocents! Many of the people we find along the way are simply trying to survive the best they can and we will not force them into our servitude in lieu of the Kreete's.

"Furthermore, there will be no raping or any ill-treatment of the women of these lands. We cannot have our fighting men fearing the safety of their loved ones to join with us. If the men in your armies find they have such needs, they can find a willing participant, or hire one, or do without. I will personally gut any man who takes advantage of a woman in that way!

"And if anyone here...or anywhere for that matter...doesn't think I'm capable of enforcing my orders, then I just dare them to try," Ron growled in a grinding, hate-filled tone.

As an exclamation of his seriousness, Ron took the dagger he still held and flung it to the wooden floor at his feet. It sunk to the hilt!

"You have all heard tell of the stories of the warrior in the arena of the Retribution Games, have you not?"

The crowd of revolutionary soldiers in the room was still standing awestruck at the feet of this large and menacing fellow...too startled, or frightened, or aghast to speak. Many nodded their heads at his question, causing a corresponding motion from the rest.

"You have seen or heard of what 'Shartae' did to his opponents in those hellacious venues?"

The nodding continued.

"I...am Shartae!"

The assembly was too shocked to make any sound. Many had guessed the truth of who Ron was when he exposed himself, but none had ever thought they would be in the presence of such a demon of death. He had been such a legend for so long that most of the populace simply assumed he was the result of too many drinks and too many embellishment of the truth. They now knew that they were wrong.

Ron stood like a monolith for several litas while he allowed the throng to absorb what he'd said. After those long moments went by, they began to whisper amongst themselves and as more time passed, the talk grew stronger and livelier.

"Well! What is your decision?"

"We are with you, Ronin!" cried two large fellows in the center of the group, followed quickly by a chorus of affirmative agreement.

The dozens of excited members of the new Caronian militia suddenly broke out into a roaring applause with cheering and laughing and crying...so many emotions swirling about in the crowd.

The youngster beside Ron looked up into his face and smiled. Ron smiled back lightly and wondered how many here, this day, would be dead in the first battle. He was not one to celebrate such a decision...he knew what war was all about.

### Chapter Thirty-four

### Dire news

The meeting broke up after that raucous flurry of excitement and they all agreed to begin regular, regimented training classes on the following day. Those instructional seminars would be held in the main preparatory location of Karne's training facility...a huge, open field to the west of the town that was directly adjacent to the walled gladiator fortress. That glade was well guarded and fenced to keep outsiders from witnessing the fighters' preparations, so as not to allow rivals access to their techniques and strategies.

Ron, Jarle, and Heath then carried forward with the plans they'd formulated at the Gitove's farm. They divided up the training sessions into three main subjects...swordplay, guerrilla warfare, and weapons manufacturing, beginning and ending each class with an open forum for discussion. They made it clear that every idea or suggestion would be heard and-or tried.

The town of Gardilane quickly became a proving ground for new innovations of weapons and tactics that were brought to and shared with everyone who was willing to learn. The next few weeks went by in a blur, and the Lampsh group grew in fame almost as quickly as the awesome leader, Ronin. They were his core commanders and trainers and were given almost as much idolization as he, especially when he would openly consult them in the presence of his trainees.

Ron saw no shame in this, and in fact, made as much of a poignant scene of it as he could. He wanted the people to realize he and his captains were just as human as they were, and they relied upon one another in nearly all aspects. That was the only way he could be sure the soldiers they were training would turn to their fellows for help in times of indecision or strife.

Ron and Jarle taught the lessons on swordsmanship, while Heath and Janson covered the 'surprise, attack, and retreat' methodology of the type of warfare they would have to incorporate against such a formidable enemy. That left Lilea, who teamed up with a blacksmith and a carpenter to instruct the builders of the various 'heavy arrow' cannons they'd developed in Lampsh. Once that was drawn up and into the assembly phase, she taught classes her husband had developed in Wreetage. Those were all about how to make dozens of traps and weapons out of the materials of the forest...snares, swinging logs, spiked pits, rock avalanches, and so on.

The training camp was a huge success and all was running well until...

"When Ron gets back from lunch," Lilea was saying to Jarle one afternoon while they sat and digested their meals, resting from the near nonstop training that was pulling in droves of new recruits daily, "we need to discuss adding another segment to our studies...oh, here he comes now."

Ron was strolling toward them with a half-eaten parc in his hand and he waved, but then his head snapped to the right just before stopping abruptly next to a trio of boys who were talking off to the side of him. Apparently he'd caught part of their conversation. He stepped over to them and said something that redirected their attention to bring him into the group.

He no longer bothered to try and hide himself from the masses as they'd all come out to watch the training exercises and were familiar with his 'less than handsome' appearance.

Lilea continued to watch that curious scene because she noticed the visage on the mighty warrior grow strained as he listened to one of the boys for quite a while. But when he grabbed the youngster by the shoulders, hunkering over him as if the boy was giving him some horrible news, she quickly perked up and jumped to her feet.

The lad was scared nearly out of his wits, as she could see his eyes wide with fear clearly, and Ron's face was washed out to the point that he looked deathly ill. Ron then asked him something very sternly, his face suddenly so red she thought he would snap the boy in half. A moment later, Ron released the young man and bolted for the other end of town.

People crowding the little lane all leaped out of his way hastily and she heard the resonance of his order rumble back her way.

"MOVE!"

"Something's wrong!" she said then to Jarle, dashing forward. "I've got to find out what all the fuss is about!"

When Ron disappeared into the stables; the very first building of the town, at the southwestern edge, Lilea was hurrying up toward the trio of young men.

"Excuse me boys," she said to them, causing the three to stop their intense discussion that had just arisen and face the green-eyed beauty. The one Ron had grabbed was shaking, with tears welled heavily in his eyes. "Might I inquire as to what your chat with Ron...I mean Ronin was all about?"

"You mean that big guy with all the scars?" asked the one that Ron had grasped, trying to wipe away the remnants of tears.

Lilea smiled at that, not even believing there was still a person in the village who didn't know who Ronin was by now.

"Yes, that's right."

"I was just telling Hermey and Rodder about what happened back where I come from. He overheard me mention Thackere and freaked out!"

Lilea's heart skipped a beat at the utterance of that town's name.

"And just what information is that?"

Jarle had joined the discussion group by then; he too intent on understanding why Ron left in such haste.

"My name is Calobe, and I live in the Choat Tree Swamp with my family. The swamp backs up to the Kessleton River across from the place where the Prant merges with the larger river. I know the family who lives on this huge buonta-bean farm and I go fishing with their daughter...her name is Josy."

Lilea's stomach clenched tightly and Jarle's jaws ground together audibly.

"Well, about a week ago, I stopped by for a while and we sat and fished from her dock. She was very distracted...sad about something, I think."

He paused for a few moments to collect his emotions as his eyes started to well up with salty drops again, and he did not want his new friends to see. He rubbed his eyes quickly to account for his discomfort.

"The dust here is really burning my eyes," he added, trying to hide the truth.

"Yes," Lilea told him sweetly, helping hide the white lie, "a lot of people here complain about it."

"Well, I had to get back to making my rounds of our traps, so I told her goodbye and paddled back across the river. Before entering the reeds though, I turned to wave to her like I always do, and I saw this huge boxy looking thing hanging above Josy's fine home.

"I stopped and watched for a long time and then that thing shot some kind of bright blue light at the house...and it just exploded. It just turned into a big dust cloud. I jerked back when the sound of it reached me and I fell out of the skiff I was in. When I righted the boat and got back into it, the house was gone!"

"What about the family?" Lilea pressed the young man, trying to hold back from grabbing him like Ron had done. "Did you see your friend, Josy?"

"No. She was nowhere that I could see, but she must have been in the house."

He could not stop his emotions from that point on as he recalled the horrible vision, and tears streamed down his cheeks freely. Lilea reached out and pulled the young man to her.

"It's all right...it's all right," she repeated to him as he sobbed openly against her shoulder.

"The whole place was destroyed!" he cried. "She was gone...just like that, she was gone!"

She held the lad for a bit, until he composed himself again.

"I went home and told my family what had happened, and that I was joining up with the fight against those monsters that killed my friend. I heard about this place from some men I know back home, so I headed here."

Lilea looked past the other boys and saw a large dark shape come tearing out of the stable's barn, heading off to the south. A huge chocolate-colored horse was being urged along at its fastest clip, with its rider's cloak billowing straight back in the rush of air across its flashing haunches.

Calobe followed her concerned stare and saw Ron disappear down that road.

"What is he going to do?"

"Take my word for it, Calobe," Jarle said to the youngster, recalling the numerous battles he'd witnessed involving Ron, both in and out of the arena, "you don't want to know what 'that' man will do!

"The Kreete think they're the lords of this planet...that they are the ones who pass judgment and dole out punishment...but they know nothing of retaliation to a degree that 'he' will bring to them! If Ronin finds them...those who destroyed your friend's home...he'll teach them the true meaning of retribution!

"And when it starts," he added with a far-off look in his eyes as if witnessing some awesome devastation in his mind, "they had better drop to their knees and pray to the Guardian for help, because there's no one on 'this' world who can!"

### Chapter thirty-five

### I will kill them all

Ron had spent the better part of four days with his friends, riding to get to Gardilane from the farm where Josy had nursed him back to health. He made the return trip in a day and a half, pausing only when the poor beast that bore him showed obvious distress and fatigue. At that time he would find it some water and walk as fast as he could, hauling the horse behind him until its breath was calm again.

He'd hastily thrown together a satchel of grain that would sustain the creature long enough to get him where he wanted to be, but didn't even bother with food for himself. His mind was too distraught.

"It can't have happened again!" He kept repeating to himself during the exhausting journey. "I can't have lost another love!"

His mind would then recall his Earthly wife, Angela, and all the plans they'd dreamed for their lives together, before he was torn from her...and before she perished in that cataclysm of stupidity. Kaskle Dangarth's wife who would have borne him a son, and who was tortured to death right in front of him floated across his thoughts too...a horrendous memory which was now burned into his conjoined brain and racked him with guilt and remorse. And then there was his love for Cache, and the terrible, haunting memory of her recent betrayal of him which was still scorching to his psyche.

This new life he'd been forced into was one that had become nearly too costly for his heart to endure.

Finally, that brown stallion gave out at the outskirts of Thackere, dropping to his knees under a heavy lather and panicked inhalation. Ron bailed off of the beast as it fell and never missed a step as he struck out through the woods on foot, cutting across the wild forest surrounding the huge plantation.

That thick jungle was home to many wild and dangerous beasts, but the wildest, and most dangerous of the land was now running full tilt ahead in search of answers to the apprehension that was welling up inside his chest.

He took the most direct route and emerged from the woods at the very section of the buonta fields he and Josy had picked together. He flew down the rows of the plump verdure, his adrenaline surging as he ran and his fears so real that he could taste the acrid, metallic taste of bile in his mouth.

Even though his stomach was as empty as the Greishere Plateau, a powerful upwelling of vomit threatened to emerge from it if what he'd been told was found to be true...and then he was there!

The end of the rows of buonta bushes stopped abruptly and Ron was left standing in the fading light of the day, staring at the spot where that grand, expansive home once stood...that of Josylinia Gitove...his newfound love.

It was gone!

Calobe had not been fooled...and hadn't exaggerated either. There was nothing left of it at all. The large barn was a blackened spot on the ground and the place where the house once stood was a sunken pit of fused earth...a foot-deep crater of melted silica. The woodsheds were gone too, as was the dock. The trees and shrubs that had been so lovingly cared for by Josy and Mishea, and had decorated the land surrounding the house in a natural, floral beauty, had been vaporized.

Ron would by no means have guessed there ever had been a home here if he hadn't known it.

He stood absolutely motionless where he was, panting and staring...sweat running from his body in rivers. His mind was a total blank...too flustered to think.

Borts later, he finally began to walk to where he last held that incredible, innocent, compassionate woman. He stepped through the blackened ground of the barn, passing where he'd helped feed and care for the animals in their stalls, until he felt the dirt under his feet crunch and shatter. The heat of the disruptor fire had turned the upper layer of soil to a charred concoction of heat-hardened earth and burnt vegetation.

He slowly panned the area for any hope that Josy or her family had survived. The Kessleton River was back down to its normal level once more, and was clearly visible now without the plantation home and the trees to block it from his view. The boathouse was missing, as was every building and shed that had once stood within his visual realm.

There was nothing.

Ron soon felt his weight growing, as if Caron itself was increasing its gravity, much the same as when he was preparing for this mission back on Rauld and had increased the attraction field to put more pull on the vacandin in his uniform.

The pounding, surging, nearly immutable muscle in his chest felt as if it were being crushed under the mounting strain. His arms hung limply at his sides, tugged downward by invisible weights, and his legs shook visibly. He was exhausted from the journey to be sure, from not eating or sleeping, from the frenetic worry he would find exactly what he had found...but this was so much more than all that. It was like someone had suddenly pulled a stopper plug on the urn of his spirit, and his very life force was draining out.

He dropped to his knees then and hung his head low, rocking back and forth as his grief poured from his soul through an unending stream of tears. His massive shoulders heaved and jerked as his body quaked from his unimaginable anguish, and he felt as if he had no more reason to go on.

That depressing mental loop began anew...the one of fear and grief and heartache...but this time it was increased a hundred fold with the piercing misery of this new addition. His parents' death, his wife's death...the destruction of his entire 'normal' existence flowed into the demise of Kaskle's wife, his child...and on to Cache's betrayal of him to his most abhorrent enemy. And then, after all that, after everything he'd suffered through and endured and overcame, he'd risen again. He was filled with the hope that once more he'd been given a new lease on a future with optimism, and compassion, and love...only to see it ripped away by those who he detested above all others.

Now his beloved Josylinia was gone!

Finally, after he wept for half a billot...lost in a seemingly bottomless pit of remorse...his gut-wrenching, limitless sorrow started to reconfigure itself. He began to feel the heat of anger building inside his body, overriding the grief and loss in his heart. The blinding, relentless, searing hatred for the vileness that was the Kreete was rising fast now, and his pulse quickened.

All the purity of Josy's sweetness and compassion which she'd so gently and patiently tried to instill into him...to bring him back to the man he once was...started to wither away. Her loving efforts to replace the mindless animalistic viciousness his captors had forced upon him were being overridden as his adrenal gland began to course. The fire in his heart was stoking up to its old inferno.

Ron's hate shattered the weighty shell of despair that had crushed him to the ground, and he rose to his feet with his eyes steady on the setting sun's horizon glow. His muscles flexed and bulged as his mighty heart thumped harder and deeper while his mind began to revert back to the wildness he'd felt in the arena. His chest commenced to heave while the rapidity of the pump inside climbed ever higher, as if he could actually hear the sounds of the iron gated doors screeching open to begin his next bout of mortal combat.

The amber colors of the disappearing star turned deeper red, even though there was no reason for them to do so...it wasn't that far gone. He knew instantly that it was his inner self dropping that red haze down before his eyes. He gritted his teeth and vowed through them in a seething, odious, hate-filled, growl of a voice:

"I will kill them all!"

A crunching sound from behind him, barely audible to the most alert individual, was like a gunshot to Ron. His senses were so wired and his mind so vigilant that he assimilated the noise and recognized it instantly. It was the sound of earth compressing under the footstep of a creature...of the two-legged variety. Then there were three more such noises from as many locations, spread out around his position in a fan pattern, and he caught the same acrid, pungent scent he'd come to know all too well.

He was being stalked by Kreete soldiers!

Ron nearly laughed at the timing of it. When he fought in the arena, he was allowed only one outlet for all the pain, torment, and abuse of his captivity, and that had been battle. When he'd felt exceptionally sour, he was always able to release it in that setting without regard for what was right or wrong. He killed indiscriminately at those times, just to feel the rush and satisfaction of having some control over his life.

On occasion he'd recognized that he enjoyed it too much, and that was when he would force himself to pause for a bit of introspection...to try and keep his humanity, his sanity. But now was not one of those times for holding back. Now he would unleash his wrath without hesitation...and he would revel in it!

His blades cleared their sheaths as he spun about and faced these foolish attackers. They should have already fired their bows if they had them; because his body was running at a hundred and twenty percent and he knew exactly what he could do in blade-to-blade conflict...it would be a slaughter!

Ron saw his first target's shadow edging out of the buonta bush he used for cover, and so he broke for that spot. It was only fifty or so peors away and he would be there so quickly the scout would never see him.

"Ron Allison?" grunted a deep, gravelly bellow from off to his right, instantaneously causing him to stumble to a grinding, faltering stop, and generating a cascading crash of his mind's vindictive and heinous objective.

What was happening? His thoughts spun in a whirlpool of momentary doubt and bewilderment. The raging fires of his hate and the need for bloodletting collided with an ice-cold rush of relief...and hope. He fell to his knees again, but his time it was due to those opposing halves of his mind...his boundless fury against the equally endless wish for serenity. The result was hesitancy and perplexity of his predicament.

"Neidar?" he asked as he turned slowly, in total, mind-numbing confusion.

"Baushe`?" called a delicate, feminine voice from the opposite direction.

Ron's head whipped around so fast that those watching half expected it to snap right off of his shoulders.

"Josy?" he asked cautiously, wondering if he was dreaming or still awake...or if through some cruel joke his ears had been tricked.

He scanned the scene quickly and saw an hourglass shaped silhouette step from its position of hiding.

"Josy?"

"Ron!" she screamed as she broke into a mad dash for her lover.

Ron rushed to her as fast as he could too and slammed his two blades into the dirt as their bodies met. He swept her up to him and crushed her lips to his as more tears now flooded down his face. He drank in the scent of her and continued to kiss her face and neck, squeezing her so tightly that she had to squeak out a complaint to be able to breathe again.

"I'm sorry, baby!" he apologized to his ravishing heartthrob. "I just can't believe that you're okay! How is it possible? Calobe told me that your home had been destroyed by a scout ship, and as far as he knew; you were in it when it was."

He hugged her again and ran his hands over her as if checking to see that she was all in one piece.

"I'm fine, darling," she assured him. "But we need to get out of the open right away. The area may be monitored."

Ron instantly remembered that he was surrounded and looked away from Josy to check his situation again. The scouts he'd detected were drifting back to a central location cautiously, their demeanor that of extremely wary suspicion.

"Your brothers?"

Josy nodded as she urged Ron to set her down and then tugged at his hand for him to follow her.

"This way, Baushe`."

They wove their way slowly through the fields for a hundred peors, checking all the while for any sign of having been detected. The sun was very low by then and twilight was dropping fast when Ron saw a slight mound in the field. It was the entrance to what he assumed to be a root cellar. At that point they went underground into a narrow tunnel.

Josy guided him quickly down into the blackness of the burrow, and when the door was shut they were left in total darkness.

Neidar assigned one of his fellow Hellions to keep watch at the door and the rest followed Ron who was still being tugged along by Josy. Fifty feet further along the arrow-straight corridor which was tight for Ron and very tight for the scouts, they ran out of hallway at another door.

Josy rapped on it in a complicated pattern and then there was the sound of a heavy metal bolt being thrown on the other side. The portal creaked sharply before the thick wooden panel swung outward, filling the narrow passage with light and allowing them access.

The Kreete scout who opened the door stood aside as they all stepped through the entrance into a room which was large enough to allow the five soldiers to stand up fully, and for them all to spread out comfortably. It was illuminated through means of the light radiating panels Ron had become familiar with and it was as bright as almost any Earth home would be at night.

As soon as they were all in, Josy pushed Ron hard against the wall and leaped back into his arms. She was suddenly ready to return his show of relief at their being rejoined. Ron accepted her attention willingly and the rest of the group felt obliged to give them a few borts to collect themselves.

Ron finally set Josy back on her feet and she instantly latched herself to his arm as they began working their way deeper into the artificial caverns. The entire place impressed Ron immensely because it was well below water level, yet completely dry. His constantly inquisitive nature wondered at the material used until he was ushered into the next cavernous space. It was at least twelve feet in height, thirty feet square, and was furnished with the bare necessities of benches molded out of the same material as the walls...and even had shelves all around for supplies and such.

"Wait here. I will summon Karne," Neidar told them in his usual gruff manner.

Ron turned immediately to Josy.

"How is it that you all managed to survive the attack?"

"We were warned of it in advance!"

Ron found that extremely fortunate...and suspicious. "How?"

"A man Father knows overheard a conversation between one of the Avators and the Reaper, Treage Vitrauge. He came immediately to our aid and we were able to reach this 'safe area' Father built cycles ago with some friends he'd made. It was all done in great secrecy, and no one knows of it but us."

"Who is this person to whom I owe so much?" Ron inquired as he sighed again and feasted his eyes on the beauty of her smile.

"I don't know his name. He prefers to be anonymous, I think. Father calls him 'Bounty Hunter'. Oh, there he is now."

Ron turned to see Karne emerging from the corridor opposite him and Josy. A barrel-chested man with a woolly beard and long, black, braided hair followed him through...and Ron's face solidified in disbelief.

The man was Roelantish Sonebane of the Chavarre Territory!

To find out what happens, look for the next adventure of Ron Allison:

The Salvation of Caron

