 
### A Leap of Fate

Episode eight

### Ronin Alsone of Erthania

Smashwords Edition

By G. L. Fontenot

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### What is Fate?

### Fate is a belief; the absolute conviction that the culmination of every random incident, accident, role of the dice, and intentional decision you've ever experienced or knowingly made has inexorably led you to the exact circumstance you're in and physical location where you currently are.

### But is it real?

### G. L. Fontenot

### Prologue

A tall, broad-shouldered, heavily muscled man gazed down at the wide expanse of the Cavitar Valley from three-hundred kez (Erthanian yard measuring about four inches longer than an Earth yard) above that alluvial plain which stretched all the way to the Fortori Sea some two hundred hoz away. Above him, the cerulean sky was partially covered with wispy, high clouds that appeared as delicate, white brush-strokes across its expansive canvas.

The fellow's raven hair lifted and settled in the gusting breeze as his gray eyes panned the scene with the intensity of a hunting ceatary. And just like that majestic bird of prey, he felt supremely confident that his objective was down there somewhere, and that he would find it. Afterward, what might or might not happen...be it fulfillment or disappointment...was still only an unknown possibility.

From his vantage point, the valley floor appeared as flat as a tabletop, yet he knew from experience that it actually sloped gently away to the east. That ancient alluvial plain consisted primarily of the weathered remnants of the two towering mountain ranges that bordered it...the Yarfane to the north and the Gusweel to the south...and was as rich and fertile ground as any other on the planet. Evidence of that fact could be seen in the thick, lush, deeply green grass that blanketed the turf well beyond the distance of the horizon. And breaking up that emerald carpet were sparse patches of intense violets, yellows, and burgundies...the effulgent wildflowers of the open plains.

Subdividing that beautiful scene of nature's serene magnificence lay the fast-running Sauwani River cutting through the very heart of the valley, winding gently side to side like a giant blue snake as it made its way along toward its final, faraway destination. In that racing fluid, the man could clearly see that Mother Nature had at last begun to release its wintery grip on the highlands to the southwest, as the water carried with it great chunks of ice from those lofty elevations. And even though he was long past those cold environs, and five thousand feet lower than the snowline, the wind coming in from that direction still had a sharp bite to it, encouraging him to get moving once more.

At his back...due west...the twin mountain ranges joined some five hoz away, forming an enormous, impassable box canyon...impassable due to their towering cliffs made of fractured, unstable rock. In that locale, no less than ten waterfalls dropped from the crumbling high walls of those converging landmasses, and the spray from the conjoined fall drifted in the wind sometimes for ten hoz.

Thousands of years of that natural erosive fluid continually plummeting with the full force of Caron's powerful gravitational pull had scoured out dirt and rocky debris six hundred feet deep and created a large lake that extended even to the base of the plateau the man currently stood upon. And around that five hoz long, two hoz-wide body of water was another awesome sight, but it was not one of purely nature's design. He swept his keen gaze slowly along the landscape below and across the valley floor to the far side of the rift, six hoz away, and then quickly ran numbers in his head. Without being able to actually count them, he estimated that there were easily half a million animals grazing on the verdant, never-ending swath of green below. Sheep, goats, pravorts, and horses all shared the bounty of the land equally, in a calm and sedate manner.

However, beasts of those types unfortunately had a certain and inevitable companion that tended to be anything but peaceful...men! And as his eyes took in the scene, causing more computations to blitz across his mind, he estimated there were more than fifty thousand gers down there as well, laid out in ragged rows that roughly followed the banks of the lake and river. And with each ger holding an average family of six, he tallied the likely sum into staggering numbers.

At that particular moment, he could not make out the pennants of those tribesmen's clans because that part of the valley was already deeply shrouded in the shadow of the setting sun. In fact, the day was growing late and all sunlight was fading fast as dusk fell swiftly upon the mountains. But having seen the gathering, he took a calculated guess that this was likely the whole of the nomadic population...or very close to it.

Those wandering folk were hardened, wary people who were a dichotomy of extremes. To their animals and the land, they were patient, careful, and loving, but to every threat, or to their enemies, they were fearsome, savage warriors and brutal marauders.

Many stories drifted across the villages, towns, and cities of the 'civilized' peoples, and in each, the general theme was such; "To be caught alive by those barbarians was a fate far worse than could be imagined!"

The man didn't fear that their scouts would see him however as he kept himself well hidden among the jagged shards of rock that encompassed the area in which he crouched. And that was a good thing too; as such a congregation could no doubt raise a hundred thousand swords against the mere handful of soldiers that traveled with him. Such a clash would be little more than a quick skirmish, he accepted...although he truly doubted their swords would even touch either him or his men because the tribesmen were most well known for their unmatched abilities with the bow and arrow. They would fill the air with flint-tipped bolts of death until every member of his group lay either dead or crippled. Then they would pull their blades and get down to the really gruesome work.

The man watched the scene for the next billot, and as the sun set fully, he saw innumerous fires spring up at so many points that the entire swath of ground lay illuminated like a modern day city. And within that glowing faraway landscape, he observed countless people bustling about, their figures reduced by the distance to tiny dots of movement.

Just then, a heavy roll of thunder tore its way through the heart of the mountains and vibrated the very rock under his feet, and following closely, the audible clap caught up to it and deafened him for a few litas. He twisted his torso around and stared into the darkness for a short while, seeing lightning dancing across the previously invisible peaks with enough power to set them ablaze with its glaring white light.

The man faced east again and let his mind wonder.

"I'm sure they know that a storm is coming," he thought, and then added with a mordant smile; "but they'll never guess what arrives with it!"

With that, the grim fellow stood once more, copied immediately by his men, and then they all began carefully threading their way through the jumbled maze of granite, headed ever downward toward that valley floor. No one spoke. There was no jaunty babble that normally accompanies a band of men who'd grown closer than brothers over the time of their allegiance. In fact, they made almost no sound whatsoever. They moved across the land like a wave of ethereal wraiths.

One hundred and seventeen men in total, those who had survived the unimaginable mission they'd undertaken, made up that small army, and were by far the most gifted soldiers who ever prowled the surface of Erthania. They were fierce to the point of being absolutely inhuman in battle, as so many of their enemies would attest...or at least the few who still lived.

Down to the man, they had no equals in war, for no army had ever been so well trained, so well-appointed with weapons and armor, and so well motivated. But too, each of them knew without a doubt that their leader could match any five of them combined. And while they had all seen him bleed on more than a hundred separate occasions during their years-long tenure with him, they knew he was no mere man. He was myth come to life...a living legend...anointed by the gods and sent down to Erthania by the Guardian himself.

He feared nothing, and he bowed to no one.

He was Ronin Alsone!

### Chapter One

### Visitors

Josylinia Gitove Allison awoke to the sound of a bell ringing in the early morning dawn, as the very first glow of sunlight lit the horizon. Such a sharp, harsh clanging noise at that billot of the day was something that very rarely occurred, and had always meant grave peril, so her heart jumped to a blistering pace in the first instant.

She would normally have leaped out of bed in a flash due to that untimely alarm, but currently she was still heavily laden with two young boys not yet ready for delivery, so it took her some real effort just to roll and scooch over enough to position herself at the edge of her huge divan. When she finally did, she was huffing from the strain.

Josy sat up and planted her dainty feet firmly on the floor, but took a moment to let the blood equalize in her head before setting off because she feared even a moment of dizziness might produce a fall that could endanger her precious cargo. That gave her mother time to race down the stairs and burst into her room before she was up and moving, which was a great relief to the younger woman.

"Mother," Josy began, "What's going on? What's wrong?"

Mishea hurried to her daughter and gripped her left arm tightly, helping her to her feet.

"I don't really know, Josy dear," her mother replied nervously. "But we'll find out about that together...alright? Let's get you dressed first."

"But who rang the alarm?"

"I don't..."

"Mistress Mishea, mistress Josy!" cried a feminine voice from well out in the hallway, her call preceding the 'slap-slap-slap' of her sandaled feet as they approached at a hasty trot.

Both ladies turned toward the doorway, each growing more anxious by the lita. It was twelve-cycle-old Verity...one of the cook's daughters...who was racing toward them.

"Mistress, Mishea...mistress, Josy! Soldiers! Soldiers everywhere! We are surrounded! What do we do? What do we do?"

She was clearly panicked as she slid to a stop and knelt at the feet of the two women, her face in her hands.

"Soldiers?" Josy said, absorbing that concept warily, more out of surprise than fright.

Since the Great War, there had been no aggression toward them whatsoever. In fact, the neighboring town and villages had leaned much the opposite way, conveying upon her family an almost aristocratic prestige. That was due mainly to her deceased lover's status as their victorious leader and legendary hero, but she had seen no alteration to their treatment following his disappearance. However, she also knew that there were many pockets of Caronians who'd just as soon slaughter any of the Kreete who still strode upon the surface of their planet...and their offspring.

Josy was a brave woman and had seen her share of the battles to liberate her homeworld...which she fully accepted was Caron...but in her delicate condition, a cold wave swept through her, and she shook noticeably. The dread showed clearly on her face as she looked into her mother's brilliantly blue eyes, desperate for reassurance.

Mishea had been the wife of a Kreete warrior for forty-five cycles, so it took a great deal more than an alarm to rattle her. She simply began gathering information and immediately started to break it down.

"Who sounded the alarm?" Mishea asked the girl.

"One of the staff did," she replied, lifting her face once more. "I think it might have been Forstere. We had just begun our day and he was walking through the hall, headed to the kitchen...I guess to begin heating up the stove. He smiled at me as he approached and said 'Good morning' and then just stopped all of a sudden, right there in the hall, when he glanced out the window we were passing. I saw his face and followed his gaze, thinking something interesting was happening. Then I ran up here."

"So you've seen them?"

The girl's head nodded vigorously, still staring wide-eyed at the women. "They're everywhere!"

Josy was taking Mishea's calm attitude as a way to steady her own and so she forcibly shook the fear from herself and headed for the balcony of her bedroom.

"Josy...sweetie!" Mishea began to plead. "Don't go out there!"

But her daughter was the wife (or would have been had he remained on Caron) of the most heralded man on the planet. The fear she'd felt was not for herself. It was for the unborn lives inside her. But her mind was also rapidly processing the situation, and her initial instinct was to survey her enemy's strength.

Furthermore, she knew that with her father; Karne, and her brother; Larson, out on patrol, ensuring the territory's laws were being adhered to (written and accepted by Caronians...not Kreete) she and Mishea were virtually helpless if an army was truly surrounding the house. If they wanted in, there would be no stopping them. She figured; "Why delay the inevitable?" She might as well face what was to come. That was straight out of Ron's play-book.

"We need to know what we're up against, Mother," she said flatly.

Out onto the wide second-story veranda she waddled, her swollen belly forcing her normally smooth, graceful stride to adjust. The day was spectacular...a cool, cloudless spring morning with a gentle northern breeze...one that felt almost alive with hope and promise. But when she was halfway to the railing, she saw what the house-girl was talking about. There they were, standing about a hundred feet from the huge home, facing outward...dozens...no, she corrected as she panned the grounds...a couple hundred or more...fully armed warriors ringing the house. They carried bows and long spears, and the spears were held in their right hands, with the butt of each shaft resting upon the ground. And too, she could make out that each had a long scabbard dangling from their waists, with other sharp-edged weapons upon their persons as well, no doubt.

Josy wrinkled her brow in confusion at their stance. It was as though they were positioned as guards...or on some sort of parade arrangement. They seemed to have no interest in the house whatsoever.

Mishea drew up beside her daughter and together they kept walking...slowly...right up to the edge of the balcony. That's when they saw a single person set apart from the others...a woman. She was standing facing the back of the house...the eastern side that is first to be lit up in a new morning.

Obviously she wanted to be seen right away...but for what purpose, they could only guess.

Josy thought that she looked vaguely familiar, but with the sun at her back it was impossible to make out enough of her features to solidify that feeling. When the foreign woman noticed the two ladies movements however, she broke instantly into motion...calmly...and began a relaxed, leisurely approach. She too was heavily armed, which was a very uncommon sight all on its own, but she held her hands out to the sides of her hips with the palms up, signaling that she meant no threat.

Mishea and Josy just watched. Verity stayed inside the house, too afraid to go out. She was hiding behind one of Josy's massive armoires, on her knees and praying to the Guardian to save her.

When the unknown woman was barely twenty feet from the pair above her, Josy suddenly gasped, and then she cut loose one of her most dazzling smiles.

"Terista!" she cried.

The woman below immediately returned her elated grin.

"I thought you might not remember me," she called up.

"Wait right there!" Josy told her. "We're coming down straightaway!"

Then she turned to her mother. "It's Ron's...that is...Kaskle's cousin! From the Aredanz! Come on!"

With that, she headed back inside, towing her bewildered mother alongside her.

Mishea had heard the entire story of Ron's incredible (truly unbelievable) metamorphosis, and how he'd been merged with his Caronian counterpart. But at the end of the war with the Kreete, she'd stayed in the southern medical camp treating the thousands of wounded soldiers and had never actually met the Aredanz warriors who'd so miraculously appeared and saved the day at Huinrag. Therefore she'd never met Terista.

Josy snatched up her robe as they passed through her room and struggled into it as they walked.

On the way down to the main level, Josy quickly refreshed her mother's memory about the story they'd told her afterward.

It took much longer than usual for the pair to work their way out to the back porch, but when they finally did, Josy was beckoning Terista forward vigorously.

"Come up here! Welcome! Welcome!" she called out to the tall, sleek female warrior who stood fully decked-out in the primal accouterments of her fearsome people.

Terista wore a sword at her left hip and a long dagger at her right. A quiver of arrows lay strapped across her back, filled with fifty deadly bolts. She carried a longbow in her left hand, but it was unstrung at present...the only sign that she was not ready to wage war at any moment. Her attire was made of some animal's hide, and was fashioned into a halter top to corral her modest breasts, a skirt that fell to mid-thigh, and a pair of sandals that laced all the way up her calves.

Her body was tanned, toned, and hard...with muscles clearly defined at her bare mid-section, and she was tall and wide across the shoulders for a woman. She looked as impressive as she undoubtedly was, with her dark-brown hair flying wildly in the gentle breeze.

Terista grinned madly at her and hurried over to and up the wide steps where she embraced the brunette beauty who'd won her countryman's heart. Josy was certain she was still convinced that Ron had actually been her cousin, Kaskle Dangarth. Of course, technically, he was.

"How are you, Josylinia?" she asked when her lips were next to Josy's ear. "And, congratulations!"

They pulled back, still smiling excitedly at one another.

"I'm fine," Josy replied, passing her hands lovingly over her huge middle. "We're fine."

Then Terista turned to Mishea.

"Good day to you, Mishea Gitove," she said, tilting her head and shoulders in a slight bow of respect. "I hope that you and your giant husband are well?"

Mishea was surprised, and showed it.

"Why yes," she said, "yes we are. Thank you. But we've never met. How do..."

Terista gave her a slight shake of her head and waved her hand.

"Ron and I spoke at length when he visited the Aredanz, and so it wasn't difficult to recognize such a staggeringly beautiful woman as you. His description was absolutely perfect."

Mishea blushed at the complement, but she was also a well-practiced hostess, so she motioned for Terista to join them on one of the sets of benches and chairs scattered across the broad, full-length porch.

Once they were settled, the kitchen help brought out breakfast dishes, food, and drinks for all. At that point, Terista immediately began an explanation for her visit, and the purpose of the great number of soldiers she'd brought with her.

"I imagine that the sight of our warriors right outside your lovely home this morning has caused somewhat of a stir in your lives?"

Mishea and Josy gave her two sweet, identical smiles, but left it at that. Obviously it was a rhetorical question.

"I felt it was better to be open about our presence, so that your soldier husband and son would not misjudge our intent. If we had been discovered covertly approaching, it could have led to a conflict.

"But I concluded that they are most assuredly out on patrol when we were not immediately confronted upon arrival. And by now, I imagine that you realize we mean you absolutely no harm. In fact our visit has turned into an imperative mission of the exact opposite."

Josy and her mother exchanged a very quick, questioning flick of their eyes at one another, but remained calm and placid, waiting for this foreign relative of Ron's to continue.

Terista, of course, caught those furtive glances.

"To clarify," she continued, "we have come to offer our protection."

Josy was taken aback.

"Protection?" she asked. "From whom...or what?"

"From all manner of threat...be it men, or beasts, or even nature itself."

"I...don't understand."

Terista was sitting very calmly, as if she were as safe as a person could be, which she was with her two-hundred-man army surrounding her, but the two ladies before her could see the concern in her eyes.

"Well, when we first set out on our journey, it was to be at you and Ron's wedding this spring, but once we reached the eastern side of the Taerdrasseg Mou..."

Right then she realized the huge, callous blunder she'd just made.

"Oh shart! Forgive me, Josy...please," she said suddenly, sitting up bolt-right before snapping to her feet. "I have been so focused on explaining our purpose here that I completely forgot."

She then dropped to one knee and bowed her head deeply.

"Josylinia Gitove, I wish to offer my most heartfelt and sincere condolences for the loss of your betrothed. I truly cannot imagine the feelings you've had to endure, but I assume it has been a daunting task to carry on. I know better than most what you meant to him and what he meant to you."

Josy had stayed calm when she brought up the subject of the wedding that would never be...having adjusted to her new future over the past many santaris...but found that statement just a bit curious considering how briefly Ron and she had interacted with his cousin.

"We received the tragic news four santaris ago, but it is a long and arduous journey and this is as quickly as we could make the trip. I guess I just became used to the fact of his..."

Josy slid off her chair and knelt with Terista...not an easy thing to do in her condition. She took the woman's hands firmly in hers.

"Thank you, Terista. Thank you very much. And yes it has been extremely difficult. But you have nothing to apologize for. As you said, much time has passed since the...event...and we have all made adjustments. And these two," she said with a warm smile, sweeping her hand over her swollen girth, "have kept me company and his memory fresh and alive, so it hasn't been all sadness and pain."

Terista's expression softened once more with that news.

"That's good. "I'm happy to hear it. And that brings me back to my former statement."

Terista helped Josy back into her seat and then returned to her own.

"When we first heard," she paused just a moment, as if recalling the moment with stark poignancy, "we searched out confirmation through our closest contacts...Ron's friends in Lampsh. At that point I knew that the time had come, so I returned to our home and conveyed the story to our elders. They then put me on a new mission of unparalleled importance...this one."

That caused the Gitove ladies' interest to rise to a whole new level.

"You see, the Piercellione have entrenched beliefs that go back hundreds of cycles, back to the time when the Aredanz Mountains were first discovered and settled by our ancestors. Those traditions, legends, and customs are firmly tied to a single fantastic warrior...a name you may be familiar with. Most people call him, Ronin Alsone."

"Really?" Josy blurted. She looked to her mother again, and then back at Terista. "You know of the legends of Ronin? How? I thought he came from a place south of the Great Divide, beyond the Yeacalla Mountains...not the Aredanz."

Terista nodded her agreement.

"Yes, you are correct, Josy. He did begin his journey in the far south, beyond the towering heights that separate these northern lands from those foreign ones. But once he'd discovered the route through that barrier, he did the same thing to find his way through the Taerdrasseg Mountain Range as well. It was a mission that encompassed decades, but Ronin Alsone himself led our people from their native mountains in the far south to the lands we now call home. He was the founder of the five clans...of us all."

"That is not part of the legends we've heard thus far, Terista," Mishea added, looking to her daughter for confirmation. Josy was shaking her head as well.

Terista smiled and shook hers too, but just slightly. "No. But that was his way...according to our legends. He never wished his name to be exalted or held in reverence of any kind. He simply wished to live and love and defend his people."

"But wait," Josy suddenly chirped. "How long have your people lived there...in the Aredanz?"

Terista smiled a small inquisitive smile, like she knew where the black-haired beauty was heading.

"Approximately five hundred and forty cycles."

"Then it couldn't have been Ronin who forged the trail through the vast underground maze of the mountains."

Terista looked at Josy intensely, seeing something in her eyes...a kind of certainty.

"And why would you say that?"

"Because I know that he was in Erthania eight hundred cycles before that!"

"Really?" Terista continued, leaning forward a tiny bit more, as if waiting for confirmation about some specific fact. "And just exactly how is it that you 'know' this?"

"I...well...that is...I..."

She glanced over to her mother for support, wondering how much she should divulge.

Mishea answered her unspoken request.

"How much do you know about the heavens, Terista...and about beings from other worlds?" Mishea queried.

Terista's brow furrowed pointedly. "We obviously know that the Kreete were not of this world, and Ron did his best to explain some of those things to me and to our elders, but I must admit that most of it was difficult to follow...and even harder to understand."

"Well, for you to follow this part of the tale, you'll have to stretch your beliefs even further.

"You see, we...Josy and I...were not born on this world. Our planet is very far away and our species is one with rather unique gifts...hers and mine. We have certain abilities that have defied the accepted norms of most races...even the more advanced ones."

Terista sat a bit more forward, her attention very focused.

"You see, we can link our spirits...our karma...our souls, if you will...to another, if the connection between us is powerful enough. In that capacity, we can...at times...feel when our loved one, or ones, are in great distress, have suffered some terrible tragedy, or have died.

"Josy collapsed at the very moment that her beloved's...that is, Ron's...ship disappeared from this existence. It's as if a piece of her own heart...her soul...her physical energy...had been literally ripped from her. My husband was out there near Ron when it happened, thousands of light-cycles away in deep space, while we were here on Caron. And being one who seeks truth and knowledge in all matters, especially those he cannot empirically reproduce, he searched out the timeline in the Raulden data-base and compared it to that of the chronology here. The two events were indeed simultaneous!"

Terista was duly impressed with that announcement, and the dazed expression on her face showed it. She had never truly believed in such abilities before, but now...

"So the stories are true," she whispered, her thoughts drifting off for a few moments.

"Stories?" Josy inquired.

Terista returned her focus to the present and shook her head to clear it.

"Oh, yes...you know...stories from the elders about certain people having visions about past monumental events, or even of what will occur in the future."

"Like the fact that Ronin Alsone came down from the heavens into the northern lands of Erthania in a giant black egg, when the most famous king of Heraitey; Renni Deaton, was only a baby?"

Terista's mouth hung open in sudden shock.

"But h-h-h-how...?" she stammered. "How could you possibly know that? The legends don't speak of that! That story is only for us...for the..."

Now it was Josy and Mishea who leaned forward, holding their breaths.

"Who?" Josy asked after a long moment of anxious silence.

Terista shook her head and clamped her jaw shut. "No, I'm sorry, but you first. How could you know that specific detail?"

Josy again looked at her mother, a clear appeal for permission.

Mishea nodded firmly, and then clarified the hesitation to Terista.

"Please understand, Terista. My species has been hunted and exploited for thousands of generations because of the abilities we have just discussed. We still are, as a matter of fact...out in the galaxy...the heavens...that is. So it is simply a reaction of fear of being discovered, and cynicism for what that might mean to our futures that holds our tongues.

"But I do not worry about that with you. You have more than proven you can be trusted, with your allegiance to us and to Ron...of which I thank you most deeply."

Terista bowed her head in respect, and then looked at Josy. Her gaze was filled with wonder.

"I was there," Josy told her plainly. "Just as clearly as I am here with you...only...it wasn't me."

Terista wrinkled her brow again, this time with confusion.

"I could see what was happening through Ron's eyes...and hear with his ears! It was as if I were inside his head, except I couldn't hear his thoughts."

Terista was mesmerized by then, inching herself even closer to Josy.

Josy then described everything she could recall of the dream...no, not a dream...the 'experience' she'd had. Terista barely moved...barely breathed.

When the tale was done, the Aredanz warrior-woman slowly slid back on her chair until her shoulders felt the seat pressing firmly against them. "It's all true then!" she whispered in a breathless exhalation. "I'd believed, of course...mostly out of pride and reverence...but it was too fantastic a story to be actually... But now. May the Guardian forgive me! It's true. Every word of it is true!"

Josy and Mishea got the distinct impression that although this woman, blood kin to Ron's alter-ego; Kaskle, had been told the ancient tale by people she no doubt trusted, she had not truly accepted the complete validity of Ron's...that is, Ronin's...advent.

Her arms hung limply at her sides for a long while, and she appeared overwhelmed as her mind spun, but then suddenly that period of introspection had passed. Her eyes alit with their previous fire as she returned her focus to the here and now. She smiled grandly and all the animation of her hardy, energetic personality sprang back to life.

"Wow!" she said as if a totally new and wonderful clarity had just been conveyed upon her most ardent beliefs...as well it had. "That is unbelievable! But of course, I believe you completely! I meant to say 'phenomenal'! That story was never so intricate, so powerful, so passionate!

"Thank you, Josy! Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome, of course. But now it's my turn. How is it that _you_ know the story...if it is not commonly part of the legend of Ronin?"

Terista smiled back at the two Gitove women with a broad grin.

"It just so happens that I am one of the 'Keepers'...an historian of the truth about our peoples' heritage...our very existence. We listen to the elders who came before us, learn the stories to perfection, and pass them down through the generations. I heard that tale from my father when I was young, and many times since then. Although, like I said...much of it was left out. I now carry that task onward to my own children, and they will to theirs, to make certain that the legend...the truth...of Ronin Alsone and what he did for us, is never forgotten."

"That's a noble feat and a huge responsibility, Terista," Mishea said. "Were you chosen for the position because of your intelligence, or exceptional memory?"

Terista kicked her head left and right in a quick rocking motion.

"Possibly, I suppose, but it is part of the duty of those who are direct descendants of Ronin."

Both Mishea's and Josy's brows shot up at that profession.

"Direct descendants?" Josy said. "Really?"

"Yes. Although I don't have the outward features of him...having dark eyes and being a woman and all...I can claim that heritage. A careful record of the 'Great One's' offspring has been followed down through the ages, through hundreds of marriages, as you might expect. My birth is clearly recorded among them.

"Most other Keepers are men, and those typically have his gray eyes, his solid jaw, and even occasionally, some of his remarkable physical abilities. It is rather rare, they say, but every few generations seem to produce a near duplicate copy of the real Ronin...or at least so I've been told. Like with Kaskle."

Josy and her mother took a few long moments to imagine the passing on of his traits down through the millennia since he was so unceremoniously dumped on Nevari's border.

"That's the beauty of genetics," Mishea told her, patting Josy's hand lightly and leaning over and pressing her shoulder to her daughter's for emotional support.

Although Josy wished with all her heart to have been able to live the entirety of her life at Ron's side, and to watch their children play and grow up with his guidance...even hoping to one day see their grandchildren...it was a small measure of relief to believe that he was not alone in that ancient world, that possibly he'd even been happy. Jealousy never even entered her mind.

"That brings me to the real reason we've come here, Josylinia...these soldiers and I, that is. I would have made the trip just to convey my deepest sympathies, of course, but my sworn duty to our people has added a weighty assignment to the visit as well. These two hundred men...forty from each of the five clans...have made the long journey at the behest of our councils of elders...the most revered minds of our people...to ensure that nothing prevents me from carrying on the wishes of our ancestors. It is a simple, and yet at times, complicated, edict. And now...since learning of this newest development...I have decided that directive has become two-fold.

"First is stated as such; 'Safely deliver an item of utmost reverence to Ronin's chosen mate...three cycles following the Great War (the war against the flying giants) when Ronin is proclaimed 'disappeared' and presumed dead. The second is one I have just decided...since seeing you in your condition...is even more important. That new directive is to protect the most prized beings in all the world...you and the pure heir of Ronin himself...that tiny person inside you."

Josy was dazed by that proclamation, but the mother in her couldn't keep herself from raising two fingers while she cradled her huge belly.

Terista's eyes flared wide. "Twins?" she asked.

Josy nodded and smiled all the more.

"That's fantastic!" Terista grinned back at her.

"But I really don't understand, Terista," Mishea interjected. Her mind had been racing along frantically. "How could you possibly have known that Ron was the true Ronin...even now? Who could even fathom the notion that he would be somehow transported back to ancient Caron? No one on this primitive planet could possibly actually comprehend time travel."

"We didn't have to." Terista replied frankly. "As I've said, everything we know...or believe...has all been passed down through the ages."

Josy and Mishea were confused, as was evident by their expressions.

"Let me explain. You see, when I was a young girl...just ten cycles old...I was bitten by a basille spider. The venom in them is very potent and my entire village was certain I would die. But Cangor Milike...our chief...merely dismissed that worry, like he already knew I would recover fully. I lay there for a week, fighting against the poison while the village doctor...Lashalz...kept vigil over me, making sure I had water, and feeding me medicinal broths. Once I was able to rise again, my great uncle...Vican...Kaskle's grandfather, by the way...who was also my tutor for the important lessons of Ronin's life...walked with me around the village, just to keep me company while I got some fresh air. Now believe me, he was not one to loiter about and waste time wandering around with a sick child, so I was really surprised, and deeply moved.

"I thought surely I was going to die, Uncle," I remember telling him. My legs were shaking just from the strain of the stroll, so weak had I become.

"We were near the center of our village then and I was feeling a little woozy, so I took a seat next to a large fire pit that we always kept burning. Vican sat next to me, always so calm and patient. He was also our shaman...our clan's mystic and spiritual ambassador."

Terista took a moment then and smiled lightly, as if a parallel memory had just drifted across her mind.

"You know," she said. "Every person in our clan trusted that man emphatically, without hesitation. He had visions, much like what you describe...although they were different. His were about the future. He predicted the coming of the Kreete. He taught us all how to avoid their flying machines, how to hide from them, and how to kill them. He was one of those people who elicited respect...and even awe...simply in his tranquil demeanor. And to my knowledge, I never knew anyone who'd ever seen his face."

Josy and Mishea exchanged curious looks.

Terista smiled at them. "It's not as mysterious as all that. I was told that when he was young, he was horribly disfigured in a fight with a greel, so he always wore a thin shroud under his cloak, or his hat...depending on the weather...to keep from disturbing others.

"He made a prophetic announcement to me that day...one which stayed burned in my memory so vividly that I can still smell the smoke from the fire we sat beside while he said it.

"'One day, Terista, many cycles in the future, you will find yourself in grave danger in a faraway city on the eastern side of the Great Mountains,' he had said.

"That, in and of itself, seemed extremely odd as no one I'd ever heard of had ventured beyond the Aredanz mountains...and there were no cities that we knew of on our side."

"'When all hope has left you, and you are certain that death is mere moments away, a mighty soldier will appear out of nowhere and help you vanquish your opponent and escape. That man will deny any attempts you might make to identify him, and will be very convincing about it...but he will be none other than Ronin Alsone himself...the true, original Ronin."

"But Uncle, all the tales of Ronin were in ancient times," I told him. "How could he be here...now?"

""The Guardian has powers no mortal man can understand, Little One...and he wields them for reasons of his own. We simple men can question his motives amongst ourselves, but he rarely reveals them to us.

""At any rate...back to what I was saying;

""Ronin will be on a great quest of personal, monumental importance, and will send you away...send you home, in fact...and you will not wish to go...but please listen to me now, sweet girl...and do what I tell you without fail. No matter how much you want to stay, how much you want to follow him and give him your assistance...you 'must' heed his instructions and come home.'"

Terista then stared at Josy.

"Ron told you the story of how we met, surely?"

Josy recalled the long, harrowing tale of how Ron had gone to Mardesh during his search for Cache, when he'd first arrived on Caron...and about how he'd joined forces with Terista in the fighting pit. They'd escaped the city and crossed the river...right under the noses of the Kreete...before parting ways.

"Yes, I remember. But he said you were convinced he was your cousin...Kaskle."

"Yes," Terista replied, shaking her head softly, as if recalling a silly joke. "I did say that. But then I had to say something because I just kept staring at him. I was so excited, and honored, and...well...mesmerized. After all, he was _Ronin_... _the_ Ronin...the most gifted warrior who ever lived! I didn't understand how he was there at the time, or why it was me who'd been chosen by the Creator to meet him, but I knew it was him...beyond even what Vican had told me. I just knew it.

"And beside all that, we'd just waged mortal combat with a fully grown vorax, fought our way through a dozen armed, armored guards, escaped a horrible, corrupt city through secret underground tunnels, slipped past two Kreete patrols, and yet...somehow...he strolled along like it was simply any other summer's evening. I was in absolute awe!"

Josy smiled sweetly, with a mournful look upon her face. "Yes, that does sound like him."

"And, Josy...please forgive me if this is improper...but could the Guardian have created a more beautiful man?"

Josy instantly broke out in a smile that clearly showed how much she agreed with her guest.

"Anyway," Terista said, returning to her story. "Vican then went on to explain to me that Ronin's story was far from over at that point, and that it was extremely important that I not divulge a shred of the information I'd been privy to. Ronin's choices and decisions...and, unfortunately, his hardships and pains...must be allowed to unfold naturally, without interference. He went on to tell me about the Great War that was looming in Caron's future, and some of the Piercellione's part in it. And then he explained about this very mission, one that I was to undertake personally when word of Ronin's tragic 'disappearance' in the heavens at last reached us. That was the hinge-pin to the timing, he said. All the rumors of his being slain in some conflict or other were of no consequence...only the one of his 'vanishing' out in the heavens. That was the key to releasing this impossibly long-awaited secret.

"We...that is, the Keepers...have learned some of the highlights of Ronin's life...back in the past...but the entire story was meant to be delivered to the only person who could interpret it; you, Josylinia Gitove Allison. It is in the form a book, written more than a thousand cycles ago for you...to you."

Josy's mouth dropped open, so stunned she couldn't speak.

"Across countless hoz, this story has traveled," Terista continued. "Across the ages, it has waited for this moment. You see, Josy, his life, his adventures, his very purpose for being sent back to the beginning can never be forgotten because it is all in this manuscript, and is in much greater detail than we could have ever memorized!"

### Chapter Two

### It's Time!

Once again, the two Gitove women sat like statues...speechless...in complete shock. After nearly an entire bort, Josy fought her way back to animation.

"Written down in a book, you say?" she asked, still reeling. "By whom?"

"We don't know."

"And you have this book?"

"It is with us here, now, on this farm."

"And it's about Ron's life?"

"Yes. It is the story of what happened after Ronin's dramatic arrival to the 'before' time...about how he survived during a period of desperation, fear, suspicion, treachery, and terrible suffering. As far as its author, I was told it is a compilation of several people's interaction with Ronin over many cycles."

"And you have read this book?" Mishea inquired. "Is that how you know?"

Terista shook her head firmly. "No. I have never read it. No one has for untold generations. As I have said, I only know the stories handed down from my forefathers. It is written in a language that was lost to us hundreds of cycles ago. But, if I am correct...and I have absolutely no reason to doubt that I am...you, Josylinia, will be able to read it."

Josy fell silent once more, her mind whirring along at break-neck speed.

"Me?" she finally blurted. "But...how? I don't know any ancient Caronian languages."

"Inside the cover of this book are all your names, Josylinia, Mishea, Karne, and Larson Gitove, as well as Cache Kuar. They are all listed there in our present-day Caronian script...as well as a map of the location of your home. That is how we knew where to find you. All of us Keepers have carried this one message down through the long centuries; "Josylinia Gitove is the key"."

"But how could I read a Caronian language that you...his descendant...cannot?"

As a reply, Terista then stood up and walked to the edge of the porch. Once there, she gave a short series of whistles that got two men moving. One of them was carrying a large pack across his shoulders. It looked weighty as he trotted over. The other fellow was his personal guard, sworn to protect the book from any aggressor, even if it meant his life.

"General," the men said in unison when they'd reached the steps. Terista motioned for the one with the pack to turn around and she fished out a large, leather-bound book from it.

"Thank you, Norstis and Sirey."

The men then set off again to return to the perimeter, their weapons at the ready.

Terista approached Josy again, holding the huge document as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever carried. She bent downward and placed it flat on Josy's thighs with her head bowed low.

"I have now fulfilled one of my life's most important journeys, as I swore to Vican and the Council of Elders that I would," she said reverently.

Josy would have queried her about that statement, not understanding how delivering this ancient text could have been so important, if she hadn't been frozen in place by the words on the cover. They were engraved in bold print, hammered deeply into the thick leather cover by some expert craftsman, possibly even by Ron himself. And the language was one that was totally foreign to any race on Caron...one Ron had taught her during their brief, wonderful time together. Beneath that large title was another, smaller version of the same thing, written in Caronian script so that those who carried it would know without a doubt what lay inside. They both said; 'The True Story of Ronin Alsone of Erthania'.

Josy's fingers traced the lines of each of the words carefully, one at a time, and tears dripped onto the hallowed cover as she was overcome with emotion. Mishea wrapped her arm about her little girl's shoulders and held onto her.

After a few borts, Josy wiped the salty wetness from her face and opened the book slowly, cautiously...almost as if she were expecting it to jump at her. Inside the cover was indeed a list of all their names and the map Terista had told them about. She looked at it carefully, noting the text, the style, and the tilt of the letters. Ron had written those names himself with quill and ink, and had drawn the map. Her fingers slid down the thick material in a manner that showed the veneration she herself felt. Then her eyes shifted to the right.

When the first page lay before her, she instantly realized that it had not been written by Ron, as it had none of his scrawling trademarks. It was penned with a delicate hand...undoubtedly by a woman...in very small script. And again, it was in Earth English.

It was a title page with a brief acknowledgement, and Josy read it out loud.

"Ronin Alsone of Erthania"

"This is the tale of a remarkable man...a story that he affirms will live on for at least three-hundred plus a thousand years. How it will ever get to where it is intended is totally up to the Creator himself, so I will not delve on that.

It is written as absolute fact, without need for embellishment or falsehoods. It is the combination of two private journals and literally dozens of first-hand interviews, as well as the word of the man himself.

"I have substituted some of your measurements of time and distance for ours so that it might be easier for you to follow. However, you will note that we say 'week' instead of 'torjourne', and 'year' instead of 'cycle'.

"You will undoubtedly notice that there are some odd breaks in the story, and I apologize for that, but gaps occurred at times when the events had no witnesses to fill in those periods and the man himself was unwilling to provide the details. After all, he was a fellow of few words, and many times preferred his privacy.

"I am a part of the story, but my name is of little consequence, really, and will be forgotten soon enough, as it should be. This story is his...one of incredible, unbelievable actions, events, and achievements, yet they are all undeniably true. I could have simply let it all fade away into legend and song, but I am just too proud of him and his life to allow that to happen. He was that kind of man.

"I loved him to my very core, and cherished every moment we were together...and I know that he loved me as well...very much. However, no matter the tenderness he showed me, nor the family he gave me...the great times we shared, and the passion...I know that his heart was never wholly mine.

"His truest love was for another...a woman torn from him by the Guardian himself in a tragic miracle only a god could perform. He used to call out her name in his sleep when he would dream of a former, equally spectacular life. Sometimes...very rarely, I admit...I could coax a bit of it out of him, just enough so that I know with certainty beyond faith that he was not of my time...nor from my world.

"That he would never have chosen to give up that life to be here with me does not cause me distress or remorse either. He was sent here for a purpose...and he chose to be with me while he was here. That is good enough for me.

"To his one true love...the Goddess; Josylinia Azmalla Copella Gitove. Ronald James Allison, from the planet Earth, did not die out in the vast voids between worlds. He survived by the grace of the Creator, and was sent here...more than thirteen hundred years into his (and your) past...to a foreign people in a foreign land.

"From the perspective of someone who would rather know than wonder, I write this for you, Josylinia, to fill in the missing period of his life you thought had come to an end...so that you will know too...and for whomever else you choose to share it with.

"And on a personal note: Josylinia Gitove, I envy you with every shred of my being."

Josy barely finished that statement before her emotions overwhelmed her. With trembling hands she slammed the book shut hard and doubled over, leaning heavily into her mother's embrace. There she began sobbing uncontrollably while profound sorrow for the life she'd been denied fought against the intense appreciation she felt for this strange, ancient woman. It was a titanic battle...one that sparked a totally different and unexpected reaction.

In a lurching, gasping spasm, the large, heavy text was propelled to the porch's decking as Josy suddenly surged forward and fell to her knees, her hands wrapping her belly tightly...and then she screamed!

Fluid immediately began pooling between her knees and Mishea leaped into action. "FIORONA!" she bellowed in a voice no one would have believed was hers, before dropping down next to Josy to help stabilize her. She then snatched the book from the wooden planks and passed it hastily off to Terista.

"This will have to wait!"

Terista set it up onto the bench as she too knelt beside Josy. "Ease her down, Mishea, and try to get her legs out from under her."

Josy fought the need to scream again, grunting instead in a long, high-pitched, whimpering exhalation. The powerful contraction felt as if it was ripping her in half, so she followed the urging of her mother and slowly slipped downward, sideways, until her head was in Mishea's lap. Then Terista gently coaxed her into an even better position...one that she knew from experience would ease the tremendous pressure in her womb.

Fiorona Gelling was the most experienced midwife in the area and had been staying with them for the past santari, waiting for this exact time. She ran out to them moments later and immediately examined the young woman. Then, when the initial pains had subsided, the three of them all helped Josy to her feet and into the house.

In the main-floor bathing room, there was a large, thick mat on the floor beside the huge, Kreete-sized tub, so after the next round of contractions had run their course, they laid her on it and began the birthing process. It went much the same as it would have on Earth, and in less than thirty borts, Fiorona checked her again and smiled.

"It looks like it's finally time, Mistress Josy," the wizened old woman said in as calm a voice as she could manage. The trio of women then eased Josy gently into the tub which had just been filled to the halfway point with warm water. Josy let out a huge sigh as the buoyancy provided a wonderful relief to her over-stressed body.

Less than a billot later, the first of the twins was out and taking his initial breaths of life. He was a healthy boy with ten fingers and ten toes, and a full head of jet-black hair.

With the practiced expertise of many cycles of handling various blades, Terista drew one of her many knives to sever the child's umbilical cord before tying it off. Then she held him right next to Josy and checked him very carefully while his mother continued the struggle.

Another fifteen borts brought his brother into the world, and a proud grandmother examined him as Terista had done to his sibling, while gently cleaning and kissing his tiny head. She didn't take too much time however before slipping him into her daughter's open arms where Josy lay back, drained and wilted, but filled with an immense upwelling of happiness. The brand new mother said hello to her second son and kissed his little face before shifting him to her open breast where he immediately began gorging himself like his brother.

Mishea then assisted Fiorona on the final necessities of the ordeal. She herself had given birth in state-of-the-art Kreete medical facilities when each of her children were born and so had been spared all but the slightest inconveniences of the process. Now she was determined to make sure that nothing plagued her daughter afterward either. But her worry was unwarranted. Josy was a model patient and came through it all with as much ease as one could expect in that primitive setting.

"Have you decided on names yet," Terista inquired of Josy after the trio had been cleaned, dried, and settled onto a large couch, next to the home's central fireplace. The entire house staff was hovering about them, oohing and aahing at the tiny babies.

The new mother pulled her mesmerized gaze away from her little family and smiled over at her guest.

"This one," she said, juggling the first one to emerge, "will be named after his father; Ronald James. I feel that's the least I can do for the man I loved."

Terista nodded her approval, smiling sweetly and hooking one of his tiny hands with her pinky.

"Well-well!" she said, with her eyes widening. "He's got a good grip!"

They both chuckled over that for a moment.

"And this little guy?"

"This," Josy said, turning her head to little-Ron's sibling, "is Kaskle."

She flicked her eyes up to meet Terista's just then, and caught the surprise she'd expected.

"Kaskle Balstare. I believe that was his given name?"

Terista nodded to her slowly, their gazes locked on one another.

"I...I...don't know what to say."

"I...that is...we...owe everything to Kaskle, after all. If it hadn't been for him, Ron would never have come to Caron."

Terista placed her hand over her heart, deeply touched by Josy's gesture.

"We of the Rokore Clan are incredibly honored, Josylinia," she said bowing her head in respect.

Everyone flitted about in a state of euphoria all morning, with each member of the household taking turns peeking in at the new family members at every chance. There was a great deal of talk about sending runners to Thackere to spread the wonderful news, but Terista cautioned against that for the time being.

"Josy," she advised, "until your father and brother return, or you are able to ride, I would wait to make the announcement...just in the off-chance that you might need to make a hasty exit. I truly doubt that any force could make it through our Aredanz army, but I see no real need to test that belief either."

Josy wanted to dismiss her warning, not able to fathom why anyone would wish to threaten her innocent little angels, but she was also wise about the ways of the world. Her family was known far and wide to be wealthy...and even contemplating the thought of her children being kidnapped or threatened made her stomach twist.

She ended up nodding her acceptance of Terista's hesitance.

"We'll wait a week or so."

Three days later though, at midday under a wonderful, cloud-mottled sky, all their worries vanished when one of the Piercellione came racing up to the house searching for Terista. They spoke quickly in low voices and then he headed off again before she turned to the Gitove women and passed on the scout's news. Karne and Larson were back!

Mishea, Josy, Terista, and Fiorona all made their way out to the porch and took seats there. Josy was vibrating with elation and exhilaration. She knew that Karne had been growing more and more excited about meeting his grandchildren and she especially wanted to see his expression in the bright daylight.

The two massive Kreete warriors rode in at a slow trot, never wanting to over-exert their mounts unless necessary...so that the beasts might always be ready to fight. But as the pair drew within a quarter hoz of the house, the women could see that something was up, just by their actions.

Karne kept swinging his head from left to right, as if he were trying to see something that wasn't there. Larson too felt the uneasiness that his father exuded and mimicked his cautious movements.

At one instant, the gargantuan Reaper-class warrior even pulled his horse up hard and whirled about abruptly, searching the tree-line behind them, as well as the far-reaching fields of buonta bean bushes that stretched on at either side for more than a hoz.

When he drew alongside his son again, the two exchanged a simple glance, and then they both spurred their horses into a mad gallop, headed straight for the magnificent home. Mishea leaped to her feet at that and scampered over to the edge of the porch, now scanning the farmhouse's grounds with equal fervor.

Karne and Larson wrenched back on the reins of their beasts at fifty yards out and leaped to the ground in one swift, elegant move, their swords bared in one hand and a loaded crossbow in the other. They then moved toward the house back-to-back, covering their approach as if a horde of enemy soldiers were just out of reach.

"What is it, Baushe?" Mishea called to her husband, still straining to see whatever had him so worked up.

"Get into the house, Mishea!" he ordered back at her without looking.

Terista had remained totally calm, but she leaned over to Josy and whispered; "That's very impressive."

Josy furrowed her brow in confusion. "What?"

"Your father has somehow detected the Aredanz men...a feat I would have thought quite impossible. It is no wonder he has lived so long."

"Why?" Mishea was querying to her giant husband. "What is it?"

"I don't know, Sweetheart," he growled back at her in his insanely deep voice. "I just feel like...like..."

"You're surrounded?" Terista piped up sharply.

Karne didn't whirl around on her, even though he was surprised by her words, but he did flick his eyes over to see who she was...and when he recognized her apparel, his gaze went back out to the land...and then it clicked. He took a deep breath, drew up to his full nine foot height, and stowed his weapons.

"Stand down, son," he grumbled to Larson, slapping the gargantuan fellow hard on the shoulder. "They are not a threat."

Larson did as his father said, restoring his blade to its sheath before they turned together to face the porch...and then they both froze!

It took a few long moments to comprehend the sight before them, but when they did, they both broke out in broad, hideous grins.

In two strides from their five-foot-long legs, they were on the porch and dropping to their knees at Josy's feet, their eyes locked on the two miniscule people cradled in her arms.

Karne reached out with his gigantic, seven-digited hands and pleaded; "May I?"

Josy returned his grin, seeing only the father she adored, and not the massive, grotesque creature his genetic enhancements had created.

"Of course, Father," she replied, and then she passed them both to him.

The babies were awake, but quiet, their eyes moving around nonstop, and they didn't make a peep when she handed them off.

Terista was totally captivated. To a normal-sized man, Josy would likely have given one to Karne and the other to Larson, so as not to encumber him. But to this supreme warrior of the once undefeatable Kreete Triad, she placed both of her boys in the broad bowl of his two basket-sized hands, and they fit easily.

They lay there quite still; completely calm as he studied them closely...and then he spoke.

"Hello little-ones," he said softly...at least softly for him. But his voice vibrated the air with such a powerful resonance that it must have tickled them as they both broke out in laughter, their hands waving madly at him.

Karne tried that out a dozen more times before he thought to share one with his own boy, and then the family spent the next two billots playing with them as if none of them had ever seen a newborn child in their lives.

The excitement finally ended when the babies decided they needed to eat again, and their mother quickly jumped into action.

Larson then slipped into one of the porch chairs...a bench to humans...but Karne was still on his knees, gazing in wonder at his baby girl. It was tremendously satisfying to see this new stage in her life. Then, after another short while had drifted by, his silver orbs finally swung over to their guest.

Terista had remained quiet and outwardly calm during that entire time, even when his phenomenally intimidating gaze bored into her. Inside though, she felt a powerful twinge of anxiety. That enormous fellow could kill her before she could even react, and she knew it. But Ron trusted him completely, so she'd already decided she would also.

He kicked his head to the side in a fast flicking motion.

"They're with you, I suppose?"

"Yes," she replied. She was somewhat familiar with Karne, wholly because of the conversations with Ron during his trip to the Aredanz. From those, she knew he preferred simple, direct answers.

"Why?" he growled. There was no attempt at subtlety in the massive creature.

"Baushe!" Mishea hissed at him.

Terista was not offended in the least. In fact, she felt much as he did. Blunt and to the point was good.

"We received word that Ron had...vanished."

Karne found her carefully chosen terminology very intriguing.

"We have come to pay our respects for your loss, to deliver a gift...and since we arrived and learned that his wife was with child...we are here to protect them. And before you find offense, we know that you are more than capable, but we also know that you are away for long periods. We cannot take that chance."

"She 'knows', my love," Mishea added, filling in the blanks that she knew her husband was thinking even before he glanced her way. "She knows more than even we do."

Karne looked over at his daughter. "The vision? It was all true?"

Josy nodded, her hands still gently stroking her babies' heads while they nursed.

The former Reaper Class soldier then stood before Terista, and bowed his head once.

"Then please allow me to extend my thanks for you and your men. Do you have accommodations?"

She smiled lightly, her breath much more relaxed.

"Yes, Karne. Thank you. We are forest people, so we have taken up areas in the surrounding woods. We will not disturb your lives or the workings of your farm."

"When you need staples, please allow me to assist you," Karne told her. "Thackere is nearby and should be able to keep your warriors well stocked. Just mention my name and they may have whatever they require. I will cover any costs as my way of saying thank you. And they may train in the eastern fields."

Karne knew that soldiers as famed as the Piercellione would wish to keep their abilities sharp, and so would need regular practice.

"You are very gracious," Terista replied, bowing her own head in mutual respect.

Karne then did something he'd only ever seen Ron do. He held out his hand to her.

Terista got to her feet and grasped his expansive paw, her fingers barely reaching around two of his giant digits. It was a monumentally surreal moment for both of them.

Over the following weeks, the family was in a constant state of excitement. The women all shared the duties that come with a brand new pair of babies...except the feedings of course, which was totally up to Josylinia. And even though she was sore in her tender places, and almost always tired, she enjoyed her newborns as much as any first-time mother could.

The men stepped up without hesitation as well, and handled all the chores of the farm. The newest buonta harvest period was drawing near, and even though Mishea and Josy typically coordinated and ran most of it, Larson and his father denied them from participating and organized the entire event on their own. It went very smoothly, and nearly every person in the Thackere region found at least a few borts to make the long trek up to the house to congratulate Josy on her expanding family, wishing her well and praying for the health of her children. It truly warmed her heart.

Karne even spent time with Terista and the Aredanz soldiers, and it gave him great joy to see the level of abilities those proud, fierce people displayed. Their style, their weaponry, and their techniques were clearly similar to Ron's (Kaskle's influences, he presumed), for he could pick out subtleties reminiscent of that unassailable little man in nearly every aspect of those fine warriors. In a rare moment of introspection, Karne felt he'd have fit in well with those brave souls...in another life.

Toward the end of her first santari as a mother, when her sweet little tikes began succumbing to a fairly regular schedule, Josy's mind began to return to "the book". It gnawed at her more and more as time drew on, and finally, she could take it no more.

She decided that she would read it out loud to everyone who wanted to hear the tale...or at least those who they could fit into the expansive living room of the Gitove mansion.

"Are you sure, Josy?" Mishea asked, beating Terista's identical question by only a lita. "This book was written for you, my darling daughter...to let you know how the man that you loved above all others fared in that long-ago world. There could be things in this account of his life that you might not wish to share."

"I have considered that, Mother. I have thought of little else actually, for dactrais now. It's true that I loved him absolutely and completely, and adored him for the exemplary man he strove so hard to be." Her eyes closed for a few moments of reminiscence. "He was such an extraordinary man...brave and strong and fierce and vicious...but also kind and tender and sweet and loving."

She smiled beautifully at some flashing memories, and then opened her eyes again.

"But I also realize that he was much more than just my heart's desire. Over these past few torjournes, I have witnessed something far more encompassing. I have seen what he has inspired...and what his chivalrous code of conduct has passed down across the thirteen hundred cycles since he was deposited on that alien land. It reaches the boundaries of worship...a level I know with absolute certainty he would never have even attempted to reach...and probably would have actually tried to quell...yet there it is.

"Such a remarkable individual as he...made evident by those who now ring our home, ready to defend it with their very lives...deserves to have his story told, unadulterated. I am certain it is what he would have wanted.

"He would have said; 'Let those who listen make their own judgments and form their own opinions...be them good or bad!'"

That delighted Terista to no end and so she invited the squad commanders of her troops...twenty in all...to listen first-hand to the chronicle of the origin of the legendary Ronin Alsone. They could hardly believe it, never really considering that the ancient text would be opened to common soldiers. Needless to say they accepted with unbounded eagerness.

That evening, after the meals were all behind them and the babies were down for the night...or at least part of the night...Karne, Larson, and several Aredanz soldiers arranged the home's many chairs and couches into a tight semicircle. At the center of that was a single chair, where Josy sat. They then all took seats and she began.

It read much like any novel would, which was quite an accomplishment for the author, and the first chapter recounted the landing and initial contact with the ancient Caronian people; the Nevarians. It was nearly exactly the same experience Josy had witnessed in her vision, except that there were added many specific details about the way the air smelled...the scents carried to Ron on the light breeze...and even the feel of the sun's rays and the ground beneath his bare feet. He'd been locked inside the pod for some long, yet unknown period, so those sensations were strange ones, and so had been passed along to whoever narrated the tale. Another key addition was how his body had felt at the time. He'd been nauseous, weak, slightly dizzy, and badly confused. But when the soldiers had come, his mind had risen to the occasion and sharpened dramatically. The discomforts he'd been lamenting were immediately shoved to the side and that had allowed him to meet the rigorous demands of those crucial moments.

While Josy had watched Ron in combat...seeing from his perspective, she'd been shocked at the smooth, yet blistering speed of his movements...and she explained that to the listening crowd. But the written story told a different side entirely. Ron had actually felt clumsy and horribly sluggish, and he was immensely grateful that his adversaries had been so simplistic in their strategy and average in their abilities. Otherwise...he admitted to the writer...he likely would have perished right then and there.

The first chapter ended two billots later with Ron on his knees, his mind shattered at the inexplicable conclusion it had reached, and what that truly meant for his future. His voice roaring out Josy's name to the boundless sky above caught harshly in her throat, and she drew quiet.

Josy had had a very difficult time finishing, and tears drained down her glorious cheeks when she did. Just as she'd felt after awaking from that experience santaris in the past, her heart tore open the jagged, partially healed wound of it, and the pain was piercingly sharp once more.

No one made a sound. Even the hardened Piercellione fighters were moved by her sorrow.

"All right, everyone," Mishea said suddenly, breaking the solemn mood that filled the room to a tactile state. "That's enough for tonight. We'll let you know when we can continue, but for now...everyone should go and get some sleep."

Mishea closed the book in Josy's lap and slipped it to Karne. Then she eased herself down onto the wide, Kreete-sized chair beside the bereft young woman and held her daughter while she cried.

### Chapter Three

### Omens and Fear

It took a couple of days before Josy felt collected enough to once again delve into the life of her lost love...a life without her. To be able to read about his plight and how he overcame it was something that screamed at her nearly every waking lita, but it was also something substantially concrete, which made her procrastinate. No matter what she told others, or even herself, imagining him living apart from her was altogether different than finding out the day to day particulars of it, be they filled with fortune or misery.

Her predicament put such a weight on her mind that at times she felt it as almost a physical pull on her...a duty...a crushing chore she could not escape. But on the other hand, she was also genuinely curious to a maddening degree, and the 'not knowing' nagged at her badly, just as the author of the tale had said. And aside from those two quandaries was the fact that she quite frankly suspected it would involve much suffering on Ron's part, and he'd already been through far too much of that in his life. Thinking about the possibility of his grief and anguish...or even worse; reading about it...truly hurt her tender heart. At last however, she could take it no more and called the group back together.

They all set up as before, but at the onset, Terista made a heartfelt announcement.

"Josylinia. We of the Aredanz are fully aware of the position you are in...that is, knowing the connection you have with Ronin...and we are incredibly grateful that you have included us in this extremely sensitive endeavor. But be that as it may, if at any time you feel this is too awkward for you, or too painful, please let us know. We will not press you further than you wish to go."

Josy smiled sweetly at her and then swept the crowd slowly with her stunning, two-toned blue and brown eyes.

"Thank you, Terista, and all of you fine men. But I am aware of at least some of what you all must be feeling. This is a record that your people have kept for untold generations, and I feel that you have just as much right to know what it says as I do."

"And I think the more I read of it, the easier it will be to continue. At least, I hope so. We shall see."

"Now, let's carry onward."
Chapter two

In a plush apartment in the magnificent capitol city of Heraitey, (Many of the Piercellione warriors let out soft gasps at that name...a mythical place to their people) an old man suddenly jerked himself out of his peaceful afternoon repose and sat up bolt-right.

"He is here!" the frail fellow hissed in a voice laced with dread.

"Oderus?" asked his attendant who sat in the adjacent room reading some text about trade relations between Heraitey and Gosmere, one of the furthest western cities of the realm. It sat at the base of the Yaraniaus Mountain Range...the massive barrier of stony peaks that reached so high into the heavens that only the gods could scale them.

Oderus sat there for several borts, trying to break the feeling of doom that his vision had carried with it.

Vessia, his housekeeper/caretaker, finally strolled into the room, concerned when he did not reply. She was a young woman in her late teens and was the sixth child in her family, but was the only daughter of Illisa, Oderus's former housekeeper who'd grown too old and fragile to keep up her duties. Illisa was only fifty-five, but the lifespans of the everyday Erthanians typically didn't reach their mid-forties. Life was hard and unkind to the middle-aged, and most often horribly cruel to those vying for later years.

Oderus however, was something of an enigma. He was a brilliant man...an inventor, scientist, architect, and philosopher...and he was close to eighty years old!

He'd been the royal advisor to the last two kings ruling Heraitey, and after the latest one perished in a riding mishap, he continued to council his widow...Queen Arethnii Deaton.

"Oderus?" Vessia repeated her query. "Are you alright?"

"What...er...yes-yes...quite so, I think."

She started to leave again, to begin her afternoon chores, but he stopped her.

"Vessia, dear...I think you should send word to the Queen at once. I need to speak with her, and it's urgent."

"Of course," she replied, sensing his unusual disquiet. Oderus was a very controlled man, even of temper and extremely thoughtful...rarely one to become anxious.

The young woman immediately hurried off to the building's runner dispatch office at the southeast corner. It had been stationed there forty years in the past so that he would always have a way of communicating with the king quickly...should the need arise. Within only a few borts, a boy of twelve years' age was racing across the sprawling city to deliver the message. He wore a banner of gold across his chest to denote the importance of his mission, and that symbol gave him unfettered passage right into the Queen's courtyard.

At that time, Queen Arethnii was holding court in a public, open-air venue she'd established to be accessible to all her subjects, but she quickly postponed those duties to go to Oderus's home. Even though she was the queen, she knew it was much more expedient to go to him rather than have him come to her, as he moved very slowly at his present age.

When she arrived, her retinue of fifty armed guards immediately set up a perimeter around the large home to guarantee her safety. The royal lady even had to wait an additional half billot so they might examine the inside of the abode. She was a beloved leader to most, but everyone knew that her power was a terrific draw to unsavory individuals, and thus also a curse to her safety and peace of mind.

There had already been four attempts on her life since stepping into her position. Three of the assassins had died for their efforts at the sharpened ends of the palace guards, and the fourth had been captured and still lay deep within the city's dungeons. His accommodations were proving to be far less than hospitable.

Finally she was allowed to pass inside and so she strode swiftly into Oderus's sitting parlor. It was a large room lined with books at every turn, each carefully arranged on shelves that went from floor to ceiling. It smelled of ancient paper and new ink, with an overtone of tanned and cured animal hide. The reason behind that was obvious to those who entered. The rough-hewn stone she trod upon was covered with dozens of thick furs, so much so as to make it completely invisible. The entire space exuded calm intellect and exquisite luxury. Those accoutrements provided more than just comfort too. They formed a wonderful sound suppressor. Nothing said inside that space could possibly be overheard beyond its thick doors.

Arethnii took her usual position in a plush chair that was arranged as one of six which formed a circle. Oderus sat in the one to her right and Vessia was next to him. The servant girl's presence was something new to the queen, so she lifted one brow to her advisor.

"Is she to remain with us during our...session?"

"Yes, my queen...that is...unless you deem it otherwise," the old man replied in a soft, high voice. "You see...she already knows what I'm going to tell you."

"Really?" Queen Arethnii responded, quite surprised and not a little peeved. "It seems odd that you summoned me with a declaration of urgency about some information that the commoners have already been privy to?"

Vessia took no offense to her queen's remark. After all, she was just a young woman among many thousands...not a known scholar or anyone of particular note. And to have provoked the queen's hasty visit had certainly interrupted many other important duties their leader would have attended to, so naturally she'd expected something of substantial importance.

Oderus held up his hand to calm the queen.

"It is only that at my age, I have taken to confiding in this young woman as of late, so that if I should come abruptly to my end, that my work will not. She is very astute, my queen...and has been a student of mine for the past seven years. She is something of a natural linguist, speaks twelve languages, and is thoroughly versed in all of my experiments, theories, conclusions, and writings. In fact, when I am gone, I would offer her expertise to you, at your discretion, of course."

"Well," Arethnii said, taking another look at the comely young woman beside him, "that is extremely high praise, Master Scribe. I will certainly consider it. However, I..."

"Yes-yes-yes," Oderus interrupted, knowing how precious her time was. "I shall get to the point.

"My Queen...the one we have been expecting has finally arrived."

Arethnii just stared back in puzzlement. She wracked her mind for several litas, trying to recall some foreign dignitary's visit she might have forgotten about. At last though, after a very quick glance of embarrassment at the girl beside Oderus, she was forced to admit she hadn't a clue what he was talking about.

"Who?"

"Forgive me again, please, my queen," he said, shaking his head lightly. "My thoughts thunder down a road that I alone...that is, I and Vessia...plod. Let me try and clarify.

"He whom I speak of now is the one whose arrival was forecast over five hundred years ago."

Arethnii's reaction was one of utter shock. She remained completely still for the next few borts and just stared at the old man. Neither he nor Vessia moved a muscle while she let that news whirl around in her mind.

Since she was a small girl, sneaking about the sprawling home of her affluent parents in never-ending games of exploration and investigation, she'd known about the foretelling of this event. Her father (Magistrate of their city) was explaining it to her mother back then, having come upon the subject during some discussion Arethnii was unaware of. It had gone something like so:

"No, my love," the magistrate was saying. "No one knows when he will arrive...only that when he does, it will mark the beginning of the demise of Heraitey and the end of the empire."

"That sounds like some fairytale, darling," her mother had replied. "Like something the old fortune-tellers made up to keep their kings in their good graces...fearing the loss of their leaders' confidence. They keep hold on their rulers by inventing warnings about mysterious, ominous forebodings that never quite come to be."

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" her father had replied, grinning. "However, for the past eight generations of our family...three that I personally know about from first-hand discussions...every king that has set on the throne of Heraitey has taken this warning as fact, and I simply cannot dismiss it so easily, even if I'd like to. After all, they were widely admired as staunch, learned men of deep thought and great intellect, and none was ever even rumored to have flights of fancy, or given in to mysticism."

"I understand, Wircerin, my beloved, but this prophecy is so vague. How will we ever know if it has come true?"

"The oracle will see it."

"You see? They just want to give themselves the appearance of necessity."

Arethnii's father smiled pleasantly at his wife and took her hands in his.

"That's the thing, sweet Bethnii. They don't need to make these false claims of ominous portent to ingratiate themselves. Their pragmatic council on so many other areas...agriculture, architecture, weather, economic direction...is more than enough to keep their status secure. What reason would substantiate their need to make up this presumed farce?"

Bethnii thought for a long while.

(That was something that had stood out in Arethnii's memory. Her mother could find no motive that sounded plausible enough in her mind to make an argument.)

"Well, I don't know," she finally admitted, "but that doesn't mean there isn't one."

That was how Arethnii had initially learned of the prediction. When she became queen, she had been given a formal explanation of the age-old divination...by none other than Oderus. Unfortunately there wasn't much more information offered then either.

"One day a great warrior will arrive on Erthania," she recalled. The word "arrive" stuck in her memory as well. He was not seen as being born on their world, and that was a bit unnerving. "This warrior will be completely unbeatable in battle, a demon specter in the form of a man. And his presence will be the prelude to the end of Heraitey and the unity of the five kingdoms."

Arethnii finally came back to animation then, Oderus patiently waiting beside her.

"How do you know this?" she asked.

"It came to me just this day...in a dream. But it was like no dream I've ever had before. I could see him as clearly as I see you right now; falling to his knees and pleading to the heavens...calling to someone he called Osylina."

Josy paused just then and gazed about at the crowd, each set of eyes looking back was as stunned as hers. She returned her attention to the book.

"Osylina? Do you know who that is?"

Oderus shook his head. "I have never heard of any god by that name."

"But you saw him...this soldier, I mean?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

"I do not know. It is someplace I have never seen in person...at least from the perspective of his location. There were fields all about and mountains in the distance, but which mountains I have no idea."

"We must find this man," Arethnii told Oderus. She was vibrating from the rush of adrenaline that proclamation summoned up. "Perhaps we can reason with him...get to know him...understand him...and understand why he wishes to destroy Heraitey."

Oderus was a very wise man and so his council was equally as tempered.

"My queen," he said softly. "Please allow me to caution you. The prophecy does not say he destroys Heraitey...only that his arrival precedes its fall. For all we know his being here may be complete happenstance to what is destined to come."

Arethnii gave Oderus a look of staunch incredulity.

"You tell me that the ancient prediction has finally come to be...the one that has been dissected and deliberated about for centuries, and is associated with near apocalyptic fear...and then, in the very next sentence, its deliverer immediately questions its validity?"

Oderus bowed deeply, conceding his apparent waffling on the matter, but then gave more advice...that of a meticulously seasoned mind.

"I question not its legitimacy, my queen...merely the fact that we lack much of the context surrounding it."

Arethnii considered his words carefully. Her conclusion was much the same though.

"At any rate, we must locate this man. I would have words with him at the very least."

Oderus bowed again.

"A reasonable course, my queen."

"How can we locate him though? Do you know his name perchance?"

"Forgive me again, Highness...but no, I do not. I can describe him to you, and you can take this drawing I jotted down before you arrived. But that is all."

Arethnii studied the parchment drawing the old man had made, but it was hardly a 'life-like' rendition. If they grew beards and allowed their hair to be completely unruly, fully thirty percent of her own guardsmen would have fit the fellow's description.

"This seems an impossible task," she murmured, but that got Vessia's attention.

"If I might speak, my queen?" she asked meekly.

Arethnii turned to regard her without scorn or condescension. Her oldest and most trusted advisor had just touted Vessia's intelligence with ardent praise, and that wasn't something she took lightly. She knew Oderus to be extremely candid in such matters.

"Of course, my dear," she said, her mind still whirring along, clouded with dread.

"A foreign man of such abilities as described in the prophecy will no doubt find it difficult to 'blend in' with our society, would he not? Warriors of such renown tend to stand out in the midst of farmers and country-folk like lions among sheep. There is bound to be some skirmish or conflict in whatever region he currently resides...and if he is as formidable as claimed, it should leave quite the impression."

Arethnii was duly impressed with the shrewd young woman's reasoning. She smiled broadly at her and then gave her decree.

"We will dispatch a detachment of a hundred troops to each of the five kingdoms, searching for any such disturbances from unknown individuals. That should at least narrow down the possibilities of finding this super-soldier."

### Chapter Four

### The Queen's Edict

" **Chapter Three,"** Josy read.

Seventy days' march north of Heraitey:

At the same instant the young runner was speeding to deliver his message to Queen Arethnii, Ronin Alsone searched the deep blue expanse of sky from one horizon to the other, his hands outstretched in a pleading, frantic display. It was the first time in a very long while that he'd felt completely terrified...but it wasn't from actual fear (the kind every other living soul experiences) so much as absolute and utter desperation.

His mind was shattered! He couldn't form a clear thought. He was unreservedly lost.

Josy paused a brief moment before continuing, her brow furrowed as she read silently for a moment.

"Sorry everyone, but there is a note just here," she explained before backing up and reading it aloud.

(Ronin described this part to me himself. I know not what world he speaks of.)

"We..." Josy explained to the Piercellione, "that is...those in our family...know of this place. A dear friend of ours and Ron's, once lived there...and Ron's daughter; Sheyah was actually born there."

She then bent her head back to the story.

When he'd arrived on Rauld in a similarly miraculous fashion, he'd at least had several billots alone...with no outward threat to his person...to collect himself, acclimate to his environs, and think. It's true that since then he'd been thoroughly educated about the true nature of the wide-open universe, and thus could adapt better now than then, but too, he'd had the comfort of his misconceptions back then, however wrong they might have been. During that period, those ignorant beliefs of a much more basic existence had actually kept him grounded and focused on a plan to move forward.

Here...now...on Caron...the new world he'd come to love...everything familiar...everything and everyone he'd ever loved...his past...his very reason for living at all...was gone!

Borts drifted by while his blacked-out corneas frantically scanned for some miracle door to suddenly open and allow him back...back to his life of hope and promise and love. But no such door appeared. The only thing he saw was a flock of some high flying ceatarys gliding the thermals far off to the east.

After a while, Ron lowered his hands and rested them on his thighs, his fingers balled into tight fists that made his knuckles show white. Meanwhile his eyes still scoured the unending blue vastness above. It wasn't long afterward that his body began to vibrate with building ire.

"Why?" he growled at that picturesque view, as if actually speaking to some corporeal being. He spoke Earth English...his childhood language...as those around him stared and heard only gibberish.

"That is the language this book has been written in," Josy explained quickly.

His temper really began to build in a rush then, as he knelt there. His skin turned bright red, easily visible even through his dark tan, and a few moments later he was literally coursing with rage.

"HAVEN'T I GIVEN ENOUGH?" he bellowed into the breeze. "WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

Another couple of borts drifted by while he fumed.

Finally his head dropped and he closed his eyes.

Josy was gone. Cache was gone. Angela and Derek, his sister, his parents, Roelantish, Karne, Mishea, Larson, Lilea...everyone he'd ever known...were gone...lost in a future more than a millennia away. He'd been dumped onto a hostile land with no clue about the people there, no mission to guide him, no direction whatsoever to follow. There was no one he could go to for advice...no one he could trust. He was absolutely, unequivocally alone.

He hung his head for a while longer and seethed. Anger though, can only be maintained for a short period if there's no real focus to lay it upon...and here, there was none. Who or what was he angry at? God? Fate? There are no physical properties for either of those, so how do you battle them?

After another short while passed, Ron realized the fruitlessness of his current endeavor and decided to alter his mental course, but it wasn't easy. His circumstance was now completely out of his control, but he meant to regain at least some aspect of it. Using every ounce of his will to break his line of thought...that of despair, of hopelessness, and confusion...he concentrated on regaining his composure for a while...if for no other reason than to keep from completely falling apart.

It was a herculean task, but after another few borts his heart was thumping along at a more moderate rate, his lungs filled deeply and smoothly once more, and his body no longer trembled.

That's when he began to notice the growing crowd all about him.

The group was totally comprised of women...those from the throng that had aided him earlier. The men he'd battled with were wisely keeping their distance, still shaken at how easily this stranger had destroyed their comrades and their leader. A quick glance though revealed that three of those men were gone. His eyes flicked across the ground to spot them racing back toward the town/fort they'd come from.

Just for a moment he considered chasing them down, but dismissed that urge just as quickly. He was too fatigued still, from the long weightless period in the pod. His head throbbed powerfully, his legs were quivering, and his stomach was doing flips. Attack was not at the forefront of his mind.

Next, Ron began to listen to the murmuring conversations going on around him.

"Who is he?" circulated through the group.

"Ronin Alsone," replied several whispering voices.

"Are you friggin kidding me?" he asked himself, his thoughts leaping immediately to the legend Lilea Sevraign had imparted to him years earlier. "That's how it all starts? Really?"

"Where did he come from?"

"From the Gods...in that giant ceatary egg."

"That's ridiculous! No bird is that big."

"No...it's true! The shadow of it covered half of this field."

"Yes...I saw it too! And when the egg touched the dirt, the wings of the bird floated to the ground and disappeared."

He couldn't help but follow their reasoning. The huge, rectangular (almost wing-shaped) parachutes that had quelled his speeding descent had likely broken down to their base materials upon touchdown. It was how the Rauldens' technology worked. If the tech could not establish a link with Rauld once its function had passed, it disintegrated to keep from polluting any alien world.

The woman's statement also sparked another thought. His recollection instantly recalled what Goshune...the leader of the Sentinels...had told him about the myth of Ronin. Its accuracy was so profoundly poignant it almost made him chuckle.

"What's he going to do now?" a woman asked of her friend.

It was a query that clicked Ron's brain back into gear.

What _was_ he going to do?

Ron forced himself to be practical once more.

"What are the basic needs?" he asked himself. "Water, protection, food, and shelter," his mind replied.

The women had fed and watered him, so he was okay with those two for the moment.

"Jerin, Bastilin, and Edasin will be returning with fully a hundred warriors before the sun is halfway to the horizon," one of the women predicted. "They will certainly attack him again."

Ron's eyes flicked to the racing men, now more than a third the way to the walled city. Then he checked the sun's position. If she was correct, it gave him about thirty-five borts. He had to make a move...immediately.

He looked himself over in a flash. He was barefoot, naked above the waist, and had only the two spears at his side for weapons. He was far less than 100%, and in no mood to try to reason with what was certain to be an irate group of foreign soldiers.

Instinctively he reached back, feeling for the handle of his sword...the super-blade Cache Kuar had custom made for him...but it wasn't there either. That's when his heart lurched hard.

"Oh, no!" he gasped, but then a new thought scrambled to the forefront of his mind. It was the last time he'd seen that ebony weapon. He'd just delivered Sheyah to Rauld and had rushed back to the cockpit, forgetting it was strapped across his torso. In a quick move, he'd unclipped it and wedged it between Cache's seat and the console.

"Oh, thank God!" he hissed. "At least it's somewhere around here!"

In a reaction that made everyone around him jump back, Ron jerked into motion and frantically began to search the area around the pod. But he found nothing there. The Flarinca gel was gone, as was the seat that had supported him.

"Flarinca gel," Josy took a moment to explain, "is a type of..." she searched her mind for the right description, "thick water that can keep someone alive when injured, or when in space."

(She knew that was far from the extent of it, but probably all the primitive people could comprehend without a lengthy discussion, or a live demonstration. Her eyes returned to the page.)

The only evidence those two items had ever existed was a flattened section of dirt where the fluid had soaked in, and a small pile of grey, metallic dust.

Into the dark shell of the emergency capsule Ron leaped, feeling around every inch of the empty space. Nothing.

"Son of a..." he grunted, but then remembered the women outside.

Ron hurried back out and addressed the ladies.

"Did anyone find a long black stick when I arrived?"

Blank stares were his only reply.

Ron concentrated on his speech again, carefully annunciating his words.

"Did a-n-y-o-n-e find a long black stick when I came out of the...egg?"

The women each turned to her neighbor questioningly. Confused faces were all Ron saw.

"Son of a..." he grumbled, his eyes scanning the ground yet again. For a few gut-wrenching borts he began to wonder if the sword hadn't broken down as well, but the capsule was still intact, so possibly the protocols couldn't contend with the super-metal it and the sword were made from. Then he recalled the fact that he'd already used that blade on this exact primitive world with no link to Cache's home. It was built for him and keyed to him...to his DNA. No, he was sure then that it would not disintegrate. It was still intact somewhere.

Back to the hunt he went, circling the pod in an ever enlarging search pattern, but he still came up empty. At last, when his effort had expanded to some fifty kez, Ron turned back to the group who were following his every move.

"Were any of you here when I landed?"

Five heads nodded.

"And you saw nothing of a black rod?"

They all shook their heads.

"Were there any others? Maybe they saw it."

One woman perked up.

"Lasinii was there! Your 'egg' nearly landed on her...and Sheasii...and Tharnii too. They might know."

Ron felt a bit of hope.

"Where are they now?" he asked a little more harshly than he intended.

The woman who'd answered his last query; Tamarii, shrank back just a hair.

"Sorry," he added hurriedly. "I didn't mean to frighten you, but that sword...metal rod...is my only weapon of defense. I need it badly."

Tamarii seemed to accept his apology and relaxed, but was a bit befuddled. He'd just demonstrated quite impressively that he needed no weapons to defend himself. Nonetheless, she answered his inquiry.

"They were all back at the camp a while ago...before the soldiers came."

"Would you introduce me to them...please?" Ron pleaded.

Tamarii nodded again and then they all headed back to the group of tents.

Sheasii and Tharnii could not help, but Lasinii was missing. One of the other women reported that she'd headed out to the eastern fields to deliver water to the workers there. She drove a cart pulled by a goan (small oxen), and it was fitted with a large water barrel.

"It might have been on her cart," Tamarii offered. "She was making her rounds when you arrived."

"That's how we carried you to the tents, in fact," Marsii interjected. "The barrel was nearly empty so we removed it to make room for you. It took eight of us to get you into the back of it. Lasinii went back with some of the others and retrieved the barrel while you were sleeping. Bethnii helped her refill the barrel from our well...over there...and when she couldn't get any of us to take over for her...we were too amazed at your arrival to leave; you see...she went back to her duties."

That sounded plausible enough to Ron. The sword was heavy for a woman to carry, but if she'd laid it in her cart, it would be no problem.

"Okay then, where did she go, exactly?"

"Well, she headed east...off that way...but that was a while ago. She would be making a long loop to the northern fields next, and should have crossed over the main road by now. In fact, she should be about...there."

She pointed to the north-northwest. That was the direction of the city, where reinforcements would certainly be gathering.

"Damn!" Ron said, staring at that distant fortress.

He went to the stash of weapons the women had collected for him after the skirmish and picked out a few items. One was a bow...the strongest he could find. He hastily stuffed as many arrows into a quiver as would fit and then slipped it over his shoulder. Next, he inspected the swords. Their blades were made of a primitive form of steel that he could actually bend over his knee...not having enough carbon to give the necessary stiffness. And their edges were sharpened in only the mildest sense of the term. The knives were not very long, but were much better quality, leading him to presume that the smithies did much better work on the smaller scale. He took a few of those and secured them in a weapons' belt before donning it.

"Thank you all for coming to my aid," Ron told them. "I am eternally grateful."

A moment later he headed off in the direction the women had indicated, but pulled up almost immediately. Three of the ladies were trailing him.

"Do not follow," he warned them. "There is a good chance that battle will break out before nightfall and I don't wish for any of you to be involved."

The women all stopped and considered his claim, seeing the logic in it. While they spoke with one another, Ron set off once more at a faster clip. He glanced back a few times and then, finding his wake clear, dropped into a slow jog. His energy was already waning badly. He didn't know how long he'd been in the escape capsule (the giant egg), but since the warnings he recalled had shown all systems depleted, he assumed it had been torjournes. Now that long period of near coma conditions in zero-G was showing.

Inside the city:

The watch commander atop the high wall; Brossin Negalli, saw three of his troops returning at a fast pace and gave an order.

"Open the gate!"

He'd only seen the confrontation with Ron from a great distance, so it was with much anxiety that he hastened down the stairway and greeted the men.

"Hoah!" he called to them in their normal greeting, his eyes scanning the soldiers thoroughly.

"Hoah, General," they huffed back, each badly winded from the fast run of nearly two hoz.

Brossin noted the lack of weapons upon his men and frowned.

"What has happened?" he queried sharply. "Where is Gosherin?"

"Dead, General!" one man said abruptly.

"Dead? How?"

One of the winded men straightened up with a deep breath, and then began his report.

"When we got to the work center, there was a man there." He paused for another few breaths. "Gosherin questioned the stranger but he would not speak. Gosherin then asked the field workers about their giving the fellow aid. They refused to speak too, so he became angry and beat the woman called Marsii. That was when the foreigner went wild. He surprised Gosherin and slew him in a cowardly manner when his back was turned."

The other two troopers glanced at one another as if confused, but did not venture an altered account of the interlude.

"Then, when some of our men rushed to Gosherin's side, the stranger gained advantage in the confusion and killed several of them, wounding a few others. He was a devil of deceit and villainy."

Brossin's face was bright red by then and he quickly turned to his personal assistant, a captain. "Assemble a full battalion, Maitrin...with great haste!"

A 'call to arms' alert immediately blasted from a large horn mounted atop the wooden stockade before Maitrin Poseri rushed off to gather the troops.

Brossin returned his attention to the soldiers.

"Where are your weapons, Edasin?" he asked of the man telling the tale.

Edasin had already prepared himself for that question.

"The fiend forced us to surrender our weapons by holding blades to two of our men's throats. I tell you, General Brossin, this man is a true devil, but a cunning one as well."

Brossin pulled his attention aside and called up to his men walking guard duty on the wall.

"Can you see the stranger?" he asked.

"Ye!" two men cried back.

"Keep an eye on him! We'll be ready soon!"

"Yes, SIR!"

Ron made it barely half a hoz before being forced to walk. He was completely drained. His legs felt leaden and trembled badly, and the spear and bow hung at the ends of his arms like weights. That condition was so foreign to him that he shook his shaggy head.

"This is not good!" his mind affirmed.

As he scanned the ground before him...row after row of what appeared to be sugar beets (basthi in Erthania)...he spotted what looked like another gathering point for the farm workers. It was a single tent about a hoz to the northwest and there appeared to be a handful of persons milling about it. His eyes could make out no others across the undulating fields of green.

With a few more deep breaths in him, Ron resumed his trotting gait. The planted crops were almost waist high on him and grew together in thick clumps, forcing him to either leap over them to move across the rows, or wait until he came across a bush that had died so he could simply step through. Mostly he chose the latter method as leaping over was extremely taxing in his state. It was slow going, but he pushed onward as fast as he could.

"General, Brossin!" Maitrin finally shouted. "The men are ready!"

It had taken barely fifteen borts to assemble their stand-by army. They had heard of the dastardly attack on their most heralded commander and were vibrating with fury to avenge him and his men.

The mighty gates swung inward a moment later and then one hundred armored soldiers raced out. They struck to the west as soon as they cleared the fortress walls, making straight for where their spotters had seen the foreigner head.

The sound of such a large group of men running across open ground was clear and distinct, even over his own labored breathing, and so it drew Ron's attention right away. He watched them closely from then on, gauging their speed to intercept him.

The tent was still a half hoz away from Ron, and that was about a hoz from the troopers, but they were fresh and eager and he was worn and haggard.

Ron didn't deviate from his goal though, his need to have his weapon...and the only link to his former life...driving him forward with a near frantic passion.

Brossin watched the foreigner closely as he and his men pursued, and it puzzled him greatly that this stranger was not high-tailing it away from what must obviously be certain death. He could see Ron's pace was slow and that his movements were labored, so he quickly began to wonder how someone with such poor stamina could have bested his finest warriors.

With a hundred kez yet to go before reaching his goal, Ron broke out onto the same dirt path that the water cart had used, and when he did, he dropped back to a walking pace. He was huffing for air as never before, his vision blurry and his limbs quaking visibly. The approaching soldiers were barely a third of a hoz from him.

"Crap!" he thought as he gasped and staggered forward. He knew the little army would overhaul him before he could escape, and that he needed to recover before that happened, so he just walked. As he did though, he began to loosen up again, twisting one way and then the other, and rolling his broad, rounded shoulders.

"At least they don't have horses," he admitted. That tiny detail was his only ray of good fortune.

Brossin signaled his twenty archers to move to the front of the column. They were young men in fine shape and they glided into that new position effortlessly. The general then gauged the distance with calm experience. He'd led men into dozens of battles over his twenty-year career. This shouldn't take long.

Ron continued his strolling pace but slid an arrow onto its rest and held it there with his forefinger, clamping three more between his other digits. His breathing was back under control and he was just waiting. He gave a single backward glance when he heard the army suddenly drop its speed, and took note of what they were preparing to do. He postulated what those three men he'd spared had told their leader, and accurately predicted what their leader's reaction would be.

The first arrow struck barely a foot to Ron's left. It was sent strictly to test the range for all the other archers...to gauge the windage and distance.

Ron treated that shot as a consent to wage war...and so he got to it!

Quicker than Brossin could fathom, the foreign man whirled about and fired one of his stolen arrows. That was impressive enough, but when five more wooden missiles leaped from that same weapon before the first one could strike, his stare intensified dramatically.

"Fire!" he screamed to his men, but only fourteen loosed their arrows. Six either fell to the ground or twisted harshly as those incoming bolts struck home.

Ron got three more arrows airborne before diving to the side to foul the soldiers' first salvo. Three grazed his body, but none did any real damage. He was up and firing again before his tumble had even finished.

To the army of brave souls from Nevari, the precision of the return fire was unnerving, deadly, and highly destructive to their order.

The men directly behind the archers reacted as any person would when confronted with such a deadly attack...they fell back into their trailing brethren, and thusly a terse dialogue quickly broke out within their ranks.

Brossin watched in disbelief as thirteen of his twenty archers went down before they could send a second salvo.

"Holy Pierci above us! He is but one man!" the leader screamed inside his mind. But when he realized that panic was building among his troops, he did what he felt he had to.

Raising his shield before him, Brossin broke into a run. "ATTAAAAAACK!" he bellowed to his men.

When they released their war cries and charged, Ron leaped to his feet again. He hurried back to the center of the path and scooped up the spear he'd discarded while wielding the bow. Then, like a wolf spider at the edge of its web, he awaited his prey.

When the approaching horde was a hundred kez out, Ron launched that long, metal-tipped device of death. However, unlike the typical long-distance throw...one that would rise thirty or more feet into the air to cross that huge expanse...Ron's toss barely rose ten feet and sped along so fast it looked more like a giant arrow hurtling at them than a spear.

That six-foot-long weapon sliced through one of the leading men's shield, tore through his shoulder, and impaled the fellow directly behind him, right through the chest. That single act sent a dozen troopers to the ground in a chaotic pile of tripping and tumbling bodies. Several men were even badly injured simply because their fellows' bare swords were frantically flailing about in the pileup. It also separated a forward group of fifteen soldiers from the main body.

The man Ron's spear struck was only two over from Brossin, and the general was as shocked as his men when it happened, yet on he raced. He was desperately trying to build the fires of battle in his own heart even while what he'd just seen sent icy shards of fear streaking through him, threatening to congeal that same blood in his veins.

Ron didn't wait to witness the aftermath of his throw. He wheeled about and dashed for the tent.

The women who'd congregated in the shade under that shelter...lingering longer than they should have because they were listening to Lasinii's wild tale...had all bolted for the open fields by then, trying to escape the furious clash that was obviously headed their way. That is, all except Lasinii Besigian herself. She did not flee. For some reason she would never understand, she felt a driving need to stand her ground.

Ron rushed up to the water cart in a frenzied, panting state, finding the woman waiting wide-eyed beside it. She trembled openly, but did not back away.

"Lasinii?" Ron asked hastily.

The woman nodded in a quick, quivering fashion.

"Did you find a black metal rod near the escape pod...er...the giant egg?"

Again she nodded.

Ron leaned forward in a flash, grasping her firmly by the shoulders. "Do you still have it?"

"Y-y-y-yes!" she squeaked, her face practically radiating her terror.

"Forgive me, Lasinii," Ron pleaded with the young woman, trying not to frighten her further, but he could hear the footfalls of the encroaching soldiers. "But I need it badly...right now! Where is it?"

Her eyes flicked to the driver's seat of the little cart. "There...under the..."

Ron was already gone, dashing to the wide bench that served as the operator's perch.

His heart was racing like a stallion's at the end of the Preakness (some kind of race involving horses)...and then he saw it!

At the very aft position, tucked under some miscellaneous items that Lasinii used throughout her day of toil, was a slender, oval-shaped patch of shadow cinched tightly into a metallic harness.

When his eyes settled onto that single, all important item, Ron's heart instantly stopped its mad-capped sprinting. Instead, it throttled back to a much more stable, thudding cadence that calmed his entire form before his very next breath. It was like spotting an old friend in a crowd of a thousand strangers. And then, upon the next inhalation he was once more in total control.

Ron still felt incredibly tired, but as that sable staff of ultra-sharp metal slipped into his grasp, he eased away from the cart with his old litheness...like a male lion stepping out to meet an encroaching challenger.

"Go," he said calmly to Lasinii.

With that order she no longer felt the need to stay, as if her duty was suddenly over, and so she ran.

### Chapter Five

### Battle Royale

The leading clutch of soldiers was just then arriving at the tented way-station. They slowed their speed sharply, the huffing of their exertions loud under the wide, fabric cover.

Brossin stood at the center as his men fanned out to block the entire pathway, shields interlocked and spears protruding from that impressive barrier. They were still fifty kez ahead of the rest of the army, who now approached more slowly, acting as a second wave if needed. As was their typical routine, they would allow their leader to make first contact. After all, he had more than two dozen of their best men with him.

Ron once again tried to diffuse the situation.

"I am not your enemy!" he vowed, pointing to Brossin. "Do not force me to fight! Let me be and I will leave without further bloodshed! No more of your men need die!"

The raven blade was yet sheathed.

After what he'd just witnessed, it took every ounce of courage Brossin had to stand his ground and control his voice. In the sternest tone he could manage, he growled back.

"I am Brossin Negalli, Commander of Nevari's northern army. We have come to avenge our fallen brothers...the men slain by your hand!" he added, pointing back at Ron with his naked blade. "We seek justice! SURRENDER OR DIE!"

Ron bristled and met his gaze with a hard glare of defiance.

"I merely defended myself when your soldiers attacked me with no provocation! Your leader fell because he beat and kicked an unarmed woman who had provided me food and water. Such an act of cowardice is beneath that of any soldier, and is something I cannot abide!

"As for you...Brossin Negalli...I leave it in your judgment to avenge your men as you see fit. However, if you truly want justice..." Ron rumbled menacingly at the leader as he slid the Raulden-built weapon free, " _THIS_ is the only justice I offer!"

Adrenaline was pumping through Ron's veins in such quantities by then that he was nearly his old self again, and so he broke into motion so fast that the second line of Brossin's troops jumped back.

The first was already doomed.

Holding his blade's scabbard in his left hand, Ron raked it slant-ways, slamming the nearest three spear tips downward in a blink, and then he engaged the troopers. The black sword pierced one man's shield like it was made of sack-cloth, completely impaling the fellow through the neck, and simultaneously he kicked the next one hard enough to open a large gap in their barrier.

In the following instant, Ron used that sheath as a club and slapped a fellow to his left into unconsciousness. Then, instead of pulling the blade back out the hole in the first man's shield, Ron merely twisted the weapon and raked it across, slashing through the next two warrior's protection as well as three inches of their torsos. Their spears never even moved.

When the blade swung free of those men, Ron's left hand followed his spinning move with that devastating club, crushing Brossin's shield and breaking his arm in two places. The general's falling figure careened into the fellow beside him, and by then Ron's back was to them so his feet entered the fray.

The last trooper in the forward group made to thrust his spear toward the blurred form of Ron Allison, but before he could even complete the move, he felt his head slammed to the side with enough force to cartwheel his entire body. Bare foot or booted, the impact of Ron's feet was not to be ignored. That warrior landed astride the water cart's barrel, but he never moved again.

With the front line destroyed, the second lay open to attack, and since Ron was never one to hesitate, that's where he headed.

Two men recovered themselves from their initial reaction and surged forward with their spears, but the black razor...powered by Ron's bulging shoulder...sliced neatly through them behind their tips and left the men gasping and confused.

Ron kicked one fellow hard enough to shove him back through the third line, beheaded two to his right in a single blazing swing, and then shoved one of their own dropped spears through the pair to his left. And that all took place in scarcely a handful of litas.

By that time, Ron was amid the last few remaining soldiers of the first wave, and the scene was pure carnage. They managed to maneuver two of their spears so that they made contact with Ron's flesh, but their edges were dull and so he was barely scratched...and then the Nevarians were all down.

That left room for the main body of soldiers to surge forward and join the fight, but a new wrinkle instantly took shape.

Ron was covered in gore at that point, his eyes flashing like a demon belched forth from the deepest, darkest pits of the underworld...and then he released his call to battle...the wild, terrifying release of air that only the mountain clans of the Aredanz could duplicate.

(At that announcement, in the Gitove household, each of the captains of Terista's troops slapped their fists to their chests and grunted deeply...a show of support and appreciation to one of their own. That startled Josy into pausing for a moment, her eyes flashing across the warriors' faces...and then she understood and smiled. In their minds' eye, they were totally immersed...seeing the clash as if standing there, on that ancient ground. Some of the men even had their eyes closed...all the better to allow the images of what they heard to be painted into reality. Each man in the audience could easily follow the described tactics through their own experiences, and while she was reading, she'd caught a few even leaning forward as Ron would thrust, and rocking their shoulders when he spun.

In that instant, she knew...they were with him...their most heralded, legendary ancestor...in the savage heat of battle to the death.)

She found her place on the page again and continued.

The men racing to the fight had already watched that vicious foreigner obliterate their commander and his fifteen men...as well as their archers...and so were quite a bit less than eager to dive in. But when they heard the primal...no...'primordial'...roaring wail that was Ron's call sign, their stout hearts skipped a beat and their stomachs suddenly felt horribly unsettled.

The forward section of that charging horde came to a quick, sliding stop in the hard-packed dirt path, each man glancing to his armored brother for support and confidence. None found any.

Barely ten kez separated them from the maniac their general had ordered them to attack, but for a long few moments, they considered their options very thoroughly. They still had more than seventy able-bodied men to accomplish their orders, but to those closest to the beastman before them...a fellow literally dripping with many of their friends' blood...victory looked far less assured than their overwhelming numbers might suggest.

Ron was ramped up and still spoiling for a fight, but he was not so far gone into the bloodlust of battle that he couldn't think. He saw the numbers, knew exactly what his condition was, and so took their hesitation as opportunity. He spun on his heels and ran!

To the west was the only avenue of possible escape. Two more hoz across the open fields would bring him to the edge of a dense forest at the base of the bordering mountains, and he was confident that if he could reach that wooded boundary, he had real hope.

The only chink in his plan was whether the adrenaline in his system could hold out long enough to get him there.

The first half hoz was a breeze. Ron flew along like a captive bird that had just been set free after a year's internment, ad it put much needed space between him and the troopers. But then it all came unraveled. The leaden feeling returned to his legs and his gasping for air quickly grew loud and raspy once more.

Behind him, a dozen men did not pursue at all, choosing to check on their commander and their fellows. Some set up a perimeter in the off-chance that the interloper was not alone. Three headed out to contact their fringe sentries to make certain this foreigner wasn't a scout, or a diversion...and that no invading army was marching on them.

The rest set off in pursuit of Ron.

Those men were all young and in fine shape, but as with any large group, some could travel at a greater speed than the others, especially carrying weapons and wearing armor. That allowed their large force to thin considerably. In fact, when the lead group caught their quarry...three quarters of a hoz away...there were only eight men in their band.

As they closed, Ron went down on one knee, gulping in air for all he was worth. The shadow blade was once more safely inside its scabbard, and it stood on end beneath his crossed palms, his forehead resting atop his blood-covered knuckles. He almost looked as if he were praying.

The eight soldiers took up positions all about him.

"Go home to your families!" Ron announced...his head still lowered on his hands. "I am not your enemy!"

"Sorry, you piss-hole," one of the group shot back. "But begging for mercy won't help you."

"I'm not begging for mercy," Ron told him as his eyes rose to meet the soldier's glare, "I'm offering it!"

Only two of the Nevari men snickered at that statement. The others exchanged hesitant, questioning glances. However, they were eight brave men and all were sworn to follow orders.

"Let's take him!" cried one of the more foolhardy fellows. He had not been close enough to the last clash with Ron. He had not borne witness to it with his own eyes. Nevertheless, his eagerness bolstered the others. They could see their quarry was spent...used up from the long run. They gripped their weapons tightly and focused on their duty. They would cut him to pieces.

However, instead of all of them hurling their spears at him from a distance...and from multiple directions...they pulled out their short swords and closed ranks. They would finish him like real men!

Less than half a bort later Ron was back on the move. Two dozen more troops were coming fast.

Ron set a less hectic pace from that point, knowing that the soldiers were getting tired as well. Thereby he made it another half hoz before a well thrown spear skittered across his bare ribs, opening up a bad gash that forced him to halt. He stutter-stepped to a stop beside that wooden missile which now vibrated rapidly where it had imbedded itself in the ground.

As blood poured down his side, Ron snatched that weapon out of the dirt path, spun about, and drilled its owner before the man could take another step. The rest of the group hurriedly skid to a stop with their mouths gaping open, but those men also kept their heads and fanned out.

Three troopers took their shot at the elusive quarry a moment later, using their metal-tipped spears, but Ron merely dodged one and slapped the other two aside with little effort. He then stood his ground facing the men, his chest heaving, his sword dripping, and a wild snarl across his lips.

Every blast out of his tortured lungs sounded like a bull snorting at his conquistador tormentor (a man who fights beasts on Ron's homeworld), and his glare held about the same amount of contempt.

The soldiers had already twice witnessed this foreigner's unparalleled abilities close up, so they held some space between them, but at last one took charge.

"Together!" he shouted while hefting his spear, finding its balance point. "There's no way he can block them all!

"Ready...NOW!"

Then, as one, they through their metal-tipped shafts at the lone individual who'd just wreaked havoc on their army.

Their plan was simple and their tactic was sound. Twenty spears flying at one point from an arc of ninety degrees guaranteed success. However, no one could have anticipated their quarry leaping straight up the way he did...or as high as he did.

Ron's right calf took a deep gash, as well as his left forearm, but beyond that, he landed virtually intact...with ten fresh spears within his reach! The men were all astonished, yet nine of them yanked their swords free and charged.

That was a disastrous move. Throwing with both hands, Ron retaliated against his attackers with blinding speed, downing four of those men with the knives he'd confiscated, and two more with their own poorly cast spears.

The final three fell to the ebony sword.

The rest of that group got their shields in front of them and retreated back down the path. There were thirty more soldiers approaching fast.

Ron tossed one last growl their way and then set off once more.

His head was pounding mightily again by that time. Mostly it was due to exhaustion, but thirst, disorientation of being planet-side again, as well as the stress of his shocking new reality, all combined to sap the indomitable man at an ever-increasing pace.

The edge of the woods was drawing nearer, but still lay over half a hoz in the distance. The only good thing about his position was that the crops were now behind him, and the way ahead was firm, closely-cropped grassland...a nice open buffer zone that helped keep wild animals from simply sneaking into the Nevarian food supply unnoticed.

Sentries were positioned at distant intervals to watch for such destructive creatures and the one nearest Ron had spotted him and moved to intercept.

The guard's spear whistled in at Ron as he ran, but he simply side-stepped the throw and took the fight to the aggressor. Ron caught the sentry's sword in the down-stroke with his sheathed blade and slapped it to the side before lowering his shoulder into the man's shield.

The sentry may as well have been trying to stop a full grown bartcha at a dead run. The Nevarian left his feet and struck the ground some eight kez to the south of where the collision had taken place. Ron had barely broken stride.

On the race went.

Ron soon began to weave and stagger badly though, lending vigor to his pursuers...as well as giving the illusion that they might at last be able to match him in battle.

A quarter hoz from the wooded land Ron so badly wanted to reach, he had to admit he'd failed. He was completely spent, and so he stopped.

The shadows were growing long as the sun dipped low, but he could clearly see that darkness was too far away. It would not save him.

In that flat, open ground, Ron Allison acquiesced to the fact that he could not escape by flight. He then slowly turned and prepared for what fate held for him, and watched as forty soldiers trotted around his position until he was completely surrounded yet again.

Shielded and armored, and each wielding multiple weapons, those that formed the circle took their time. They need not hurry anymore.

Their quarry stood before them in the guise of a man, but to gaze upon him was to see death itself for he was literally covered in the life fluid of more than fifty men. His hair and thick beard dripped with the stuff, as did his arms, and if he had dived into a vat of it he could not have been more coated. If it had been Earth, he'd have been likened to Satan's spawn.

The oddly shaped black sword he'd felled so many men with hung low in his right hand and the matching scabbard club drooped in his left. His broad chest heaved mightily, causing the glint of the setting sun to outline every muscle that spanned that rising and falling expanse so that they stood out sharply. It was a fantastic, yet horrible picture. The frantic huffing that blew thick spittle from his lips at every puff was a clear sign to the men who now licked their own...each hyped up and ready for the kill.

That maniacal fiend who'd done so much damage to their elite battalion was as good as dead!

A moment later the circle began to shrink, one step at a time. The troopers kept their shields locked together and held low, each man crouching so that they were protected as well as they could be. The few remaining archers fell back to the outer fringe of the closing loop, but stood up tall so they could fire over their crouching brethren. Their training was thorough and they worked well together.

Ron just stayed where he was, his entire body quivering from exhaustion. He could tell he was swaying, and knew how weak it made him appear, but he didn't care. He was drained. There was nothing left. He awaited the arrows with no animosity and no remorse. Fate would have its way.

When the soldiers were twenty feet away, they began to chant some kind of cadence, with each pause preceded by another half step closer. Ron recognized it as a timing aid...like a coxswain calling to his crew...and felt it reaching its dénouement.

He didn't bother spending time fretting over his position, didn't see his life flash before his eyes, and didn't even consider pleading for clemency. He merely waited for the crescendo. He knew he could take out possibly another six or eight men before he went down, but down he would go, and down he would stay...that was a certainty.

When they were ten feet from him, his fingers squeezed his weapons on last time. His body felt frail, but his grip was firm.

"Here we go," Ron thought as he gulped in one more huge breath of air.

"HOLD!" roared a voice from up the path that led back toward the walled city.

Every soldier froze. They didn't back away or stand, but nor did they attack.

It was Brossin Negalli. He'd just caught up with what remained of his army. His arm was held in a sling and strapped tightly to his chest. He was sweating heavily from the exertion and the pain in that arm.

Ron didn't know what to think, but he welcomed the chance for a longer respite.

Brossin slowly walked the final fifty kez to the outer perimeter of the group and then bade his men make way. He had a pronounced limp...no doubt a result of the earlier clash. Nearly three borts passed before he finally stood inside the ring of spears and shields. By then, Ron was no longer gasping desperately for air.

"Trapped like a Dorien chinch, eh?" Brossin commented snidely, but inside he felt far less than superior at the moment.

The commander of the northern army then stared at the crimson man before him, filled with a mixture of resentment and awe. This foreigner was a fighting man of a caliber he'd never seen...never dreamed of...and he wanted very badly to know where he came from, yet he wished just as badly to simply execute him, as did his soldiers. It was difficult to stay them too, from rushing the fellow just to wreak their revenge. His dilemma took more time.

Ron accepted that time without a word. His chest no longer heaved in the haggard, frantic way it had.

The commander finally gave in to his curiosity.

"Who are you?" he asked, still scrutinizing the newcomer carefully.

Ron said nothing.

"Where did you come from?"

Ron said nothing.

"Are you alone, or the scout of an enemy army?"

Ron was silent.

"Can you offer any reason why I shouldn't just kill you now?"

"I am not a spy...and I am not your enemy," Ron replied.

"So you said before. If you are not, however, why did you attack that first group of men?"

"I told you... _they_ attacked _me_."

"That is not what my men told me."

"They lie."

"Lying vermin scum!" shouted one of the bowmen as he snapped his weapon up and set an arrow to flight straight at Ron's torso. His eldest brother had fallen in that first skirmish, rushing in to avenge Gosherin.

Ron twisted to his left sharply, dropped his sword point-first into the ground, and snatched the arrow out of the air. Then, just as quickly, he reversed his maneuver and flicked the arrow back at its owner. The man was so stunned that he made no move to evade it, catching it squarely in the throat. He died writhing on the ground, drowning in his own blood.

Every head followed that act with wide-eyed astonishment, and then they all swung back around to the fellow inside the ring. Ron merely stood before Brossin unarmed, save the scabbard in his left hand. His right was empty. The ebony blade was still protruding from the dirt. He made no motion to retrieve it.

"Your man; Gosherin, ordered his men to attack me...to gauge my abilities, no doubt," Ron explained. "I retaliated. His men fell and he became angry. But when he vented his fury on an unarmed woman, he made _me_ angry...and so I was compelled to stop him."

Brossin did not like the story he was hearing, so contradictory to his own soldier's tale. He considered his options for a while longer before deciding. It was more time Ron accepted gladly.

"Surrender now and we will sort this matter out back at our command post."

He motioned for two men to come forward. They carried heavy chain manacles.

Ron bristled inside. His memory of being at the mercy of the Kreete in Huinrag surged through him in a powerful wave, heating him from the inside so that if he hadn't been coated with blood, he'd have been nearly the same color anyway. The well of adrenaline he'd already burned through suddenly felt replenished...his primal wish to remain free rapidly restoring his body's abilities.

Ron panned the faces of the encircling men in a blink...seeing clearly in their eyes the lust for his blood to be spilled...wanting nothing better than to watch him die right then and there in the dirt. But also, he was convinced he stood absolutely no chance with their justice system. Strangers in ancient times on Earth were most often considered mortal enemies too. It was a general fact of the human spirit. Only the truly innocent and the gentlest souls could see past that basic fear.

Ron thought for a short while, but knew what he must do. He then motioned for Brossin to take his sword.

"As you wish," he said in as defeated a tone as he could muster.

Inside though, Ron Allison's fire blazed anew.

The general reached out to grasp the handgrip of the raven sword at the same moment his men opened the clasps of the manacles to ensnare Ron's outstretched wrists. Ron had it timed to perfection.

The instant Brossin grabbed the knurled grip of the weapon, the Raulden circuitry kicked in and sent a crippling blast of energy racing through his skin. It felt as if his hand had been plunged into a smelting furnace.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" the commander screamed, crumpling to the ground in agony.

Ron burst into motion at the same moment.

The fellow about to secure Ron saw his prisoner's hands disappear in a move too quick to defend against. Ron gripped him by his thick breastplate and yanked him closer, head-butting him in the face violently. Next, the stunned soldier felt the heavy chains ripped from his fingers a fraction of an instant before Ron smashed those thick steel bracelets into the skull of his partner, taking the fellow completely off his feet.

The shocked soldiers standing all around froze for a full lita before regaining their composure. That was a period of time essential to Ron's plan.

Back to the dazed fellow Ron spun where he again used the trooper's chest protection against him. Whirling him about, Ron turned him into a human shield against the incoming arrows of the five remaining bowmen...and also three hasty spear throws.

Then, Ron kicked the dying man into the nearest surging troops with such force that five of them went down.

Before that man's body had even contacted his fellows however, Ron had spun again, snatching up the black sword and its scabbard...and then 'he' attacked 'them'!

Just as with the many times the Kreete had come so close to killing him, Ron's strength was somehow miraculously renewed by his incredible survival instincts...at least for the moment...and so he was once again completely unstoppable.

The ebony blade led the way and the heavy club followed suit. In the first five litas, eight men were down and the closest soldiers were frantically scrambling to form some kind of defense.

The growling sounds issuing from their 'prey' immediately forced them to reconsider who exactly was the disadvantaged in that fight, and several men desperately fell back in utter, abject horror...their minds filled with superstitious terrors they could not reconcile.

"What manner of creature is this?" they queried inwardly as they saw the speed and ferocity of the stranger obliterate their fellows with such ease. It was absolutely terrifying.

Then, with a bold urge to save their colleagues, the rest of the circle of soldiers charged in thinking to overwhelm him with their sheer mass. But even that was to no avail because the demon amidst them was by then surrounded by dead and broken warriors in a hellish, blood covered barricade of human bodies five feet wide and two men thick. That gruesome, slippery impediment stymied any successful concerted attack.

It was an impossible battle...one so absurd and gruesome that several men vomited at the carnage. The beastman was everywhere at once, using sword and club...and then spear...with such precision, speed, and power that when the fight was two borts old only eleven men yet stood to attack him, but they were the ones who'd held their distance.

Ron had not evaded injury either, suffering no less than two dozen serious wounds, but he'd learned long ago how to ignore pain and shift his tactics to circumvent weakness. When the troopers backed away however, he knew he was at a very grave disadvantage because they had the luxury of time that he did not. To wait would allow reinforcements to arrive, and for his body to succumb to its injuries. He had to move...fast!

Just when the gasping soldiers thought they'd fought him to a stalemate, Ron dove over the mound of flesh protecting him and charged again.

The Nevari troops had no recourse but to join forces, and that was his intention. He could clearly see the fear broadcast across each of their faces, and he meant to use that to his advantage. With a roar that would have made a tiger cringe, Ron plowed toward them.

It was a blood-spattered melee`.

The mincing, crashing, devastating onslaught that he'd already demonstrated continued until one of the soldiers' blades finally struck a debilitating blow to the back of Ron's sword hand.

It wasn't a slicing strike, and the edge was pathetically dull, so it didn't cut the tendons, but three of the small bones of Ron's right hand snapped, and his grip on the super-blade vanished. When that happened, Ron failed to block the incoming spear shaft that slammed into the side of his head hard enough to blur his vision, and down he went.

By then, the only two troopers left standing and able to wage war were the ones who'd just miraculously taken Ron down. However, with all the carnage around them speaking volumes about the impending outcome...their inevitable deaths at the hands of that madman...their instinct was to retreat. More men would be there shortly, and with their greater numbers they would finally finish the job.

Nevertheless, after those blows had landed and they saw him fall...obviously dazed and crippled...their confidence surged back in and restored their courage. They need not wait. With a quick nod to one another, they both lunged at him, one with spear and the other with sword. Unfortunately, their own war cries did them in.

There was no crispness to the images Ron saw, but he could still make out the nearest fellow's shape right atop him and so he kicked out blindly, catching the man square on the chest plate. It wasn't well timed, so it didn't strike with the necessary momentum to eject him from the bout. It did, however, stop his forward progress and foiled his blade thrust enough so that only the first few inches of steel pierced Ron's midsection, not the entire weapon. On the other hand, it left that soldier positioned right atop Ron, and still armed.

Although his head swam badly, Ron's left fist still gripped the ebony scabbard, so his next reaction was to use it in response to that lunging attack. He swung his sole remaining weapon at the sword-wielding trooper's blurred image, but that man's partner's spear was suddenly between them both, fouling Ron's counter attack. Unfortunately for the Nevarians though, that heavy metal tube changed the direction of the spear thrust and instead of skewering Ron's ribcage, it sunk to the hilt in his buddy's thigh.

Shock and bewilderment lit up the spearman's face, but an opposite reaction flashed across his friend's.

A howl of pain shrieked from the wounded soldier's lips as his head shot up into the air and he fell back harshly, releasing his sword's pommel and gripping his skewered leg in agony.

The owner of the spear froze for an instant, so horrified at what had happened, but Ron didn't hold his same sorrow. Back swung the sheath made of unbreakable metal, snapping the man's fibula, and when he dropped into Ron's lap, he put the man to sleep with a crossing elbow to the side of his skull.

### Chapter Six

### Escape

Ron hastily scrambled away, shaking the fog from his head until he'd restored his vision to the singular mode, and then he surveyed his position in a blink.

His first move was to retrieve his sword, so he dropped back to his knees, tucked the scabbard beneath his right arm, and snatched it up with his left hand. The tip of that blade then followed his eyes all about his position. Twenty-seven men were screaming from their injuries and flailing about, but no one within reach was a threat and all others were a quarter hoz away, busy with other concerns.

Staying low to the ground, Ron tallied his own wounds in a quick triage to determine his next move.

His right hand was worthless. It just quivered and would not respond to his orders at all, so he slipped the sword back into its protective covering and hurriedly wriggled the harness into position across his chest. Once that weapon was secured, his thoughts shifted back to his injuries.

Several gashes oozed blood badly...two on his legs and two more on his torso were the worst...so he plucked a knife from a nearby unconscious warrior and cut some bandages. Afterward, he hastily began wrapping himself up as tightly as his one working hand could manage, but it was a sloppy job and barely staunched the flow.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!" he growled at himself.

He knew he needed to get moving, but he also knew that if he lost too much blood, his escape would be for naught anyway, and that dilemma frustrated him all the more. Too, the adrenaline rush that had won the day for him was fading quickly, the nausea was returning, and his extremities were all trembling once more. He glanced at the tree-line to the west and it looked very far away. Then he looked back to the east and saw a new group of soldiers surging out the main gate of the city.

Ron bared his teeth at the sight.

Suddenly though, Ron's frazzled nerves sensed a threat at his back and he whirled around so fast that even he staggered from the move...his coordination rapidly disappearing in his worsening condition. However...and luckily...it was just the farm worker; Lasinii.

She hadn't run away very far when the battle had begun and had paralleled the skirmishes as best she could. Now she was slowly approaching from the south.

She stopped her advance instantly when she faced the tip of Ron's sword...a weapon she'd just watched him defeat or kill more than seventy men with.

She saw his eyes look beyond her in a fast sweep, and then the weapon returned to its protective cradle.

Without another moment's passage Ron headed west, toward the forest.

"Stop, Master Ronin," Lasinii told him.

Ron looked her way but kept moving.

"Go away, woman. You should not involve yourself with me. They," he added, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, "will be coming."

Her eyes never left his.

"You need tending or you won't make it till sunrise," she countered.

Ron glanced down again and smirked. "Yeah, you're probably right, but to help me will no doubt get you killed too. You should go."

Instead of retreating though, the young woman merely hurried to his side. She already held in her hands a thick coil of cloth, ready for use. And with that, a laden shoulder bag dangled against one hip and a large water skin was slung over her shoulder.

"It will take but a moment, Lord Ronin. Here," she said, handing him the skin, "drink this while I work."

Ron's throat felt as dry as the Sahara (a barren desert from his home world) and he could barely stand, so he halted and accepted the drink...and let the girl work.

She was well trained in field dressing a wound, that much was clear, and had his bandages removed and hers installed in quick order. Her fingers were strong and nimble and she was extremely efficiently.

Ron drained half of the water in one long draught, but he knew better than to have it all. He didn't know what else was in store for him before he could replenish it. He closed his eyes after that drink, just reveling in the feel of it. Then he looked down at Lasinii.

"Why would you help me?"

She was just finishing up wrapping his ribs, tying the bandage off tightly. She glanced up at his face with a puzzled expression.

"You were sent here by the Gods, my lord. I am bound to give you any aid I can."

Ron knew differently of course, but could hardly brush off her claim. What rationale would he use?

"The soldiers will see it differently, Lasinii," he told her, looking back to the east at the approaching army. There were at least a hundred more men running up the dirt track.

Lasinii didn't flinch. She was absolutely set on her path.

"They were not there, Lord Ronin. I was."

Ron didn't know what to say. He settled on the obvious.

"Well, Lasinii, you have my thanks...as do all the ladies. I wish you well."

With that, Ron turned and headed off toward the trees once more. Even at his walking pace he was certain the new soldiers could not catch him before he was well inside those darkening woods. And once there, even wounded, he would fear their numbers no more.

(The Aredanz warriors hanging on Josylinia's every word all gave another approving grunt.)

After just a few strides however, Ron had to turn his gaze behind him again. Lasinii was following him about two steps to his rear.

He kept moving but spoke to her.

"Do not follow me, Lasinii."

She never skipped a step.

"I must, my lord."

"Why?"

"It is the duty of the people to serve the Gods."

"But clearly you can see that I am not a god."

"You were sent to us by them. That is the same thing."

Ron thought for a while.

"Maybe she could be useful to me," he reasoned.

"Very well, Lasinii. If you wish to accompany me, pick up the bow from that man there, and his quiver of arrows."

Ron kept walking, listening to her dainty feet hurrying about.

A few moments later those feet were just behind him again.

"Thank you," he told her.

"You are most welcome, my lord."

The sound of that title irritated Ron. He associated it with the Kreete too much.

"Please, Lasinii, don't call me that. Just call me Ron."

"Yes, Ronin. As you wish."

He noticed how she changed his name, but as all the men he'd come across so far had similar endings to theirs, he simply assumed it was a cultural addition and chose to ignore it.

(Later, he would find that it was an insignia to denote a person's kingdom of origin.)

Ron was busy scanning the edge of the forest by then, looking for any new threats, but inwardly he rolled his eyes at her worshipping attitude. After another bort or two, a rather obvious use for his new partner flashed into his thoughts, and that's when he decided to make the best of her company.

"Lasinii, if you really wish to help me...and we survive long enough to make it matter...I would very much appreciate your tutelage about your people and the status of this land."

"It would be my honor, Lor...that is...Ronin."

Josylinia Gitove then closed the large book slowly, her fingers shaking from her own adrenaline rush and the heavy thumping of heart. She knew Ron must have survived that day, but reading it was almost as bad a seeing it, and that was extremely hard on her.

"That is...all I can read tonight, everyone," she announced to the group, the catch in her voice demonstrating the strain she felt. "I'm sorry."

That throng of transfixed, curious, and devoted souls was craving more very badly, but nonetheless, not one even tried to persuade her to continue. The reverence that they held for their most illustrious, legendary champion was consciously shuttled to his chosen mate. They would not question her wishes. But before they all left...

"Mistress, Josy," one of the captains ventured, approaching her carefully, almost meekly...a very odd attitude for a man who appeared so extremely fierce. "You mentioned several times about places I have never heard of...places the story does not explain."

Josy smiled up at him and nodded. "You are talking about 'Earth', and 'Rauld', right?"

"Yes, Mistress. Could you...at some other time, of course...it is getting late, and all. But could you explain what, or where, they are?"

Josy began to say yes immediately, but glanced over to Terista first, unsure how much to divulge to those primitive men. But she could see that the Aredanz woman was just as eager as her brethren to hear that tale, so she returned her attention to the captain.

"Normally, I would say that it was not my story to share, and that I didn't feel right about telling it."

"I understand, Mistress. Forgive me..."

"However," she added before the man could finish his statement. "Since Ron is no longer able to accept or decline your interest, and since you already know about beings from another world...like the Kreete...I don't see why not. And it would give you a better grasp on exactly who Ron was, and what made him so incredibly special.

"We can begin tomorrow, if you like."

Hearty agreements lit the faces of the men, and they all filed out and headed off to their camp in the woods, talking swiftly between one another. When they reached their men, they spent the next several billots passing along all of what they'd heard.

The following day began like any other, except for one thing. Fifty of the Aredanz warriors strolled up to the back of the house as soon as they saw activity within. There they waited until Karne stepped out.

The giant fellow simply moved to the edge of the porch and stared at them.

One of the men took the lead and stepped forward.

"Karne Gitove," he said as calmly as he could in the presence of such a dominating fellow. "We have come to offer our assistance. We are well-versed in the usual duties of such a place...the care of animals, supplying wood, hunting, and such. Only if you wish, of course."

Karne was a brilliant strategist, a thoughtful person, and a pragmatic soul.

"You wish to help us finish our work quicker so that my daughter might continue the tale of Ronin sooner." His voice boomed and rolled so deeply that none of them knew whether he was pleased, irritated, or about to attack them.

Such a statement...with no idea as to its context...was terribly nerve-wracking to the soldiers. It sent a silent quake through their ranks. Nonetheless, another man...one of the more seasoned ones...took it as it had been delivered; frankly.

"That is correct, Lord Karne. If we might spare Mistress Josy and your household some toil, it would indeed be a kindness if she would. However, if she does not, we will feel no insult."

"Very well. Follow me."

Karne then set the men to the chores where he could use them and went about his own duties. By mid-afternoon, the day's labors were complete and Josy was more than happy to sit down with the fearsome warriors and convey Ron's tale.

However, unlike before, she called all the men in from the woods and fields and bid them gather on and around the expansive porch. It was a dense crowd, no doubt about it, but she felt they all should hear the story. While they were getting settled, she, Mishea, Karne, and Larson...as well as the house staff...crowded together too and got comfortable, and then she began.

Luckily, it was a nice, dry day and the air was quite still, so Josy's voice would carry well, and neither a whisper, nor a murmur could be heard as she panned the large group.

"The first thing you should know about Ron...Ronin...is that he was not always the man that we...even those of us who've been closest to him...have known, or...in the case of you, his Aredanz brethren...have heard tales of. That may not be a great surprise since you've all heard the legend of how he was sent to Caron from the Gods, but it is far more compelling than that.

"As I'm sure each of you know, there are humans and humanoid beings inhabiting worlds other than this one...quite a large number of worlds, actually. Obviously, my father is one of those. And among the several hundred that we know of is a small planet in a far distant place...so far in fact that the distance would be difficult to even describe, much less fathom. Yet that is where Ron came from."

She went on for a short while explaining how ordinary he had been on his home world, and how his life was so placid and peaceful and commonplace.

"I have met his parents, his first wife, sister, his friends, and dozens of other individuals from that planet."

"However, as many of you might believe...the Guardian above has plans for each of us. Many times those plans are not what we might wish...too often, in fact, for my taste."

The solemn look she gave was enough to make her point.

"Nevertheless, Ron was chosen from amongst the trillions of souls that live on those worlds to be thrown into the battle for this planet's freedom. You see, Ron was not a warrior at all until he was plucked away from his home and compressed into a dual person...the one we now know. His original self was literally fused with one of your most well-known warriors, Kaskle Balstare Dangarth.

There was an instantaneous gasp at that announcement.

"He was literally created by the Great Father to become a champion for not only Caron, but more than a dozen other worlds as well. And he wasn't even sent to this planet first. When he found that he'd been joined with..."

Josy then went on from there and ran through the highlights of Ron's life since he'd initially landed on Rauld. She told it mostly from her recollections of what Ron had said to her, but added some of the more incredible feats he'd accomplished that Cache had shared with her as well.

From his shock at finding out the truth about where he'd ended up, through his training, the perilous valley crossing, the nail-biting aerial battle, and then their final, split-lita triumph, she wove her story with her usual grace and elegance, never drifting off track or pausing longer than it took to answer a question or clarify some technology the audience was unfamiliar with.

For three straight billots, she carried on. The house staff ran inside briefly and brought out pitchers of water for everyone, and the babies needed nursing somewhere in the middle (behind a carefully placed blanket), but it wasn't until she was past the Caronian war that they took a break for dinner.

Mentioning the old Kreete overlords brought up some angry, even vile memories, but no one seemed to harbor ill feelings toward Karne or Larson. They were prominent figures in that part of the story, and their valiant efforts to help win the campaign for Caron's freedom was greatly admired.

Just before dark, they reconvened and Josy spoke until midnight to bring all of them up to the point of Ron's demise. The only thing she intentionally left out was the visit to the little valley where they'd spent their last bit of time together. That was hers and hers alone.

When she brought the tale to an end, her voice had lost its light and airy lilt that made her so very easy to listen to.

She stayed silent for a long while, until...

"Forgive me, fine warriors of the Aredanz, but it is very late, and I'm afraid that this has taken more out of me than I thought it would. I will let Terista know when I am ready to begin reading again from the ancient book. Good night."

With that, Josy abruptly got to her feet with one of the babies (Mishea held the other) and headed inside. The sharp eyes of the warriors could easily make out that her cheeks were glinting in the lamp light of the porch.

### Chapter Seven

### Desperate Flight

Three days after the tale of Ron's creation had been told, Josy felt she was ready to carry on with the next part of his story. That decision wasn't easy because she knew that at some point in that document, she would have to face the reality of what she had already grieved. And that was her biggest fear. Nonetheless, she called everyone back to the porch on a warm, sunny evening...again wanting them all to share the saga equally.

"Now, for those who were not involved with the first part of the story, Ron had just narrowly escaped from a small army. He'd fought many skirmishes while suffering badly from dehydration, malnutrition, and space deprivation...a state when one's body has been away from gravity for extended periods."

The looks she received led her to attempt to explain further, but they were not likely to be able to understand any references she might make, so she paused. Karne came to her rescue.

"You men are woodsmen," he told them in as casual a tone as he could. "You've all had your turn at sentry duty, and many times that has meant that you spent several billots in the swaying branches of some tall tree...to acquire the height needed for long-range surveillance. Recall the feeling you had when you finally returned to solid ground. Now, just think how much worse it would be if you'd lived up there for weeks...or an entire santari."

Nearly every head was nodding slightly as they imagined that scenario.

"Also," he continued, "you've all hiked many hoz through creeks, streams, wetlands, and such...an excellent way to cover your tracks, of course, but it made your legs tired and weak, right? Remember how different it felt when you left that slogging fluid and were at last free again? Now think about it the other way around. What if the pull and drag of water was the norm? In space, there is nothing to inhibit your movement...nothing at all. You float...like a boat in the river except much, much lighter. But too, there is no 'up and down'...no way to orient your perception. So try to imagine being like that for a very long time, and then being returned to the solid pull of the planet, compounded by the press and pull of the water. It would be like getting up after a prolonged bout of sickness. Normal, everyday motions would make you feel drained and weak. You would have no stamina...and the worst thing is; there would be no relief. Even fighting a modest wind would sap your strength...like trudging against a strong current. Under such circumstances, how would you cope? Add to all that, the fact that you have no idea where you are or who you can trust, and then you are set upon by soldiers and forced to fight for your life.

"I tell you men," Karne continued, panning the entire crowd with his blank, silver-eyed gaze, "with all the experience in battle and space that I have...and let me assure you, it is extensive...I do not know how Ron...or any being, for that matter...could possibly have survived what he'd faced...and I have already witnessed that little man perform utterly miraculous deeds."

Karne finished his statement by shaking his barrel-sized head and throwing up his gigantic hands in a gesticulation of utter amazement.

The level of awe that was drifting through the entire group was palpable at that moment.

Even Josy hadn't considered just how dire a situation Ron had found himself in. After a long pause of total silence from everyone in the large group, she gathered her thoughts enough to begin again.

"Ron had suffered numerous cuts and gashes...some of them apparently very bad...and a broken hand. He'd made it to the fringe of a thick forest at nightfall, accompanied by a woman native to the area named Lasinii."

Then she bent her head to the page.

"Chapter four:"

As Ron and Lasinii delved further into the shadows of the dense verdure, one of them grew more at ease...at least somewhat. He could still clearly make out the cries of pain and shouting of orders across the open ground, but those exchanges were more along the lines of gathering the men to a common point, restoring order, and building a tally of who all they'd lost and who needed medical attention. There wasn't even a hint of the pursuit he knew would be coming at dawn.

Ron kept himself and his new partner moving all that first night, albeit slowly because of two reasons. The first was obvious...he was exhausted so badly that he was on the verge of collapsing at each step. The second became evident after a few billots inside the eerie cover of the woods when a shrieking cry split the relatively calm cadence of the nighttime creatures' stirrings. Ron stopped instantly to evaluate their position.

Lasinii had spoken very little up till then...at Ron's behest...so that he could concentrate on acclimating to the foreign surroundings and pick his way forward along routes that might mask their passage...namely, the wide game trails that wound and crisscrossed through the dense undergrowth.

Following that earsplitting scream however, she stuttered through whispered warnings that detailed what the locals knew about the fierce leopards that roamed the nights amidst the forest. Unfortunately, such knowledge slowed them down a great deal more because Ron was thereafter forced to spend a good amount of time pausing and listening even more intently to the calls of the dark woods. He was searching for definitive auditory signs that would pinpoint those predatory beasts' locations.

To their great relief, none of the deadly cats were roaming close enough to catch their sent, which he could hardly believe with the amount of blood that both oozed out of him and was stuck to his person. Fortunately, around midnight, Ron caught the sound of water off to the northeast and located a fast-running stream. They refilled their water-skin there and he managed to wash most of the dried, sticky stuff from his body...at least the part of it that wasn't his.

During one of their rest periods early the following morning, Lasinii used the burgeoning light of the rising sun to continue her doctoring of Ron's many wounds. He stood while she worked...not speaking...but instead, grinding up some of the hard-tack rations she'd scrounged from the fallen soldiers' packs. The 'vos'...as it was called...was waxy and almost tasteless, but better than nothing as it was also packed with badly needed calories. She'd scooped up three of the modest survival kits from the battlefield and (in addition to the food) each held two kez of clean thread made from the tail hair of an ox, along with a slim fishbone to use as a needle.

Ron kept watch while she worked, and didn't even flinch as she sewed him up, even though many of his deepest gashes were in areas commonly regarded as 'sensitive' to most people.

Lasinii kept glancing up at his face to see if he was in distress, but all she saw was the stoic, iron-hard glare of a serious man in deep turmoil.

Turmoil was the perfect term too. The inside of his brain was a twisted, tangled mess. Ron's thoughts were too vividly raw with emotion, too fragmented from the barrage of choices he'd been forced to make, and too jumbled by the insane situation he was in to react. His mind tried to steer his feelings toward anger...even rage...because of his new reality, and because of the loss of the incredibly wonderful life that had just been ripped from him. The injustice of it made his blood boil, especially when considering the philanthropic nature of his and Cache's mission, and the mind-blowing scope of it.

He'd always believed that to put others ahead of one's self was the purest way of appeasing every deity that existed, so why was he being punished? They had saved entire civilizations...entire worlds, in fact...only to see Cache die and he be cast into relative oblivion for it. And atop that insult, here he'd been dumped at the fringe of a primitive, hostile land where he'd been almost immediately set upon by an army for doing nothing but the right thing. It was truly a perverse set of circumstances he found himself in.

But even when those irrefutable facts had his heart pounding with near white-hot ire, he recalled another simple, undeniable detail: that his life would truly have been at an end if he hadn't been catapulted through space-time. Either the explosion of the Theranian ship's fuel cell or the approaching planet's gravity would have extinguished his existence with equal finality.

It took a while for his brain to make it around to that realization, but as it did, his thoughts whirled all the more. Why was he spared then? What was he to do? Was this all complete happenstance, or could it be that his life was being carefully orchestrated once again, and this exact fate had been sealed from the very start? Was he actually God's puppet? That's where his coherent deliberation faltered. He was so exhausted that it inevitably turned into a blurred, mix-mash of unintelligible gibberish.

Lasinii sewed until her cache of thread ran out, which left her three gashes short of completing her goal, but Ron just shrugged it off and set out again.

"I'll live," he told her solemnly.

During the next few billots of their trek, as the sun rose above the rolling peaks all about him, Ron's mind kept returning to the remorse and regret he felt, but fate suddenly stepped in again, and the entire situation changed in an instant.

Just as Lasinii's feet exited a shallow stream they'd been using to mask their trail, and the splashing noise of their passage stopped, a new sound caught his attention.

Ron spun about in a blink, his every nerve suddenly ramped up and running at maximum again. At each point on the compass the thick forest was close, so it was difficult to isolate the direction, but that was exactly what he needed to do...and fast.

It was early autumn, and the massive hardwoods and towering evergreens covered the land they'd just passed through in an unending net of green and orange and yellow and red. The obscuring effect of those colors shrouded him and Lasinii like a visual blanket of security, hiding them from the prying eyes of any human pursuers. That's what he'd counted on. But at that moment, humans were not what had him so worked up. What he'd heard was the baying of dogs!

It took barely half a dozen litas before he'd pinpointed the closing pack of animals, but he didn't know exactly what to expect.

Lasinii had seen his abrupt change, and so she was scanning the dense verdure as well, but she resisted the urge to question him. His instructions to her had been to stay quiet. Voices carried too well in the hills.

"Lasinii," he hissed in a terse whisper. "What are they?"

She'd seen Ron's strained expression and had been listening intently as well, but still couldn't really distinguish the noises, they being too far away and the sound echoing off the hills.

"I don't...hear any...thing, Ronin," she replied slowly, softly. "Describe it to..." and then a single bellow broke from the rest, its reverberation hitting just the right resonance to reach the pair clearly.

Lasinii's knees gave way suddenly and her eyes drew back in horror. Her rear end struck the ground with a thud and her hands clutched at the sides of her head.

"Marisalian jackals!" she croaked before her fingers hastily transferred to cover her mouth for even uttering the words.

Ron was already searching the trail ahead for a better location. He turned back and grabbed one of her hands, yanking her to her feet and hauling her after him at a fast rate.

"Describe them to me," he ordered as he towed her up a steep incline. He was no longer concerned with stealth. His breathing quickly grew ragged and desperate once more and he cursed his pathetic condition as if it were some vile and loathsome being.

"They're as large as a fully grown man," she replied, "and about as tall on their hind feet. They have wide, powerful jaws that can snap any bone, and six, long, dagger-like teeth up front for ripping flesh. They would stand about waist high on you...at their broad, muscular shoulders...and normally have short, dull claws, but these are the army's advance scouts, so their nails will be shod with metal to increase their offensive and defensive abilities.

"They will likely be traveling in a large group too."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "I make out at least fifteen."

Lasinii nodded wistfully, wondering how he could tell that without supernatural abilities, but she kept her explanation focused. "And they usually have sharpened spiked bands around their necks to keep anyone...or anything...from attacking that single area of vulnerability."

"Are they trained to locate, or kill?"

"Kill!" she returned.

"Of course," he growled.

The fleeing pair soon reached an area where a fire had recently torn through that part of the mountains. In its wake, the blaze had left charred, blackened ground running up to the base of a steep, short cliff. There were easily hundreds, if not thousands, of burned out stumps littering the hillside, and it was just what he needed; a clear knoll with good, long-distance visibility.

Close to the cliff face, they stopped.

Ron was huffing badly again and feeling weak and drained, and they could both tell the jackals were getting close. Another bort perhaps would see them hitting the stream they'd just forded.

Ron slipped the bow off his back and then the quiver of arrows followed, his eyes locking onto his injured hand. He tried to make it close, but could not. The swelling was more than even his muscles could overcome. He glanced about hurriedly, scanning their meager possessions. His gaze stopped at Lasinii's pack where a roll of bandage material was bulging.

"Quick!" he urged her. "Tie the bow to my hand!"

Lasinii stared at him for a brief moment, understanding what he was about to do to that bloated appendage, and wanted to stop him from inflicting more harm. However, in their current predicament, there was no other choice, so she broke into motion.

She was swift in her actions, but when she heard him inhale sharply at her first touch, she paused, desperate not to cause him more pain. He just growled.

"Do it!" he commanded through clenched teeth.

The forerunners of the pack broke out of the trees a moment later, and Ron watched them with an unwavering gaze. They were two hundred kez away and five were out front of the others by a good fifty kez.

"Excellent!" he thought, seeing the tiny hope of a chance. "Hurry!" he ordered. "And make it tight!"

Lasinii was working as fast as she could, still cringing at doing what she knew must hurt him badly, but she did as he demanded, winding the cloth as tightly as she could. Sweat beads ran off of Ron's face as she was finishing up, but he did not complain. He was timing the attack. With his free left hand, he set the full quiver into a position that offered the best access...and waited.

"Lasinii!" he hissed...his heart racing along as fast as those beasts.

Lasinii yanked the final knot tight when the lead dogs were barely ten kez away, their great maws open and a slathering froth of spittle flying in every exhalation.

"Done!" she announced, but Ron was already in motion.

"Zip!" went the first arrow, slamming into the chest of the fastest beast, and then those wooden missiles began to leap forward in a maddening rush. Left handed or right, Ron Allison was a blur of death-dealing motion.

"Zip-zip-zip-zip-zip-zip..."

The jackals' howling cries erupted into a cacophony of panicked screams of pain, and each lita added to their misery as more of the creatures reached Ron's killing range.

Several of the huge canines required multiple shots to keep them down, so before they were all either dead or permanently immobilized, Ron was out of arrows. At that point, he simply turned to his partner.

"Move!" he ordered over his shoulder. "Find a way up to a steep rocky perch where they can't reach you, just in case they get past me." He then immediately turned back to the still pressing threat.

Five of the jackals were left, and they were slinking toward him menacingly, yet slowly. Those creatures were more experienced in warfare than the others, and knew better than to just rush headlong into danger, so they paced back and forth, barking and grunting to stay coordinated in an ever approaching pattern. He could tell that they were trying to out-flank their quarry but Ron's position was well chosen and they could not maneuver around behind him.

As he glared at those massive, vicious beasts, the inner flame of war fed more fuel to the furnace of his soul, bringing online the desired amount of adrenaline, fortitude, and all out bestial fury of his being. In mere litas, Ron's body was coursing with a renewed vigor of old, and the savage beast within was clamoring to get out!

Like a long, rolling, and terrifying thunderclap, the challenge of the Aredanz mountain folk burst out onto the wooded land and set every creature's nerves on edge...especially Lasinii's. As that earsplitting, insidious wail reached her ears, she collapsed to her knees in terror again, and spun about to see what horrible demon had been unleashed upon her. But when she locked onto the epicenter of that sound, she gasped anew.

"Oh Guardian above me!" she mumbled as shockwaves of panic raced through her figure. "What manner of creature have you sent us?"

She'd been focused and hell-bent on finding a safer place to escape to a moment before, but now she was frozen where she sat...too transfixed to move further.

(On the previous evening, out on the open ground of the Nevari fields, when Ron had let loose a similar cry, she'd been much further away and running through the rows with several of her fellow workers, all of whom had been screaming and crying. Here, he was merely ten feet from her and the sound seemed amplified to the point that she could feel it reverberate through her.)

Ron Allison stood there like a living monolith, the awful cry still issuing from his mouth in and ever increasing pitch. The black sword was in his left hand and the bow was yet still tied to his right. It was as if he was beckoning the killer pack of jackals to come closer...if they dared.

As the terrible challenge died away into the echoing hills, the canine group...which had frozen in mid-stride to watch him...crept forward. They growled in deep, menacing tones, but it was the returning growls that sent more shivers up Lasinii's spine.

"He's transformed into a monster!" she concluded.

When the jackals were five kez away, spread apart in a wide fan-shaped pattern, Ron had waited all he was going to, so he charged!

Ron sprinted toward the center dog with a roar upon his lips and the raven sword held high, which caused the jackal to hunker down and brace for the clash, but the outlying ones instantly surged forward to come at him from the sides. Unfortunately for them, he'd been pitted against many different animals while in the arena of the Retribution Games, and so that particular reaction was what he'd expected.

Precisely when the closest creatures sprang at him, Ron dropped to his right in a beautiful, full speed shoulder roll and spun beneath one, causing its slathering jaws to miss their target. But as it sailed merely a hair's breadth over his ribs, he lashed out with the super-keen edge of his Raulden blade. That surface struck the jackal forward of its left shoulder and exited out the right side of its hind legs. The two sections separated in midair, and their lifeless masses...as well as a rather horrendous amount of blood and entrails...slammed into its fellow beasts attacking from the opposite side, forcing a momentary regrouping.

The jackal that was still outboard of that unlucky creature though, was right on top of Ron when he'd completed his rolling maneuver, but the demon from the 'Games' had anticipated that as well and had the tip of his sword perfectly positioned for its lunge. The blade pierced the dog's skull without hesitation and only the creature's weight managed to reach Ron's flesh.

Ron whirled again, flinging the dead animal clear of his weapon and regaining his feet in the same motion, just in time to meet the next sortie`.

The three remaining beasts leaped forward at him immediately, shoulder to shoulder, which was a mistake.

With amazing agility and speed, Ron shifted his body to the left and then twisted and lunged right, skewering the creature nearest him and pressing its heft into the others to foil their effort.

He'd hoped to get himself some breathing room as well, but the ebony blade wedged itself in the writhing jackal's ribs and pulled him off balance. And as anyone knows, a four-legged animal is extremely quick in a close-quarters fight, so that move left Ron no time to turn and meet the newest attack.

The surviving pair of giant dogs...one coal black and the other light tan...leaped at Ron as one when he fell forward, their snarling warnings mixed with his own. He had no alternative other than to drop to his knees, still yanking hard to wrench the sword free, but threw up his right hand just the same, trying to block the tan jackal that was right before him. That defensive strategy saw his entire forearm (up to his elbow) engulfed in the gaping maw of the creature, and in fact, if he hadn't had the bow lashed to his broken hand, the beast would have likely removed it completely. As it was though, fortune allowed that long wooden weapon to slam into the back of the dog's mouth and prevent it from clamping down fully. However, those jaws did close enough for its dagger-like front canines to pierce Ron's arm, right between the tibia and fibula.

Ron felt the searing fire of that damage tear through him instantaneously, but it barely outpaced the agony of his broken hand catching the full weight of the animal, so he did all he could...he clenched his teeth against it. But then the massive jackal whipped his head left and right with all its strength and the demon-man released a frantic howl of abject agony.

(Josy took a few moments at that point, her hands shaking so hard she could barely see the page of the story. She turned and lifted a glass of murge juice to her dry lips and slowly breathed in and out very deeply a few times. Mishea patted her shoulder and gave her daughter a sweet smile of understanding when she caught her eye, and that helped as well. A bort later she continued.)

When his body was splayed out fully, pulled one way by the war-dog and the other yet clinging to the raven blade that was his only weapon, the black jackal regained its footing and pounced. He was totally defenseless, with no way to retaliate.

Ron didn't panic or try to escape. He just snarled savagely at his foe. If this was where he came to his end, he accepted it...and felt it better to die right there in the heat of battle than to be captured and end up withering away in some dark, dank hole of a prison cell. Unexpectedly though, a new wrinkle entered the fray.

Lasinii, though terrified for her own safety, could not abandon her lord. When Ron's challenging roar had abated and he stood his ground so valiantly to block the beasts from getting to her, she decided that their fates had been intertwined for a definite reason. And when the five jackals first reached him, she had the only weapon on her person out of its storage pouch and was searching the rocky terrain for ammunition. Growing up poor, with three brothers, she'd learned well how to operate that simple device. So as the black jackal pounced, she let fly with a stone the size of an egg, and it struck home squarely against the creature's skull with impressive force.

Ron knew nothing of her assistance in his own dire strait, but that throw stopped the ebony fiend for at least two full litas, enough time to allow the Raulden sabre to finally break free.

Ron's bulging left shoulder accelerated that shadow blade around so fast it sang in the air a high-pitched tune...and then it struck. Without a moment's pause, that weapon parted the tan jackal's head from the remainder of its body and allowed Ron to roll to his knees.

Once there, he faced the final threat with the tan dog's jaws still clamped to his arm, but he didn't even register that fact.

The black jackal dismissed Lasinii as soon as he saw where she stood...twenty kez to its left...and returned its attention to Ron. It kicked up dirt and small rocks in a broad shower as it raced at him, its body low to the ground and its gaping teeth shining in the sunlight. In response, Ron bared his own teeth at the beast, and when it came at him, he used its partner's head as a shield while he sunk the raven sword to the hilt in its chest.

The huge creature thrashed harshly before it perished, ripping the tan dog's skull free of Ron's arm in the process, and then it gasped and howled and writhed for a few more moments before expiring at his feet.

Blood poured from the wounds to Ron's arm in a flood, so much so that he forego his usual roar of victory and stowed the sword hurriedly before plugging the holes with his left thumb and middle finger. Then he stood tall and scoured the woods in the direction the jackals had come from, quickly finding what he knew he would...the sound of their masters' pursuit. They were coming fast and their exertions were clear in the air, even over the grunting exhalations he was making.

In a blink, he turned away from the carnage and set off at as fast a pace as he could.

Lasinii's heart was racing as quickly as Ron's at that point, the flood of adrenaline screaming through her as well, so when he caught up with her and grunted out; "Run!" she didn't dawdle.

### Chapter Eight

### Survival of the Fittest

They traveled until midday before their next break, and that came only because Ron stumbled and fell hard. Using his one good hand to quell the flow of blood from his damaged arm left his agility substantially hindered, and combining his level of fatigue and injury with the uneven, rock-strewn terrain turned out to be a recipe for unavoidable trouble.

He immediately rolled onto his back in sheer, physical desperation. He was beyond exhausted at that point, and gasping for air...but that didn't keep him from being so angry at his condition he felt like exploding. Rumbling sounds resonated from his broad chest even as he huffed savagely for the next decent breath.

"Rest, Ronin!" Lasinii ordered, slipping herself under his head and shoulders and using her lap to cradle his wheezing torso.

He wanted badly to refuse, but knew he could not. He was spent. He quickly resigned himself to the fact that he would have to moderate any future flight much more judiciously.

While he accepted her assistance, Lasinii pulled his right arm to her and cut the bandage off him, freeing the bow from his hand. It had swollen much more by then and his fingers were blue and purple from the restricted blood flow. Fortunately for Ron, it was also numb as well, so much so that he couldn't feel the pain he knew he should have. Next, she used some of their water to wash out the puncture wounds from the jackal's teeth, wrapping them thoroughly when finished.

Once more, Ron's uncanny luck had held enough to keep him from being permanently crippled. The beast's canines had torn two nasty gashes in his flesh, but hadn't cut any tendons or vital arteries...and they hadn't snapped his bones.

When Ron's breathing wasn't quite as urgent, Lasinii swung her water skin around and offered him a drink. He took it eagerly.

Five more borts of repose saw Ron recovering nicely, and so he fought his way back to his feet and set off once more, although at a much slower pace. When they were on their way again, Lasinii offered him a few small, bread-cakes from the stolen ration packs. That too, he accepted eagerly, but when she did not join him in the sparse meal, he frowned at her.

"You're not eating?"

"I save it for you, Ronin," she explained. "You need it more than I."

Ron instantly tore the food in half with his teeth and shoved a piece into her hand.

"Eat!"

She nodded timidly, and then smiled. She was amazed at his concern over her, never having witnessed such compassion from a man. It was quite illuminating.

As sunset loomed ever closer that evening, Ron couldn't help but feel anxious about their situation. Their arrows were gone, his right arm was all but useless, and he had no idea where he was going. His partner remained unperturbed though, and didn't make any complaints whatsoever, and for that he was immensely grateful.

Brooding as they travelled, Ron pondered their circumstances over and over, but finally came to a much more optimistic conclusion when dusk began to drape the land all about...that he and Lasinii were lucky in many respects.

Following the jackals' attack, the army's pursuit was either poorly managed or non-existent, and so as nightfall pressed in on them with its chilling effects, he actually felt much more at ease. And when they happened upon a huge slab of rock jutting out over a nice dry bed of wind-blown leaves, he even smiled. He was yet unwilling to start a fire, but the leaves served well as a blanket with the two of them huddled tightly together.

Lasinii was asleep in barely a handful of litas and Ron followed her into slumber forthwith. There, beneath the overhang of stone, yet still wide open to any predators that might happen by, they slept like the dead through that entire night.

Ron didn't hear another leopard for the next two days. By then, they were over the second crest of foothills and into the deep forest, a place where Lasinii said no sane man would knowingly venture...and none had ever returned.

Ron recovered his strength fairly quickly, eating a huge portion of their rations in that time period. Lasinii didn't question his ravenous condition, or the fact that they would be out of food in another day, but just the same, Ron tried to assure her he knew what he was doing.

"I realize how this looks," he told her as he gobbled down another few of the hard-tack discs and bread-cakes on the evening of the fourth day of their escape. "But there is food all about us. We just need to stay ahead of the searchers while I recover. The trip to your world..."

Lasinii's eyes turned to saucers at that statement.

"Dammit!" Ron scolded himself for the slip.

"The journey I took was long and taxed me greatly, but I'm feeling much better now. I'll hunt tomorrow, or the next day for sure."

Lasinii stared at him with an odd expression. It wasn't worry, or fear, or any other normal reaction that he could discern.

"You need explain nothing to me, Ronin," she said. "I am yours to command, or to discard, as you see fit."

Now it was Ron's turn to be dumbstruck.

"What? Why? Why would you even say that, much less believe it?"

She looked bemused.

"You are of the 'Gods'. I am just a girl...a slave."

"No-no-no-no," he told her, shaking his head vehemently. "You are a person...just as much a person as I am. I am no God, nor did I come from the Gods. I am a man, and that's it!"

Lasinii stayed quiet for a short time while Ron ate. She didn't want to irritate him in the least. But then...

"I saw you come down from the sky, Ronin. That cannot be denied. The huge black egg fell to the ground not ten steps from where I was standing, almost as if it were intentionally directed at me. Then it split open and out you came, right at my feet. We were all there. We all saw it. And we all know that men cannot soar through the heavens...only the Gods can do that. So you must be one of them...or be sent from them. What other explanation is there?"

Ron shook his head slightly and sighed. There was only one alternative to her claims...the truth. She seemed to be an intelligent, level-headed young woman so he decided to chance it.

"I will not deny that I came to you from what you call the heavens," he told her. "But on other worlds men _can_ fly through the sky...and even venture to the stars. They can do incredible, wondrous things that your people would probably accept as supernatural, or pure magic. But they are not Gods. Some like to think they are, but they are not.

"They live and love and fight and die on hundreds of worlds you could never even imagine, yet they are merely men nevertheless."

Lasinii stared at Ron like a child hearing about Santa Claus for the first time (a mythical person who looks after children on Earth)...totally mesmerized.

"You have travelled the heavens, Lord Ronin?"

Ron just smiled lightly and then nodded.

"Yes, Lasinii, I have. I have been to more than a dozen worlds. But I got there in machines that men and women built."

"Women?" she chirped, absolutely astounded.

"Yes," he chuckled, recalling his former partner with great fondness. "One of the most brilliant people I've ever met was a woman. She was an inventor, an engineer, an excellent athlete, and a fierce warrior!"

That had Lasinii's mouth agape once again.

"Mankind has expanded across the cosmos to innumerous worlds, but they did it just as the people here move forward...one step at a time. One invention leads to another, and then another, over thousands of years...until you break free of the confines of your world to explore new ones.

"I had a normal life once, Lasinii, just like you. I did a modest job and had a simple home. I even had a wife. And I have had two children...a son and a daughter. It was all safe and average where I originally came from, and...well...normal. So, you see, I am just a man."

She let her mind wonder about that for a long while. However, the inevitable conclusion of her uneducated mind was too filled with what she'd witnessed for herself.

"But there has never been a man who could fight like you, my Lord...who could do what you did to Gosherin and to an entire battalion of soldiers. You're so strong and quick, and it's as if you know what they will do before they do it. You are so far beyond their skills that you make them look like children. And I know that you are weak from your trip to get here. I was there when you collapsed out of the egg, so I can only guess at how powerful you will be when you are fully yourself again.

"No, Lord Ronin. I am sorry to disagree with you...and I certainly would not suggest that you lie...but I could never believe that you are 'just' a man."

Ron could retort her assessment no more, so he just smiled and finished his meal in silence.

They hiked another few hoz before nightfall, and then settled in for the night in the pocket of some huge boulders that formed a tight cleft, just wide enough for the two of them. It was located facing into a small box canyon opposite the direction any pursuit would come, so they made a fire and were warm that night as they slept.

Dawn caught them already on the move once again, winding their way deeper into unknown territory. They ran into a bit of luck when Lasinii spotted some edible berries a few billots later, but it wasn't a large find and they stripped the plants completely in borts. It was hardly a meal to satiate their rumbling bellies.

Pressing onward saw them descend into a basin between two towering peaks. That took most of the day, so when they came across a fast flowing stream at the end of that fifth day, Ron made camp beside it, right up against a cliff face that had a deep undercut in the stone for protection against a rainstorm. And it was a good thing they did too, because that night the sky opened up in a torrent.

Ron breathed easier when that happened though, because he knew that was the best way to erase all signs of their passage. They would be safe for a few days at least...maybe a week. They could finally rest. Also, the cold water of the crystal-clear stream cascading down from the higher elevations allowed him to soak his injured hand and arm, which helped reduce much of the swelling.

The looming problem at the forefront of his mind then was food...in particular; meat. The rations were gone and he needed something much more substantial than the sparse fruits and berries they'd been scrounging along the way. He'd been eyeing many of the smaller creatures during their flight from Nevari, but with no arrows and no time to set snares, he saw no way of catching them. Lasinii was very capable with her slingshot, but they were simply too wary and skittish for her to take down.

When Ron awakened the following morning, the rain was still falling steady and hard...large drops like those in summer downpours in his home state of Louisiana...but the wind was dead calm. Typically, he'd have gone off into the woods and set traps to catch smaller animals like rabbits and squirrels, but the fingers of his right hand still had little dexterity for building such devices, and in any event, those creatures would most-likely be hunkering down in that kind of weather anyway. However, the larger beasts were another story. He decided to use that liquid cover to his advantage.

"Stay here, Lasinii," he told his new companion. "I'm going to try to find some game."

Her expression was one of doubtful surprise.

"In this?" she queried, her hands sweeping outward, indicating the rain.

Ron just smirked at her and strolled out into it, disappearing in mere litas.

As his figure was lost to her, she suddenly realized he had no weapon with which to hunt. The bow lay on the ground beside her. But even if he could have used it with his damaged hand, they were out of arrows. Her mind spun in confusion.

He knew all of this too, obviously. But that did not deter him. He would simply have to find another way.

The rain was cold on his bare skin, so much so that he immediately broke out in waves of shivers, but Ron had experienced far worse and so simply turned it off, forcing himself not to quake. A short time later he was flying up some steep terrain in an effort to generate his own internal heat, which worked quite well, and it felt good to be on the hunt again too.

A hoz away from their camp, Ron came across a small meadow in the dreary landscape and so he eased up to the edge of it beneath the encroaching verdure. He felt certain that the grazing animals that dwelled in those woods would surely take this opportunity to have a tasty meal under the concealment of the weather. He would just have to wait and hope to get lucky.

Ron slid the black sabre from its sheath and stood there concealed by a tree with low hanging limbs. The air was very still and the rain fell straight down, so he was fairly confident that no wild animal would pick up his scent unless it somehow strolled right up beside him.

He stayed as still as the tree trunk at his right, feeling the chilling effects of the rain sap every bit of the heat he'd stored up, but he did not falter. Time dragged on, and his core temperature dropped and dropped, yet Ron refused to let himself fail in his endeavor. This was one of those times that tested the mighty warrior's mental resolve ( _I call it pure stubbornness_ ). Stealth was absolutely the key to success...so he stood as rigid as a marble statue.

Billots drifted by while he watched, and no living creature moved across his visual range, yet still he held to his task. His joints stiffened up and his spine began to scream at him, so irritated was it at the lack of movement, yet he kept to his vigil nonetheless. After another billot, he began to wonder if his plan was a prudent one, especially since the building stiffness from his lack of mobility would most likely thwart any attempt at a kill, even if it presented itself...but then...

Off to Ron's right came a soft rustling sound, clearly the passage of some animal through the thick underbrush. He barely even moved his eyes, but they swung around slowly until he focused on that area.

Another few borts crept by before he saw it, but when he did, he smiled inside. It was a joral (Erthanian antelope)...a large female...and she was easing out into the open meadow gingerly, her eyes and ears on the alert. According to Lasinii, those beasts could leap fifty feet in any direction and land at a dead sprint...and run faster than an arrow could fly.

Ron suspected that was a bit of an exaggeration, but didn't discount the creature being extremely fleet. How else could it possibly survive in the wilds of Erthania?

Another several borts passed before the antelope was fully out in the tall grass, and then it began to feed. When it bowed its head for the third time to snip a mouthful of grass, Ron began to raise his left hand, the black sword gripped securely within it.

Every time the joral ducked for a new bite, the blade rose another foot, but before it was in position for a cast, he found the tree that hid him had become a hindrance. Its wet, drooping limbs hung too low. He would have to move.

Using the same timing technique, Ron inched his way over until he had a clear path, but then he was concerned by the distance. The antelope was nearly fifty kez away. At that range, even if he made a perfect toss, the beast would have time enough to dance clear if it heard any sound whatsoever. Unfortunately too, he knew he'd have to take at least one step forward to make the throw, and then the rain striking the surface of the flying blade would definitely give a warning.

He needed to get closer.

Ron stayed put right where he was for almost another half-billot, the ebony weapon at the ready. It was tedious to say the least, but he wanted that meat very badly...and the hide. He barely blinked and his breath was slow and shallow so as not to give off much fog when he exhaled. It would have driven most men insane, but Ron merely endured...and watched.

The bad news was that the creature was slowly grazing away from his position, and that nearly made him forfeit the attempt altogether, but then a surprising change came about. The joral's head suddenly snapped up from its foraging and faced directly away from Ron, its body tensed and every hair on its back standing erect. The next instant the gazelle sprang with amazing swiftness, straight at Ron.

As impressively quick as the joral was, Ron tracked it without trouble, and when its fore-hooves struck the soft ground twenty kez from him, the raven sword was airborne. His timing was, as usual, perfect, and the hilt of that weapon slammed home in the center of the racing antelope's chest before its hind feet had caught up.

The joral made one more leap, more the result of a previous mental command than a current one, and then it plowed heavily into the wet turf at Ron's feet. The beast thrashed twice and then lay still, and by then Ron was already at work.

With the dark sword once more in his good hand, Ron bent to gut the creature, but a slight movement across the clearing stole his attention and he froze. A shadowy figure was crossing that grassy expanse extremely quickly, and on the second bound out in the open, Ron saw it.

Blasting out of the tall grass was a leopard the size of a Siberian tiger (a huge carnivorous cat from his homeworld), and it was headed straight for him.

"Shit!" Ron thought, but that hardly registered in his mind before he leaped straight up.

In that instant of time, Ron was immensely grateful that he hadn't moved away from the tree too far because into its lower branches he hauled himself...and just by the slimmest of margins did he make it. The wounds he'd sustained in the recent battles protested poignantly, especially his right hand and arm that sent searing shards of agony into his brain, but he did not slow down.

Like a frightened monkey of the wild rain forests, Ron scampered through the thick bows to a point he felt he could defend, and then he spun about prepared for battle. But when he reached back for his old friend, he grasped nothing but air.

"What the...?" he hissed before realizing what had occurred.

In his madcap race for safety, he'd dropped the raven blade so that he might climb. Now, his eyes strained to see through the rain and the thick foliage to find that all-important weapon. It took a few moments and a bit of maneuvering, but Ron finally located it lying right beside the fallen antelope.

He was thankful that the leopard hadn't really wanted him for a meal too, because it no doubt could have reached him. However, the fresh kill of its favorite prey lay on the ground beneath them, still warm, so it made sense to Ron why it hesitated...why it wouldn't risk attacking an unknown creature high in the treetops.

The leopard was ten feet up the tree by that time and sent out an ear piercing scream of warning at Ron. But then it backed down and dropped to the turf, quickly pacing about the still twitching joral, searching for any other threats to its prize. It glared up at Ron a few more times, intermittently releasing growls that rattled the dripping leaves, and then it bent over the kill.

Ron stayed put for half a billot...the rain running off him in rivulets...watching the huge cat tear savagely at the deer, before he began easing himself down again. He kept his eyes locked on that menacing feline as he moved so smoothly someone would never have guessed that he wore so many deep gashes laced across his figure, or that his right hand was swollen twice its normal size.

Down, down, down he went, until he was just fifteen feet above the beast, and there he paused to think.

On Earth, leopards often hefted their kills high into a tree to keep other predators from getting at it, but it appeared that this creature was comfortable enough to have at least part of its meal first. That gave Ron a couple of things to worry about. If the leopard were to gorge itself where it was, how long would that take? If it was going to carry it off, when might that be? And lastly, if a breeze picked up and the scent of the fresh blood...and there was a huge pool of that...were to carry to more predators...possibly greels or other cats...what was he going to do to defend himself.

That thought led to another worry. It shifted Ron's mind back to his female partner; Lasinii. He'd been gone far longer than he'd planned and was certain that poor woman must be frightened nearly to death by then. After all, he'd left her alone in a strange, dangerous forest for the better part of an entire day now. He had to get back to her!

Ron took stock of himself quickly, finding the black scabbard lashed to his back, as usual, and two of the soldiers' knives still in his belt, but those were the extent of his offensive possessions. His upper body had two wraps of cloth to help keep his wounds sealed, and he had an Erthanian kilt about his privates. That was the extent of his clothing. All told, it was a very meager and disheartening position to be in. But that was not what was whirling through his mind. Even amidst such danger, he yet wondered how he might turn this predicament into a victory.

He rarely allowed himself to complain or wallow in any misfortune...even to himself... so he didn't do it there either. He simply put his focus toward what he might be able to achieve with what he 'did' have.

It took barely another bort for him to decide.

Carefully, Ron found his balance on the limb beneath his bare feet and began to move outward from the trunk. It was a good-sized branch, almost six inches in diameter, and held him well enough, but when he was ten feet along, he noticed the outer fringe of leaves drooping heavily. They'd already been hanging much lower than normal due to the weight of the rain, but now they nearly brushed the back of the leopard, threatening to foil Ron's plan. He immediately stopped and made some new calculations.

He'd have loved to have travelled another four feet, but decided he had to chance it from where he was.

With all the confidence that comes with repeated practice over a great deal of time, Ron set his goal solidly in his mind. A moment later, he dropped out of the tree in an insane, one-shot-only attempt at freedom.

When his waist fell below the branch, he was clear of the verdure, so he hurled one of his knives at the leopard's right shoulder. The blade was barely six inches long and would do almost nothing to the cat other than surprise it, but that was precisely what he banked on.

Ron's feet struck the ground at the same instant the cat leaped sideways to its left, recoiling from an apparent attack to its right side, where the knife had struck. Such a reaction placed it in direct contact with Ron's right hip, but it was looking away from him. That fact gave Ron just enough time to grip the black sword before the frantic creature could twist around to see exactly what it had brushed up against.

One powerful slash from the ebony razor was all it took to sever the huge cat's spine right behind its head.

Ron sprang back as far as he could after the strike, just in case it didn't work, but when the leopard fell solidly to the wet ground and didn't move an inch, he eased up his stance and went forward.

He scanned the great feline carefully, noting its chest no longer swelled and that no fog of breath came from its mouth, and then he took a few moments to make sure the surroundings were clear.

After that, Ron put a new plan into motion. Forcing his bloated right hand to do his bidding, he pulled one of the antelope's hind legs until it was stretched out clear of its body. Then he hacked it off with the super-blade, leaving him a thick portion of untarnished meat he could carry easily. Then he got his bearings and set off at a trot back to where he'd left Lasinii.

He was still very weak compared to his normal self, so it took far longer to reach their tiny camp than it normally would have, but when he did, he couldn't have been more surprised.

Lasinii was sitting there under the cover of the overhang with a nice, roaring fire, as if waiting for him to return from the corner market. She'd gathered some edible roots and herbs and even had a makeshift spit erected.

"Oooh! Jarol!" she said happily, stepping to the edge of the shelter with her hands held out. "Well done, my L...er...Ronin."

Ron strolled out of the rain and just stood there while water pooled around his feet, staring at her and her accomplishment.

"How did you...?" he began, but then merely handed her the venison and hunched down by the wonderful fire to dry off and warm up.

While Lasinii cooked the meat, she listened to Ron's story of his hunting trip, and her eyes got as big as that great cat's. When he was finished, she was gawking at him with her mouth wide open yet again.

"So you just attacked a wild bozire?" she blurted finally. "With only a knife and sword?"

Ron looked over at her and shrugged.

"What else was I going to do? I couldn't wait up there forever."

"Weren't you afraid?" she asked.

"I was afraid for you. I at least had my sword. You were waiting here with nothing at all."

Again she just gazed at him in complete wonderment.

"But I am just a slave. What would it matter?"

Now it was Ron's turn to gawk.

"What the dragen sart does that mean?" he asked, almost angrily. "I thought we already talked about this. You are a person! Why wouldn't it matter?"

Lasinii raised her eyebrows and shook her head lightly.

"I am but a common woman...a field laborer. We work for our master and do not question it. If he is pleased with our efforts, we eat. If he summons us to his bed, or loans us to one of his men, we give what pleasure we can. If we are obedient and submissive, we live. If not, we die and are replaced."

That angered Ron greatly, and soon his broad chest rumbled with a soft growl.

Lasinii could clearly see he was aggravated, but was unsure as to the cause.

"Have I displeased you, Ronin?"

"No, Lasinii...no. You haven't done a thing wrong."

He stewed over the subject a while longer in silence, but then...

"Well that's just not how you're supposed to be treated," he finally told her. "Where I'm from, women are protected and cherished...not treated like disposable possessions. And there are no slaves!"

Now it was Lasinii's turn to be confused.

"But I am not high-born."

"Neither am I! It doesn't matter! Everyone has value! _We_ do not decide whose life is worth more than another. Only the Creator can make that choice. _We_ are but men."

Lasinii continued with her cooking duties, giving another soft shake of her head.

"I don't know where you're from, Lord Ronin...but it certainly is not here."

Ron was dried off by that time and came over and sat beside Lasinii cross-legged. His eyes and ears scoured the forest like a watchdog and his mind drifted back to his previous life. They both remained quiet for a good while.

"As soon as we eat, you must come with me to where the bozire is," Ron told her at last.

Lasinii nodded immediately, without question, and that struck a chord in him.

"I didn't mean for that to come out as a command, Lasinii," he explained. "It's just that if we are to survive out here, we will need to begin gathering some basic necessities...and the pelt of that cat will definitely come in handy....as well as the skin of the antelope."

Lasinii was surprised that Ron had offered an explanation at all, but was grateful.

"Of course, Ronin. That is a wise course of action."

When they'd eaten their fill of the deer flank, the rain was down to a heavy drizzle so they headed out. It was getting late in the day and Ron didn't want to be out in the open when night fell. He wasn't worried about himself, but Lasinii was not as agile as him, not as quick as him, and was not a warrior. She would be hard to protect.

He was happy to find Lasinii to be well skilled with a knife, and they made quick work of both the antelope and the leopard. Lasinii was almost giddy when she handled the cat's pelt.

"This is magnificent, Lor...sorry...Ronin," she told him. "I have never even seen one up close. Only the richest Nevarians can afford such luxury."

Ron smiled at the young woman.

"Well, consider this a small repayment for the aid you've given me."

Lasinii smiled shyly and bowed her head just a touch.

By twilight, the pair was finishing up their third trip to the little meadow. They'd stripped the two carcasses of everything they thought they could use before it would spoil and were headed back to their camp. Once there, Ron built a small cone-shaped enclosure over and around their fire to smoke as much of the antelope meat as he could, and then he joined Lasinii in her endeavor with the skins.

They worked late into the night scraping the antelope hide and the cat pelt by firelight so that they might preserve them for clothing and a fine warm blanket. Again, Lasinii was remarkably adroit at such tasks, which was extremely fortunate for Ron since he was working almost completely one-handed.

They gambled the following two days and stayed put, drying their newly acquired gifts in the Erthanian sun, but the one after that saw them on the move once more. Over the next week, Ron and his female companion kept changing location daily. They would rise at dawn and trek until midday, always in such a direction that he could watch their flank for pursuit.

Every time they stopped, Lasinii first stretched out the fur and hide so that they might continue to cure, and then set up camp by gathering wood and tinder. Ron always made a quick survey of the area and then hunted dinner. They'd come across a stand of sapling trees the Nevarians used to make arrows a few days past, so he currently carried four of the wooden missiles...able to use the bow again mostly by sheer determination. He simply ignored the pain of his purple hand and skewered forearm. After a few more days, they had two more antelope skins, three furry hides from woodchuck-type animals, and a greel pelt.

When the tanning process was at last finished, Lasinii really went to work. She cut certain vines that grew at the edge of clearings and peeled their husks back to reveal strong, tuff strands she could use as thread. Then, with one of the leopard's claws to puncture the hides, and the fish-bone for a needle, she began to sew. By the seventh day, Ron was protected from the sun and the underbrush by wonderfully soft, yet tough antelope leather.

He was feeling more like his old self by then too, his strength and stamina returning, and his understanding of what life was like in Nevari was much more comprehensive as well.

One morning, Lasinii queried him about their future plans.

"Ronin, do you know where you are going?"

"No, not in the least. For the time being, I thought I'd just explore the terrain. Possibly that will guide me all by itself."

Lasinii seemed fine with that.

"You're sure there's no place you'd like me to take you?" he asked her for the third time.

She just shook her head again.

"Not back to your former life...you know...before becoming a slave? Like to your family and friends?"

Ron had tried to figure out her motivation for refusing him, but couldn't quite grasp it. After all, why would she not choose freedom? But to her it was very simple. She had bonded her life with his and would go where he went.

"Oh no," she replied once more, but for some reason that time she felt compelled to explain her impulse. "I cannot walk among the free peoples in any of Erthania's realm because of my slave mark. With no papers of proof showing I'd been legally freed, they would assume I was a runaway and I'd be condemned to death."

Ron was irritated by that rationale, but had to agree with her reasoning. After all, her brand was clear as day on her left cheek, just beneath her eye.

"And even if I could, my family is far away and sold me to my master...Guillin Tuske. If I went back to them, it would bring shame to all of us. As for friends...well...they're probably all dead by now."

That confused Ron. After all, she was very young so he assumed any close acquaintances would be as well.

"Why would they be dead?"

"Well the only friends I really had were those in the same situation as me...back in Nevari. You met them...the field workers. Most likely, by now, they've been rounded up and questioned about you...about where you came from, who you are, what you are doing here, and what your plans are. And when they could provide no answers that would suffice the Regent, they most likely would have been tortured to death or slain in the public square."

That stunned Ron. He stared at Lasinii for a long while, his expression growing increasingly grave.

"You're serious?"

She looked up at him with a bewildered expression. "Of course."

He couldn't believe her nonchalant attitude about such horrors.

"But why?"

"We helped you," she explained. "Any aid given to an enemy of the Nevari people is a sign of betrayal, punishable by death."

That got Ron to his feet, his face flushed bright red.

"But I'm not an enemy!"

"I know that, Ronin...truly I do. But no one in the city will believe that...especially after you killed Gosherin and then destroyed one of their battalions."

"BUT THEY ATTACKED ME!"

"Yes, my lord. What you say is true, as I was witness to, but they will see it differently. Surely you understand that."

Ron's chest was heaving by then, his mind frantically running through differing scenarios, each ultimately culminating with the rescue of the women who'd helped him.

"I have to stop them!" Ron finally said.

Now it was Lasinii's turn to be stunned.

"How could you? If you return to the city, they'll kill you...or worse! You'll be the one on trial! And there could be only one outcome. You'd be torn to pieces between four monaras."

(Monaras are huge draft animals that best resemble yaks on Earth, according to Ron, or pantires in the northern lands, but with broad plates across their skulls instead of horns, and built wider across their hind quarters. They were used for hauling immense loads.)

"Well, they can try!" he snarled, his damaged hand curling into a puffy green and purple fist. The swelling was down quite a bit by then and it functioned when called upon, so that was all that mattered. The sharp stabbing pain he felt when he used it was merely an annoyance to the fearsome man.

He quickly glanced around at their newest abode. It was another cave, but the space inside the narrow crevice opening was actually quite roomy...more than ample for the pair of them...and it sat up a rather sharp rise so it had an excellent view of the valley. It was easily defendable against any predators due to its natural formation, and if a fire was built properly at the opening, was totally inaccessible from the outside. Those attributes were primarily why he'd chosen the location in the first place. After confirming that previous assessment, Ron made a hasty decision.

"Do you think you can manage for a few days alone?" he queried.

Ron was by then well aware that Lasinii did not fear the wilderness and that she had experience and practical knowledge enough to carry her through.

"Of course. But surely you're not going back there!"

Ron already knew she had enough dried meat to hold her a week, and there was a small creek barely a hundred feet to the south, so he immediately set about making a travel pack.

"I must, Lasinii. Otherwise, I couldn't live with myself. If I'm too late, then I am...but if I can save them, I will!"

"But we have been walking for many days. You would go all the way back?"

Ron grinned at her.

"We have been taking a very winding route since we left...so that I might watch for pursuit...but the town is barely two hard days' trek that way," he pointed east-southeast. "Over those peaks and through a narrow pass...if the terrain isn't too treacherous, that is."

Ten borts later he was flying downslope.

### Chapter Nine

### Rescue Mission

Ron swung around and reached the southeastern perimeter of the fortress city just before dawn three days later, wanting the rising sun at his back instead of in his eyes. He'd been slowed a couple of times when he came across two different groups of soldiers that had been sent into the woods to track him. His delay was driven more out of the necessity to examine their methods and judge their abilities than to elude them though, as they were doing a pitiful job of it. Clearly they were not woodsmen. He confidently dismissed any thought that those men might find Lasinii before he returned.

Ron surveyed the city and its defenses from the safety of a cluster of trees that grew only half a hoz from one of the city's entry points. At the moment, that portal was sealed by a huge pair of doors set into an impressive wooden wall.

That barrier was constructed of thousands of limbed tree-trunks driven into the ground and lashed together with heavy rope. It was some twenty feet high, had watchtowers every hundred kez, and completely encompassed the city as far as he could see. The men patrolling along the upper walkway carried loaded crossbows, but their true threat was that they could sound an alarm that would likely rouse hundreds of other soldiers in moments. From the shadows, Ron studied the problem warily and began to solidify a plan.

Just as he imagined every fortified town must certainly do at night, they placed lit torches every twenty feet down the edge of the battlement, undoubtedly to illuminate the ground closest to the barricade, but also to allow the troopers who manned that wall to see where they were going as they paced their patrol routes. That, however, also allowed any would-be attackers to see them even easier. It was a fundamental error that Ron was happy to exploit. He spent the dwindling predawn billots memorizing the guards' routines as well as the landscape between him and that wall.

His vantage point gave Ron a new perspective about the city too, as he could see across the tops of the buildings. He'd expected the mini-metropolis to be an ancient, well-established community with a long, rich history, but that couldn't be much further from the truth. In fact, it wasn't even finished yet! As the dawn's glow built, he could see much further, which aided him even more. He eventually picked out the area he'd landed in, but the escape pod was nowhere to be seen, and that made him wonder about what the Nevarians might have done with it. Further around, he spotted the point where he'd made his escape into the forest. The thought of that day made him bristle, but he shook it off and carried on with his inspection.

Off to the north...the far side...the perimeter wall was not comprised of wood. Instead, it had been constructed of stone...a beautiful stack of massive blocks that went out of sight, curving around to the west as it went. It reminded him very much of a similar barricade from his own world, in a place called China. Lasinii had explained what little she knew about that wall, but it too was not his concern just then. Closer to him, from the center of the city to that northern barricade, snaking through the streets and alleys, was an endless line of supplies ready to move into position to feed that monumental project.

When he'd scanned as far as he could, Ron noted that the easternmost section of that wall was still constructed of wood...the portion he'd seen from the fields he'd awakened in. That left room for speculation about why they'd put so much effort into its stalwart construction...and how those people might view any intruders coming to them from that direction...or any other, for that matter. Perhaps their aggressive display upon his arrival was simply a prudent response having grown out of countless years of attacks or attempts at infiltration from the northerners.

Lasinii had mentioned that the Nevarians feared the race of men who lived in those lands. They were nomads, slowly migrating their entire lives across the seemingly endless plains of tall grass, always in search of food for their herds of animals, and for opportunities. They were mounted soldiers...marauders...who burned and pillaged the cities of "civilized people" every chance they got. It sounded to Ron that they were much like the Monguls of Earth's ancient past...fierce warriors on horseback.

As intriguing as all that was, it had little to do with his present circumstance of course, so he returned his concentration on his task. He needed to enter the city and assess what had happened to Marsii and her friends. However, that wouldn't be easy. The outlying section of the city-proper was actually an ingenious barrier. The houses, businesses, barns, and feed storage buildings were cleverly laid out to have absolutely no visible path through them. None of the roads or streets that led up to one of the entrances of the palisade went inward more than a few hundred feet before it ended at a "T" intersection.

Ron wondered about the haphazardness of that design for a bit, but then it occurred to him that if a foreign army were to somehow break through the outer defense barrier, it would instantly get bottled up in those narrow avenues and streets. That would slow their approach considerably so the defending force might recover and fall back to more secure structures, and each layer would provide ample opportunities for counter attack.

"This is going to be interesting," he told himself.

As the glow of the new day continued to build in the east, Ron set out across the open perimeter of the fort/city. There really wasn't much in the way of concealment he could utilize, but he was fairly certain he wore all he would need because the greel pelt he'd acquired was better than a sniper's gilly suit at blending into the natural terrain...especially in the dim light with the long shadows. Whenever one of the guards looked his way, Ron just hunkered down and remained motionless until his attention was elsewhere.

After another anxious twenty borts had passed, he was pressed up against the base of the stout barricade of the fort. Ron listened for the sounds of men walking along the top of the rampart, and then timed his next move off of their monotonous march. When he'd counted to eighteen, he knew the crossing sentries were midway to the ends of their respective patrols, and that's when he tossed a handmade rope up and over the wall.

That rope was made with one end knotted into a large ball about the size of his closed fist and when it cleared the wooden palisade, it naturally slipped into the narrow groove between the logs where its shape provided a perfect anchor.

Ron was on his way up the instant that the rope pulled tight.

Climbing a thin cord with his broken hand was quite the task, both in pain and in sheer difficulty, as one might imagine. The swelling made it almost impossible to grip, even with the knots he'd fashioned into it every two feet. Nonetheless, before the guards had completed their march, he'd scaled the wall, yanked up the rope, and then dropped down the twenty feet to the turf inside. He'd taken an enormous chance that no one would see him in the dim, shadowy dawn, but it had worked...he was inside.

From there, Ron stashed his thick pelt and rope into an empty grain sack he found behind some barrels and then set off strolling across the inner compound as casually as he could manage, the sack and his smaller travel pack draped over his shoulder.

Lasinii had told him that his current apparel made of antelope hide would not be seen as overly foreign since many traveling woodsmen were clad similarly, although most would have been more adorned with visual displays of their hunting skills. Also, since he was already inside the wall...among the natives...they would simply view him as friendly...at least to the extent that they wouldn't scream when they saw him.

Ron's female tutor had also explained to him the overall layout of the city, so he ambled along coolly, weaving down the serpentine alleys and streets toward the central congregation area...a hundred-foot-wide round courtyard in the business district. Once there, however, his teeth clenched tightly and a low growl issued almost subliminally from his broad chest.

Four of the women from the group who'd provided him food and water were there, each in nearly the same condition. There were obvious signs of beatings and lashings across their naked bodies, their faces were swollen and blood streaked, and they were secured on specially constructed surfaces that left their legs spread and open to any man's 'attention'. It was so disgusting to Ron that he had to turn around to keep from attacking their guards straight away.

He stood there forcing his stomach muscles not to convulse as he breathed in and out slowly and deeply.

After a few borts, Ron was once more under control and so he turned about and headed south, walking fast. When he was two blocks away, he spotted what he was searching for...a small building for housing beasts of burden....a stable. It was quiet and peaceful, the animals just then rousing and looking forward to their morning meal. He made a fast survey of the structure and found the owner had not yet arrived. The lock was a simple device which he outwitted immediately, and then he slipped inside for a few moments.

Ron used a flint he'd taken from one of the soldiers' kits to start a small fire beside the feed bin. Next, he hastily twisted a fist full of dried straw together into a crude wick that would burn slowly, and then left it a trail toward the largest storage room. After that, he hurried through the compact barn and released the latches on every gate in the place, even cracking the entry door open as he left.

Once outside, he hustled back over to the courtyard and stashed his possessions in a narrow alleyway.

Before the wick had done its work, Ron was angling his way closer to the prisoners.

There were four sentries guarding the women in the early billot, each appearing bored and ready to be relieved from their monotonous duty, but one of them spotted Ron easing around the outer part of the courtyard.

"Hoah, friend," the fellow called out, suddenly more animated than before. It was clear that he just wanted a break from his tedium. "Don't be shy. Come on over."

The others caught his announcement and looked over at Ron.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr," resonated from Ron's throat, but it was low and soft, not reaching the taunting men. He gave up any attempt at secrecy at that point and calmly strode toward the beckoning fellow. His eyes glanced around the area a couple more times as he closed the gap. Most citizens were yet to emerge from their homes.

When he was only a dozen steps from the guard, Ron looked at the woman he happened to be standing by. He recognized her instantly. It was Marsii. The bruising and dried blood about her upper thighs bespoke volumes. As a reaction to that sight, Ron's fingers slowly curled into tight fists, even those on his right hand. He barely felt the pain that act brought about as his knuckles popped from the stress.

"You want a turn?" the guard asked. "I've had all of them and this one's the tightest!" he proclaimed. "Or at least, she was a few days ago...heh-heh-heh."

Marsii awakened at the sound of the man's voice and her eyes instantly filled with terror. She undoubtedly expected to be accosted yet again and tears immediately began draining from her cheeks...that is, until she got a good look at the person the guard was speaking to. At first there was no recognition, only fear. Ron had tamed his hair and shaved off his thick, black beard. But then her eyes found his and locked on. Her brain spun furiously, trying to deny what she saw, but just as there was only one star rising in the east, she knew those blazing gray orbs could only belong to one man! She instantly went as still as the stone she was chained to.

Ron gazed at her with obvious pity in his own stare, but when his focus shifted from Marsii's to the man beside her, it turned as hard as steel.

In the following quarter lita, the sentry who'd just bragged about sampling the female prisoners felt his windpipe collapse when Ron's open left hand flashed out in a move too quick to even see. The place between Ron's thumb and fore-finger struck home solidly, with his whole, massive shoulder behind it...and it may as well have been made of oak.

Before the guard could even understand what had happened, he felt his feet leave the stone surface as his body flew more than ten feet backward, and when he contacted that unforgiving rock again there was a loud, hollow report. It was the sound of his skull cracking open, and resulted in his immediate death. The three other guards watched in horror as their friend landed limply and slid to a stop. Blood quickly pooled several feet around his prone form.

They knew he would never rise.

Ron didn't bat an eye for the deceased fellow, but watched the others with his peripheral vision as he slipped up next to Marsii.

"I'm so very sorry," he told her with as much empathy as he could muster through his rage. Then he refocused his attention on the now charging men, his lip unconsciously curling up on one side in an obvious snarl.

The custom-built racks that held the women were arranged in a circular fashion just like the courtyard, each prisoner's head toward the center and feet outward. They were constructed with about ten kez separating each from the other, so the three other sentries raced at Ron across that gap.

Ron surged forward and met them in the middle.

They held their swords high and roared out their attack, their voices echoing loudly in the stone-lined space. But even though that seemed raucous, Ron knew a metal on metal clash would carry across half the city in the stillness of the morning, so he did not immediately pull the raven blade. Instead, he reached for smaller, more subtle weapons...the knives he'd stolen from a few of the soldiers he'd fought with.

They both found their targets across the narrowing expanse as surely as if he'd shoved them in by hand, and two more men stumbled to an early demise. That left only one.

The last sentry swung at Ron while roaring a thunderous bellow, but suddenly found his target had shifted just beyond his blade's path in a move that was so smooth and fluid it seemed almost ethereal. And before the man could even put a real thought behind his surprise, he felt the slightest sting at the base of his neck...and then he felt nothing at all. The shadow-blade was back in its scabbard before the man's corpse even hit the ground.

Ron didn't bother glancing back at the falling soldier. Instead, he continued over to one of the women who lay directly across from Marsii. He remembered her name was Phateerii. She'd helped him locate Lasinii.

"Phateerii," Ron said quietly, seeing the fright in her eyes as he approached. "I'm going to release you. Are you...?" (He started to say 'alright' but reconsidered that word.) "Do you think you can walk?"

"I-I-I-I don't know, Lord Ronin...b-b-b-but I will try!"

The manacles holding the women prisoners were simple clasps with hinge pins to secure them, except for the ones at their right wrists. Those required a key. Ron ripped the pins out of the others and then used the super-blade as a pry tool to lever the lock open. It was a crude device that yielded without great effort.

In another few borts, three of the women were free and sitting up for the first time in days, trying to get their heads to stop swimming. Ron went to the last of his former allies but immediately sighed with remorse. It was Tharnii. She'd perished in the night.

Ron was so angry he nearly let out his infamous call to battle, but reigned in the urge when he swept the courtyard and saw the terrified women. He needed to get them to safety, and that meant stealth...at least as long as it could be maintained.

He soon found the women were in truly horrible shape and barely able to hobble across the stone of the courtyard. To hurry them along, he ended up actually carrying them one by one to the nearby alleyway where he'd hidden his gear.

"Marsii, where are the rest of the ladies?"

The young girl looked puzzled, glancing swiftly at her associates. "Who?" she asked back at him.

For a moment Ron felt a twinge of relief, thinking these four were the only ones who had been punished. But just as swiftly, he got an entirely different feeling.

"Were you four culled out for discipline...of the group who helped me?"

Marsii looked down immediately.

"No, Lord Ronin," Phateerii responded for her. She looked to each of the others. "We are the last."

Ron didn't want to believe it. His mind screamed at him that it couldn't be so. But the expressions on the women's faces told the story. He wanted more information, but his sense of urgency pressed harder than his inquisitiveness.

"Wait here," he told them when they were in the deep shadows.

Ron then revisited the dead guards for a few moments before he tore off down that alley and straight to the only vehicle he'd seen ambling along the quiet streets of the city. It was the carrion wagon.

In any ancient city of even moderate size, there had to be a way to rid the streets of the dead. That might seem callous and even bizarre to a more modern individual, but in the earlier times living was much more demanding, and thus much shorter. In many instances the families of the common folk could ill afford a proper funeral because they survived so close to abject poverty. In those cases, the body of the deceased was laid out next to the street for the 'collector'. Usually a team of two men (sometimes three) would make the rounds once every few days to keep the streets clear of such waste. They were paid a moderate fee out of the city's coffers for each corpse they collected. Summers and winters saw the peaks of such passings, and in those periods the collectors fared pretty well, but they had to make it last in the spring and fall. It was currently mid-autumn in Nevari.

Ron approached the slow-moving morgue as it rounded a corner barely a tenth of a hoz from the courtyard. He was greatly relieved too because he still hadn't seen a single other cart or wagon moving in the burgeoning day as of yet.

Ron took a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

"Hoah," he called to the pair on the wagon. "If you have the room, I have three women for your tally and will pay twice your fee if you can take them immediately."

"As you wish, good sir," the driver responded with raised brows, turning his rig in Ron's direction. "No foul play, we presume."

Ron smiled a bit. "No-no...nothing of the sort. They're just over there, at the crossover passage."

When the wagon reached the desired place, Ron called out to the women.

"Marsii, hurry. We must get going as quickly as possible."

"Whoa-whoa-whoa," the two men sitting on the wide bench said. "We don't take live passengers! Are you ma...?"

The black sword whipped out of its sheath before he could blink, and then rested lightly against the man's neck. Ron pulled out the three purses he'd removed from the guards and pressed them into the man's hand. They weren't filled with a great deal of money, but it was more than the collectors brought in in two santaris.

"We need to leave the city right now!" he growled.

"A-a-a-as y-y-you w-w-wish," the driver whispered back at him.

Ron stowed his blade to help the brutalized female trio into the bed of the cart and then sat up front with the driver and his partner.

"Move," he hissed.

"Which way?"

"To the edge of the western forest. Get us there and you'll be rid of me."

The fellow nodded nervously as he popped his tongue in a clicking fashion and the beasts trundled away.

Ron's earlier diversion at the stable was causing quite the commotion by then, and every person up and around at that time was focused on what was now an isolated, yet full blown blaze. While they ambled along, Ron quickly dug out his greel hide and tossed it over the shivering, naked women.

Once that was done, he sat back as if bored, and tried to maintain an air of outward apathy. However, his eyes and ears followed every movement in the area. That's how he knew when his luck had run out.

Brossin Negalli was just finishing up with his breakfast when he received the news of the fire, and being a mature, well-trained commander, he was instantly suspicious of any abnormality. He exited his quarters with mistrust clearly lodged in his thoughts and his right hand firmly on his sword. His left arm was splinted and wrapped tightly, supported in a sling across his chest.

"Was it really an accident, or something sinister...or a diversion?" he thought while scouring the burgeoning day thoroughly. His gaze took little time before falling squarely on the collectors' wagon. In an instant, he wondered why no one on that little rig seemed interested in what everyone else was so frantic about. And then too, why were there three men atop its perch. He'd never seen more than two in Navari...only in the larger cities.

"You there...Collector! Hold your position!" the commander called out, striding quickly to intercept the wagon. Two of his personal escorts flanked him.

"When I dismount," Ron whispered to the driver, "you two keep going like we agreed. Understand?"

The driver wasn't a genius, but he understood what the grim warrior was inferring, so he nodded.

"I'll catch up," Ron added with his typical confidence.

Then, with a slight turn toward the rear, Ron said softly. "Marsii, make sure everyone stays down. No matter what you hear, don't move until I tell you to. There might be a commotion, and the ride may take a while, but when I give the 'all clear' you should be safe."

"Yes, Lord Ronin," she replied in a muffled voice from under the thick pelt. It was a dreadful predicament to be in, lying atop and beside four actual corpses, but the women were more than willing to endure that over what they already had...and what had awaited them that very noon.

Ron then snatched up a wilted hat from one of the deceased in the bed beside the ladies and slapped it onto his own head.

Once that was done he returned his attention to the forward direction.

Brossin was swiftly approaching, so Ron hopped down from the wagon before he could reach it. Just as instructed, the collectors' beast kept plodding along.

"Hoah!" Ron called to Brossin, his face half covered by the falling brim of the dead man's hat. "Were you talking to me?" he inquired with a chipper disposition, smiling as grandly as he could.

Brossin flicked his eyes at the wagon, but just saw eight filthy feet bouncing around in the back. The pelt covered their bodies well, and looked like just a dusky blanket in the still shadowy light.

"I just hitched a ride with your collectors there. They said they're heading out into the countryside for a deposit, so I thought I'd save myself the walk. Is there a problem?"

Brossin returned his attention to Ron, scanning him up and down slowly.

"You're headed into the wilds with no food, no water, and no weapons?"

"Well, no...that'd be insane," Ron replied, scoffing light-heartedly at the military leader. "I just came in for a little of the 'night-life', if you know what I mean. No, my buddies are waiting for me just southwest of here. That's where all my gear is. Didn't want to be too much of a target...you know...if I got to drinking a bit more than I should...heh-heh-heh."

Ron finished his explanation with another broad smile, but Brossin wasn't buying it. He turned to one of his men, pointing at the carrion wagon.

"Stop that cart!"

Ron was ready for that though, and acted perturbed, not angry.

"Ah, come on, man! They didn't do anything."

He started after the soldier, pleading his case, but Brossin latched onto his arm and held him back.

Ron bristled, and then relaxed...but Brossin had felt it.

"You seem awfully concerned for a couple of strangers, woodsman," Brossin said, staring at him intently.

Ron looked markedly different at that moment, compared with the last time they'd faced one another, and was fairly sure that he couldn't easily be recognized, so he tried to restore his nonchalant attitude, but couldn't quite get there.

"Yeah," he returned, his voice laced with an acidic tinge, "well it really raises my hackles when someone helps me out and then gets punished for it."

Brossin saw a glimmer of contempt in his eyes...and he wasn't used to seeing that. Normally, civilians feared any military man.

The soldier had reached the wagon by then and stopped it.

"Check out what's in the back!" Brossin ordered, never taking his glaring eyes off Ron.

The two collectors just faced forward, not willing to even breathe. The soldier climbed one of the wagon's wheel spokes and flipped back the large pelt.

There was a long pause then, as the man examined the fly-riddled cargo. He had to clench his stomach at the smell, so he didn't really examine the bodies very closely. A moment later he climbed back down.

"Nothing here, General!" he called out before heading toward his commander.

Ron started to exhale...his hastily constructed plan having miraculously squeaked by...when some large insect skittered across one of the lady's ears and she couldn't help but react. There was a quick jerk of her head and a muffled squeal of surprise. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Ron's left hand was already in motion when the light of understanding reached Brossin's eyes. The Nevari commander inhaled to sound an alarm but never got the chance as Ron's left fist smashed into his face, felling him in a single blow.

And before Brossin's limp figure was flat on the ground, a blade was flipping toward the soldier standing beside the wagon. It caught him square in the throat. Then, to finish off that duel take-down, Ron whirled about to meet the last of the trio. It was Maitrin Poseri, Brossin's right-hand man. Maitrin was a fine young soldier in excellent shape, and so he whipped his short sword out with good speed and lunged at Ron. Unfortunately he was facing an opponent far beyond his abilities. Ron dropped below that steel blade into a blazing, spinning maneuver that swept Maitrin's feet out from under him and sent him to his back on the hard-packed dirt street, stunned and gasping for breath. Ron hurriedly stripped him of his blade and used the hilt of it to bash his helmeted head hard enough to leave him unconscious as well.

Ron then snapped around in a flash.

"Move!" he hissed at the collectors.

Those men had seen the entire, incredibly short skirmish, and had no wish to further irritate that formidable man. The wagon jerked back into motion immediately and Ron began hauling the men out of the street. He dumped them in a narrow space between two buildings and then set off after the wagon at a good clip.

The town was bursting to life by then with many folks rushing toward the billowing smoke to the south just to lend their support, so it wasn't difficult for Ron to catch up with the carrion coach at the western door to the outer stockade.

The guards manning the door recognized the two fellows atop the wagon's perch and when Ron hopped aboard with them they simply assumed he was some acquaintance of theirs so they didn't even offer a challenge. After all, the job those poor devils had was not one most people wanted to even talk about much less delve into. And besides that, the guards were there to keep people out...not in.

The wagon was halfway to the forest before an alarm went off in the form of multiple blasts from the same huge horn they'd used the first time they'd clashed with Ron. A few borts later the gate burst open and men began to pour out, all heavily armed.

Ron didn't immediately concern himself with them though. He had at least five borts to plan his strategy, knowing that once he reached the woods, they would begin to fade away.

The carrion wagon driver did as promised and soon Ron was helping his brutalized little party off of the rank-smelling flatbed and into the shade of the forest's canopy.

"Thank you men," Ron told the collectors as he reached for the tethers to the animals.

The men perched in their seats stared at first, too frightened to react, but when the harness drew slack on the beasts, they couldn't stay quiet.

"Hey there! What are you doing?" the older one asked.

"Well, I hadn't intended to take the team, but as you can see, the women cannot walk well enough to effectively escape. They'll have to ride the thorats, belly down, for they have been too badly abused to sit."

The men both hopped to the ground, the senior fellow thoroughly angered, but the younger man was oddly excited.

"But there are only two thorats and three women," cried the younger man. "What about the third?"

The cross-bar that tied the team together fell to the ground as Ron replied.

"I'll carry her."

The collectors were both standing side-by-side next to the wagon by then.

"When asked," Ron continued, "just tell those in authority that I threatened to kill you. After what I did to their armed, trained soldiers, I don't think anyone will blame you for doing as I'd ordered."

The older fellow of the pair cursed Ron thoroughly but then turned about and headed back toward the city on foot. He was furious, but knew better than to challenge a warrior who'd just downed three of their country's top soldiers without even trying. The younger fellow held steady where he was.

"But how will you carry a woman, lead the creatures through the woods, and fend off the approaching army, all by yourself?" he asked.

Ron cast him a wry smirk before tossing the greel pelt across the back of a thorat.

"I'll manage. Good day, and long life," he told the man as he turned and scooped up one of the ladies...Tamarii...placing her gently across the back of the animal. The second...Phateerii was in place a few moments later, and then Ron bent to pick up Marsii.

"Wait," said the second man. "I would go with you."

Ron glanced at the fellow quickly. He was a large hulk of a man with huge, rounded shoulders and a broad back. Another flick of his eyes showed the army was less than half a hoz away.

"Why?" Ron asked as he swept the frail woman into his arms.

"I have nothing in Nevari. I'm not from here, I have no ties here, and my days are filled with death. I figure...why not? You aren't going to come back, right? I mean, you're taking them somewhere far away, right?"

Ron nodded. "That's the plan! Well...for the moment at least."

"Then I want to go. I can start over. Maybe I can have a better life. At least there will be a chance for that."

"Can you follow a game trail?"

"I'm a dragen good tracker, actually," the youth boasted, throwing his shoulders back with pride.

Ron could see the light in the young man's eyes. He was thrilled and eager.

"Good. Then follow me."

They set off as swiftly as the beasts could manage, which was a good walking pace. A quarter hoz further on, Ron intersected the game trail he'd followed down from the higher elevation. He then stood still and listened for the sounds of pursuit for a few moments. He could make it out clearly. The army had undoubtedly stopped the older fellow of the carrion wagon duo to question him...and then hurried along to the edge of the forest. That's where they were now...devising a strategy. And after their first encounter with the mysterious 'Ronin', they seemed a great deal more cautious.

"Wise decision!" Ron thought.

The next instant, Ron headed north down a smaller game trail. A hundred kez along that path, he came upon a huge fallen tree.

"Okay," he told the man, handing his load over. "Continue north and follow the trail around that peak until it forks...then head west. I'll go back and slow the soldiers down."

He then hurtled the four-foot tall trunk of a recently fallen hardwood and snatched up a small pack and a bow...two of his originally confiscated items...and returned to the little group where he hurriedly strung the weapon.

The women didn't much care for him leaving them with the man who stank of carrion and rot, but they had little choice. They'd all seen the troops racing after them.

Ron stood right in front of the new man and glared at him for a moment. The newcomer was taken aback, but did not retreat, nor look away.

"Just so we're clear...," he told the young man with his usual candor, "treat them well or I'll hunt you down and disembowel you."

Then he turned to the ladies.

"I'll catch up as soon as I can," he said with firm conviction, catching each of their gazes for a brief time to reassure them.

Ron was ready in another heartbeat and gone before they could even voice a protest.

"Who in the name of Dragar _is_ that guy?" the man asked of his charges as he set off again.

(Dragar was one of the common people's gods...a being they prayed to in dire times, believed to have infinite wisdom.)

Marsii was cradled right up against the fellow's chest, so she replied.

"That is Ronin Alsone, the greatest warrior ever to walk the face of Erthania. He was sent to us from the gods."

The young fellow looked stunned at her proclamation, his mind whirring.

"For what purpose?"

"I don't know, but that is not for us to question...is it?"

He just raised a brow and kept walking.

Ron was all business as he closed in on the forward wave of soldiers. They were doing exactly what he expected, fanning out to cover as much ground as possible. There were two hundred this time and it took a while for them all to enter the shadowy world that was the forest.

Once they were completely inside the confines of the giant trees, Ron went to work.

It was easy to keep tabs on the armored men by the amount of noise they made moving in the brush. To Ron, they might as well have each been wearing a bell.

While they intruded deeper, Ron kept to a plan he'd developed on the trip back to the city, sweeping around to the south side of their group. Once he was in position, he targeted a pair of the Nevari army's archers...the ones bringing up the rear. He only had the four good arrows he'd made himself, so he intended to expand his arsenal straightaway. Those men each carried twenty-five well-crafted missiles.

Once their arrows were in Ron's possession, his bow really began to sing.

Four troopers were down before anyone even knew they were taking fire, the silent kiss of death reaching for them from deep within the gloom. In fact, it wasn't until the lieutenant of that squad dropped face-first to the ground that anyone even called out. Then orders were given and their defensive posture sprang into action. Their shields all snapped up to face south, and men poured over to that position to interlock with those safety barriers. Six of them never made it, but even so, when all were at the ready, they found no one there to fight. From then it turned into a sniper's style of guerrilla warfare.

Every time Ron fired, he waited just long enough to ensure his shot was a certainty, and then he raced away. At each engagement, when the soldiers fired back, he was already safely out of range...and he was as silent as an owl.

Ron out-paced them so easily that he was actually able to sweep completely around their great mass of bodies in the next billot, stinging them often enough to make their leaders think a small force was picking them apart.

Through those hellacious tactics, none of the soldiers advanced more than a half hoz to the north...the direction the women were fleeing...but that wasn't Ron's overall plan.

Moving around to the south again, Ron patiently waited, knowing that the brave military leaders wouldn't stand to be pinned down for very long, and when they broke formation, he smiled.

In groups of ten, the soldiers separated from the main body and advanced in a new posture. They each had four archers in the center while the rest tried to cover those men with a ring of shields.

The ground was rugged and wildly undulating, giving no one more than a hundred kez of sight at any given time, but since Ron didn't really need to see them to track their movements, he merely shifted to locations out ahead of their advance and let them come to him.

They thought their armor and shields could protect them, but Ron proved time and again that they may as well have been naked and unarmed. It was still incredibly painful to draw the bow with his hand so damaged, but Ron Allison did not dally...and he did not miss.

After another billot, forty men were dead or dying in the woods, scattered across more than three square hoz, and Ron was nearly out of ammunition again, but that of course was of no concern to him. The soldiers had brought plenty. He merely repurposed the missiles shot out wildly, or scavenged full quivers from the fallen.

By midday, the Nevarian troops were spread out enough that many of the fringe groups began to consider retreating back to the fort. None living had yet even seen their prey clearly, and their nerves were worn thin.

Just when the order to fall back began to circulate...so that the men might have a break and eat...Ron made another move. He attacked one of the groups of ten with his sword!

It was over in only a couple dozen litas, but the screaming and panic that resulted got every squad either racing over to help or to combine and prepare for further assaults. He intentionally hadn't killed any of those men, which in time would force the others to carry them. Three soldiers were out of action for every one wounded. It was an old, underhanded, vicious scheme he'd learned from Earth's many wars...but the Nevarians were many and he was only one.

"Declare war on me," he mentally told them, "and you find out what war is all about!"

That tactic worked extremely well.

Ron disappeared into the rocks and crags of the forest and fed himself on rations and water he'd stolen from those who hunted him. Three more times he repeated that same maneuver just when the troopers thought themselves safe enough to relax for a moment, and that strategy was the most potent he could make it.

By midafternoon the Nevari fighters were exhausted from the mental strain of the attacks, as well as hungry and badly dehydrated because none would release their grip on their weapons long enough to eat or even drink. They didn't speak to one another, didn't rest, and barely blinked. Terror among the men could be felt as if an actual, tangible thing.

As evening approached, the leaders of the remaining squads sent runners to their general, Frugein Coss, (Brossin Negalli had been taken out of the mission, having failed twice already) asking for further instructions. His personal contingent was roughly at the center of the overall mass. Of course those queries were merely frantic insinuations for them all to give up their fruitless search and go home.

Seventy men were down by that point, either dead or wounded, and still no conscious man among them had set eyes on their quarry/assailant. However, Frugein Coss had made it perfectly clear that they were to bring Ron's head back to the fort or not come back at all...and so the general denied their thinly veiled wishes.

"Ban together in groups of thirty," he ordered, "and prepare for the night. Set six men at each camp to stand guard. No fires!"

Ron smiled again. At that moment he was crouched in a tree directly over the general's head.

When dusk arrived, the soldiers were gathered into their four camps, so Ron went back to work. Using the cloak of darkness was almost too easy for the incomparable warrior, and none of the first guards made it through their shift.

Panic once again ensued when the guards' reliefs were sent out, and whispers of desertion quickly cropped up within the remaining troopers. That got their nerves frayed even further.

At midnight, just when the men were once more beginning to fall victim to their weariness, a horrifying, inhuman cry tore out through the darkness to strip away whatever layer of bravery they still held onto. That sent them clamoring to their commanders yet again for the order to retreat.

The three highest ranking members of the outlying groups went to the general's camp to report their losses and ask for new orders, but when they reached the spot, they found no soldiers, just the body of Frugein Coss with his throat slit.

Ron hadn't touched him. Frugein's own men had slain him and returned home.

### Chapter Ten

### Flight

Ron waited just long enough to see that all the soldiers had headed back to the city before he pointed himself in the opposite direction and set off in the wake of his friends.

Normally, tracking someone in the dark would have been extremely slow and painstakingly difficult, but since the women were riding the thorats, it wasn't that hard at all...at least for Ron.

They had nearly a dactrai's head start on him, but he caught up with the small group a couple billots before dawn.

They'd found a tiny clearing where they could graze the beasts and let them rest, so they too had hunkered down for the night.

The young man who'd so recently joined them was standing watch when Ron arrived, but did not immediately see the incomparable warrior.

"Any problems?" Ron asked softly from about ten kez off the fellow's left shoulder.

The young man nearly fell over, leaping to the side and brandishing one of the Nevari spears that Marsii had spotted during their trek.

Ron held his hands up in a submissive posture, but his eyes told a different story. It would take little effort to disarm the boy.

"Dear Pierci above!" the lad huffed, his heart beating too fast to comprehend. He then lowered the weapon. "Forgive me, Ronin, but you scared the wits out of me!"

Ron smiled wryly and relaxed, sweeping the area for a quick tally of his little party.

"You've done well," he said with a slight bit of surprise in his voice. "What is your name?"

"Rancin Brook."

Ron nodded.

"I'd feared you may have gotten confused and lost your way, Rancin."

Rancin took a deep breath and collected himself.

"No," he began, "we didn't get lost...and I'd hoped to keep moving another few hoz before stopping...but the animals refused to go on after dark, so we had to settle on this place."

Again Ron swept the clearing.

"You made the right decision. And you have my gratitude. Now get some sleep. I'll take over the watch."

The young fellow didn't want Ron to think he wasn't up to the task, so he protested.

"It's fine, Ronin. I..."

Ron held his hand up again, but this time it was directed at the fellow as an overriding order.

"I appreciate your eagerness to show your worth, Rancin, but trust me...you've already done that. And besides, I'm too amped up to sleep anyway, so you might as well get what rest you can."

Ron could tell that his young partner wanted to refuse again, but the large fellow finally nodded and went over next to the women and lay down. He was exhausted from the long day's adventure and so was out in moments.

Ron's mind raced the rest of the night, filled with uncertainty and misgiving about what to do next. He knew without a doubt that he was better off on his own...that his new friends would certainly slow him down and make it much easier for the Nevarians to pick up the trail again if they chose to. But he also knew he could not leave them. That was not who he was.

From the moment he'd realized just what had occurred to him back at the pod, he'd wondered about why he'd been ripped from his old life and sent there...to that point in Caron's history. He'd pondered whether or not there was a definite reason...perhaps even some divine intervention at work...or was it simply the pure happenstance of trillions of individual events coalescing into a monumentally unlikely occurrence? The answers to those questions would possibly reveal themselves in time, but for the present he knew he had one clear, singular purpose. He must see those people to safety.

When they began to stir at daybreak, Ron had settled on a rudimentary course of action.

Ron handed out a meager breakfast of travel rations to his newest followers while he laid out his plan.

"We will continue deeper into the forest for a couple of days and rendezvous with Lasinii."

That got the ladies attention.

"She's alright then?" Marsii asked with great surprise in her voice.

"Yes, she's fine. She left with me the night of my arrival and has been helping me recover. She's the one who told me where I might find you all. I left her in a temporary camp in the highlands."

The women were still suffering quite pointedly from their own ordeals and so were somewhat reserved in their excitement, but Ron could tell they were very grateful for that news.

"What about after that?" Rancin inquired solemnly, not having any previous ties to Lasinii and therefore not overly interested in her wellbeing.

"Well," Ron continued, "that kind of depends on you-all. Is there some town or village that you're familiar with that you'd like to go?"

Each member of the group looked at another until all eyes were back on Ron.

"I don't know any place where the Nevari Regent doesn't have some control or influence," Rancin replied.

"Is that who put you all on trial?" Ron asked of the ladies.

They each looked to the person beside them again, but their attention finally returned to Ron with a negative shake.

"We were never told who presided over our trial," Phateerii explained. "They just brought us out, questioned us, and then sent us back to our cells."

"And you can bet they'll be sending out dispatches to keep a lookout for us all," Rancin added. "They already know who the women are and my former partner will certainly inform them about me as well."

Ron nodded.

"Yeah, I'd come to the same conclusion...unless you know of some distant settlement or city that's outside their realm."

Most common people of those times though...throughout their entire lives...rarely traveled more than a couple days' distance from where they grew up, so he knew that was a long shot. All heads shook to the negative.

"Then we'll just head deeper into the woods until we find a place."

Five sets of eyebrows shot up instantly...surprise and a little disquiet clearly evident.

"Deeper into the mountains?" Marsii clarified.

Ron saw the change in their attitudes and his interest was piqued.

"Is there something I'm missing?" he asked.

Again all heads searched the others'.

"No one goes into the mountains, Ronin," Tamarii finally said. "It is forbidden."

Now it was Ron's turn to seem surprised. His gaze moved from one to the next.

"Forbidden? By who...and why?"

Rancin explained.

"The God; Pierci...because those mountains are his domain. They belong to the God of War and he has demons patrolling them. Any human that violates his dominion is never seen again and is said to come to a horrible demise."

Ron quickly decided that the merit of such a claim was simply the irrational beliefs of what he considered to be ignorant people. He guessed myth and legend were likely a central, driving force in their societies, but he was a modern man and thus did not buy into superstition, magic, or legend. They were just mountains, and from what he'd already seen, they contained all he needed to survive.

"Plus," Marsii interjected, "winter is coming soon and the higher you go, the worse it will get."

That, on the other hand, was a substantial deterrent. They had few provisions, less possessions, and could not hope to withstand a prolonged wintery exploit outfitted as they were.

"Okay then," Ron acknowledged. "We'll pick up Lasinii and then head southwest through the lowlands. We can avoid larger towns and work our way out of Nevari's borders. After that, you can pick a place to start over."

That seemed agreeable to the group

"I've brought some things to help us out too," Ron then added, quickly dumping several items from his travel pack.

There was a water skin for each of them, as well as a knife and a ration kit, and a bow for Rancin. He'd gathered all those from various downed soldiers.

"You can use this?" Ron asked him.

"Yes, Ronin," the lad said excitedly. "I'm not bad!"

Ron added a quiver of arrows to the gift and watched the young man closely. He was swift at stringing the weapon and seemed content with the feel of it.

"We'll have to wait to let you practice with it, I'm afraid," Ron told him. "We can't afford to lose or break an arrow just now, with no way to replace it."

"No, of course," Rancin replied. "I understand."

He then unstrung the weapon and stowed it and the arrows securely away. They then set out without further delay.

It took another three days before Ron returned to the tiny camp where he'd left his friend because the thorats were unable to make much of a pace. But when he approached close enough that he should be able to see it, he pulled up short. The others froze instantly. They'd gotten used to Ron's subtle orders.

"What's wrong, Ronin?" Marsii whispered.

Ron was scanning the wooded glade carefully.

"I don't see any sign of her," he reported quietly. "Stay here."

With that, Ron set off to the east in a long, circuitous route of inspection, finally popping up at the entrance of the little cave where he'd last seen Lasinii. There were indications of movement all about the area, but no Lasinii.

Ron's heart began to race. He stood tall at the entrance of the cave and peered about once more with dire thoughts creeping into his mind. After a moment though, he waved his hand to get the others to join him while he carried on with his surveillance.

When they were beside him again, he bid them settle into the camp. Then he took off once more, that time to the west.

He could clearly make out a number of trails leading out of camp and back to it, but they had been trod so many times he couldn't tell what was fresh. He decided to check all of them.

A few borts later however, his mind was put at ease, but Lasinii's was not. In fact, she was given a frightful start.

Ron was following the stream's bank at a fast clip when he came upon a spot where the waterway had eroded a good-sized area in the surrounding earth, leaving a nice, deep pool of calm water.

He burst out of the wooded fringe and stopped at the pool's edge at the same instant that Lasinii was emerging from the water, stark naked!

"Aaaiiii," she screeched in utter surprise.

Ron whipped around instantaneously.

"My apologies, Lasinii!" he called out over his shoulder. "I didn't realize you were bathing!"

"Oh, Ronin...it's you!" she huffed with relief. "You're back!"

"Yes, and I was worried when I couldn't find you at the camp, so I came looking. I'll leave you to your..."

"Nonsense! Come down here! Tell me what happened!"

She'd seen him naked on the day he'd arrived, when his flight suit had dissolved right in front of her, as well as when she'd patched him up the following morning. (His injuries had covered much of his body.) Furthermore, she was a slave who'd been summoned many times by her master, or his friends, for sexual pleasure, so she saw no reason to be coy or shy with her body in front of her new demigod partner.

Ron, on the other hand, had been given no reason to view Lasinii in the nude since their acquaintance, so he had allowed her her privacy. That being said though, he was not one to be embarrassed by the bare female form, so if it was fine with her, he saw no reason to deny her. Subsequently, Ron spun about and approached.

Lasinii hurried to him and threw her arms about his waist, hugging him tightly.

"Thank the Guardian that you're alright!" she said with her face pressed firmly against his chest. Then she released him and headed off, towing him by the hand. "Come over here."

Lasinii worked her way across a stony patch of ground until she stood in full sunlight, and there she lay back and awaited Ron's story while letting Erthania's white star dry her body.

"Did you have any problems while I was away, Lasinii?" he asked first.

"I'll tell you later. I want to hear all about your trip! Did you find any of the other girls?"

Ron smiled down at her, relishing in the toned, athletic lines of her bronze body. She was a very attractive woman of about twenty with perfect symmetry, a tiny waist, deep dimples, and long, flowing black hair. If he weren't so crushed by the loss of his beloved Josylinia, he would have been thoroughly stirred by her brazen actions.

Instead of amore though, his mind went back to the business at hand. He took a long look about to make sure they were safe, and then sat beside her and began his tale calmly.

By the time his story was done, Lasinii was dried, dressed, and they were headed back to camp. The reunion was warm and exciting, but Lasinii saw the ragged condition of her friends and quickly set about to comfort them.

"Ronin," she said sweetly. "I know you just got back, but do you think you could find us a meal? Our stores are pretty empty."

Ron smiled broadly and leaped into action.

"Rancin," he said when his bow was once again in his grasp. "Would you gather wood for a big fire while I go see what I can find?"

"Yep!" he replied, jumping into motion as well.

Living in the wilds was not a place for lazy people.

Lasinii then began tending her friends with a trip to her bathing area, and when they were all cleaned up and back at the cave, there was a large yurile (a striped deer with three spiral antlers) turning on the spit.

The following day they decided to relocate to a larger abode due to their numbers. Ron scouted a promising area further to the west and found a place that very afternoon. It met all his prerequisites and wasn't too far away either. There they stayed for the next two weeks so the women might heal and recover their strength, and also, it gave time to hunt and cure more animal hides for them to make clothes and footwear. Ron even managed to get Rancin some practice with his bow, using the carcasses of some animals he'd shot as targets. Soon, he wasn't alone in the quest for meat as the young man proved himself very capable.

Unfortunately, that peaceful time ended as abruptly as it had started.

Ron was awakened on the morning of the fifteenth day by an odd sound...one he couldn't readily identify. It was a chilly sunrise, but he slept outside the overhang of their camp under the leopard cloak with Lasinii who refused to sleep anywhere other than at his side. They were not lovers, but he could not find it in his heart to deny her the peace of having her fearsome warrior to clutch to in her slumbers.

His eyes popped open and his mind went immediately into overdrive, racing along and systematically identifying each chirp, croak, whistle, and call that reached his ears. It wasn't long until the abnormal noise repeated...and then his chest constricted hard.

"Oh, shit!" he screamed in his head.

Another lita passed and he was standing erect, his focus locked on that sound and for any others like it. Luckily he'd picked that unique position to call home because it was at the top of a tall hill that had egress on all sides. It sat in a bowl-like valley where it was the focal point of every sound, so anything moving would echo its way right to him. He could hear a tree branch snap a hoz away.

"What is it, Ronin?" Lasinii asked very softly, sensing his urgency and the need for secrecy.

Ron stared downslope toward the east and heard it again. Then he noted the same from the northeast, then the north and northwest. It was the slap of a leather-clad sword against an armored thigh.

"Son of a..." he hissed. "They've found us! Get everyone up and ready to go!" he urged, turning to the dying campfire. There was still a wisp of smoke trailing up into the cloudless sky, but the light breeze was sending it south, so at least it wouldn't immediately divulge them.

He'd planned on heading west in another day or two anyway because the ladies were in decent health again, but now that was out for sure. The army was too close to that route already. So it was either south, or southwest...toward the higher elevations.

It took less than five borts to get their group ready to travel, and then Ron pointed them in the only direction they could go and set out. The thorats were not swift, nor lithe, so they were left where they were.

Rancin was the first to speak, and he was clearly confused.

"We're headed deeper into the mountains?" he whispered harshly. Clearly he was distraught at that prospect. "I thought we'd decided that was a bad idea."

"Yeah," Ron growled back, "well, that was before we had more than a thousand soldiers pressing in on us!"

Every head instantly spun around to face the rear. Every head but Ron's of course."

Ron was a marvel once more, picking out the quickest and easiest route across the undulating terrain like he'd lived there all his life. And his companions were excellent followers as well, never complaining, nor questioning his guidance. For the next six days, they plodded forward, stopping only long enough to hunt down an occasional meal and sleep barely half of every night.

Furthermore, the earlier assumption Ron had made about the tenacity of the Nevarians was gone during that first day. It was absolutely clear to him by then that the army's commanders were smart, dedicated, and relentless. And too, he knew exactly what they were doing. They were using canines again...trackers this time, kept on leashes, instead of killers...and kept them spread wide apart to prevent any backtracking. Also, using such a vast number of troops allowed them the luxury of time. Divided into two waves, they kept the pressure up to nearly constant, herding Ron and his group forward like beaters during a jungle hunt...always southward. To what end, he could only guess, but as the way got steeper, colder, and more barren, he surmised nothing but bad outcomes.

The altitude rose and rose, and before the fourth night had passed they found themselves in near freezing temperatures all day long...and well below freezing at night. If it hadn't been for the week of preparation they'd been given, they would have been in truly dire straits, but the women had had enough time to fashion themselves attire better suited to the cooler temperatures of the mountains, so they were managing. Also, they'd divided two greel pelts into four heavy wraps which gave protection to Rancin and the new ladies, and Lasinii's full-length leopard cape kept her cozy, but Ron had no such coverings, so, all told, they were ill-prepared for real high-altitude winter conditions, and that weighed heavily on their minds.

Ron knew for certain that he was being intentionally driven into some remote, uninhabitable region by the seventh day, and was worrying whether or not even he could survive because the game had grown extremely scarce up there. Winter was rapidly pressing in on the land and the wild beasts he needed for meat had no doubt sought refuge in feeding grounds at lower altitudes.

Furthermore, Ron's small group was soon trudging through knee deep snow. It was arduous, slow, and exhausting. He was acutely aware that if something didn't give soon, they were done.

That something came along that very evening, just a billot before sundown.

Ron could see the army by that time. They were spread across the terrain like wolves, always pushing forward and constantly corralling their prey. Then, just when he crested a new butte, he found himself facing a dramatic fork in the road...literally.

To the south, the way led downward, but turned after barely a hoz and was gone. To the southwest, the route was flatter, but disappeared just over the next slight hill. Beyond that was a total mystery as well.

Ron wanted to take a look over that way before committing, but felt even then it would be a complete gamble because the visibility was far less than optimal. Clouds filled the lower areas at every direction. He turned to his fellows and laid out his thoughts.

"So, what do you want to do?" he asked them. "Either way is as good as the other, from what I can tell."

They were all dog-tired and chattering from the cold, but unwilling to offer their opinion to the man from the heavens.

Finally Lasinii spoke.

"I follow you, Ronin...whether it be to freedom, or death. Where you go, I go."

The others immediately agreed with her statement. Even though they had the normal doubts of any human, they felt that since he was sent to them from the gods, if they stuck with him, they had the best chance.

Ron turned back to the south, completely lost about what to do. He knew they followed him blindly, but he also knew he was at the whim of chance, pure and simple.

For the briefest of moments, Ron let go of his disciplined, practical outlook at his current predicament and allowed himself a whispered prayer. "If I truly have been sent here for a reason," he muttered to the harsh land with his back to his followers, "it'd sure be a good time to point me toward it...and right now would do nicely."

He pivoted his head once more, panning his choices, and started to head off to the south...downslope to the more sheltered looking route...when he heard it coming. A few litas later he saw it.

"What the hell is that?" he grunted.

What had appeared to be just low-hanging clouds a few moments ago, trapped and pooling at a lesser altitude, was rapidly evolving. The sky was in fact, turning black. But just then, that gathering darkness suddenly lit up with a lightning show that was blinding...and terrifying. A wicked, deadly-looking storm front was tearing its way up the mountain at hurricane speeds.

"Hurry-hurry-hurry! Ruuuuuuun!" Ron shouted as he pointed at the southwestern path and set off as fast as he could.

They made it over the peak of the rise he'd noted barely ahead of a powerful blast of sleet being spit out in front of the storm. It was flying uphill so hard that it felt more like gravel tearing at their clothing and any exposed skin.

Ron quickly took point and pumped his powerful legs like huge pistons, churning the snow into a shower of white and opening a trench in the deep powder that his slighter comrades could follow. And all the while, he was uncoiling his length of rope.

When they'd dropped below the hillcrest enough for the wind to abate, he had it ready to go, so he stopped abruptly and tied one end to himself. Next, he lashed Lasinii to it with about ten feet of slack...then Marsii, Phateerii, Tamarii, and finally Rancin. And it was a good thing too, because it wasn't long before the roaring, swirling, savage tempest descended upon them again.

In an instant they were plowing along blindly...each only able to stay with the others because of that short length of rope, for even ten feet was too far to see.

For another hoz Ron forged his way before stumbling into a tremendous fortune...a sheltering bit of upward-jutting rock large enough and wide enough to hide behind.

At the first instant he was out of the gale, he set about digging into the deep snow in a mad rush...and when everyone had closed ranks enough to understand his goal, they quickly jumped in to help. Using anything they could, from the black sword, to knives, to their bare hands, they chipped and sliced and dug into that frozen facade. Barely ten borts later, they were completely below the surface in a small ice-cave with a good three feet of insulating material between the harsh environment and their shivering forms. And once out of that maelstrom, they pulled some of the snow they'd just excavated around the entrance until just a small, chimney-like opening hung atop them for a vent. Then they frantically wrapped themselves in every scrap of hide and cloth they could splice together.

### Chapter Eleven

### A World of Ice

Inside that frozen pocket was where they stayed for the next two days (Ron said it felt like two weeks), huddled tightly together for warmth, but still freezing and starving. They were even forced to relieve themselves in a small niche they dug and tamped into the snow inside their tiny shelter. Time seemed to stand still as they fought through each successive moment just to endure.

Outside, the storm dumped six more feet of snow and sleet across the lofty landscape, which kept them busy part of the time due to their air hole closing up again and again.

Daybreak on the third morning saw the sun blazing away so brightly against the solid white world that the roof of their haven appeared to be on fire, and that brilliance awakened Ron.

The first thing he noted was that the wind had calmed dramatically, but the temperature was terribly frigid. Ron had more experience with such conditions than the others, so he knew it would be extremely dicey to set out again, but nevertheless, they all decided to chance the likelihood of frostbite rather than spend even one more billot in that miserable hole.

It took nearly half a billot to extricate themselves from their ice cave, especially after being so cramped for so long, but eventually they managed to claw their way to freedom and were all standing erect once more and gazing about at the new world of white.

While his company performed a series of exercises to warm their stiffened bodies, Ron loosened up by trekking back to have a look at their pursuers. However, that turned out to be an impossible endeavor because the storm continued unrelenting on that side of the pass. With that knowledge though, he felt confident to presume the army had retreated...or perished.

When he'd rejoined his friends, they headed out again, pointed downhill. The blazing sun above was their only source of warmth, but even it could barely be felt as the air temperature was brutal. Following the slightly descending plateau they were on was relatively easy work, except for the depth of the fresh snowfall that kept threatening to consume them.

However, their fortitude proved successful by mid-afternoon when they were finally able to rejoice their changing fortune. Their arduous trek had brought them to the upper lip of a long, wide valley with what appeared to be a river winding its way through it just west of center. Tiny glints of sunlight even suggested that the waterway hadn't yet completely become ice-bound.

The lower ground was dense with evergreen trees too, layered in the same soft white fluff they currently trudged through, and for a moment Ron thought it looked like a postcard of the ultimate Christmas scene. (Christmas is a celebratory religious event on his world, held in the winter)

Down, down, down, they worked their way, but the distance was greater than it had looked and so it was late the next day before they reached the upper level of the woods, and by then they were growing very weak. It had been four days since the last of their rations had given out and water was very difficult to make in such low temperatures. In fact, the only way to get a drink was to pack snow into their water skins and use their bodies' heat to melt it. That action, of course, chilled them to the bone.

Once out of direct contact with the sun's rays, the cold soaked in much quicker too, sapping their strength faster as well. In another billot they were weary to the point of delirium...all except Ron. He'd faced worse conditions too many times to recall so he simply forced himself to continue.

Close to the valley floor, he finally located a nice, sheltered hollow where he gathered his flock and hurriedly set up a new camp. It had a wonderful view of the slope they'd just descended too, so he'd know if anyone tried to follow, and it had several fallen trees nearby that they could use for firewood.

"Huddle together," Ron told them all as he struggled to untie himself from the rope. His fingers fought his orders badly, slowing his progress. "I'll find some dry wood."

Many years of experience...most of it, his alter-ego; Kaskle's of course...had taught Ron exactly what to look for, so it didn't take long before he was back. And when he returned, he was very pleased. Even though they were stiff, frozen, and severely drained, Rancin and the women had scraped out a nice, wide patch of dirt where he could assemble his tinder.

Within a billot, they were all crowded around a roaring fire and actually warming up for the first time in almost two weeks. After that was going, Ron assigned his friends to the task of keeping that fire stoked and keeping watch. Then he warmed his belongings just enough to be able to string his bow before setting out in search of food.

It took some doing, but he brought down a porote` (mountain goat) before dark and they all devoured it before it was even thoroughly cooked.

From that point, Ron went on excursions each day, trying to keep them fed as well as explore the valley, and on his fifth outing, he made a discover that nearly made him keel over in surprise.

After crossing a frozen feeder stream...one of a dozen he'd already mapped...Ron broke out into a clearing that stopped him dead in his tracks. In the middle of that pristine, wild, isolated valley was a tiny village.

Immediately, he dropped into a crouch and scanned the entire area, ready to bolt back to defend his friends at a moment's notice, but he did not need to. The place was completely vacant. Not a single human footprint could be seen anywhere on the new snow. There were plenty of others...six different forest critters to be exact; three large birds species, goat, deer, antelope, marmot, and even fox...but no two-legged kind.

Ron carefully moved forward...his head on a swivel...and eventually sidled up next to every building (five in all) and investigated. Throughout his search there was no sign of anyone having been there in a while...a seemingly indeterminable period, in fact...until he sidled up to the central structure of the sparse community. It was a building constructed of two-foot-thick, ten-foot-high stone walls with heavy wooden beam framework and rafters. It was so impressive that he circled it completely twice, gauging the length and breadth of it. There were large barn doors at one end and a wide entry door toward the other, with several covered windows along each side. When he finally eased the entry door open and stepped into that large shop, he was even more surprised. He felt a vivid temperature difference. It was very warm.

All the windows were closed with heavy-duty shutters, so the interior was quite dark, forcing Ron to leave the door open to allow in a bit of light, but even that didn't hide the fact that there was a massive furnace at the center of the room, and it was still glowing. The coals of the recently managed kiln hadn't yet completely burned out. That's when he realized he hadn't missed the inhabitants by more than a few days.

Ron gazed about the large space in an attempt to understand its purpose, and soon had it. It was a foundry, with a giant forge at its heart. He was standing in a black-smith's shop. Hanging about the stone walls of the place were many tools; hammers, pry-bars, tongs, and the like, as well as eight different anvils set on pedestals at different locations, and three separate pedal-powered grinding wheels lined up along one wall.

Ron walked about the room slowly, trying to decipher the purpose of a few strange-looking work stations he came across, but it was all so foreign to his advanced technology mind that he couldn't quite grasp it at first. Then suddenly it hit him! It was the feel of the different grinding wheels that locked it for him.

This was a sword-makers outpost!

A grin quickly spread across the indomitable warrior's face.

"Well alrighty then!" he said to the empty room.

A bort later Ron was racing back to his new friends.

He burst into their tiny camp so unexpectedly that everyone jumped.

"Grab your gear," he ordered to them anxiously, "You've got to see this!"

"But we've been out all day and just got settled," Marsii complained. She was sitting next to the others, close to a blazing fire, organizing some edible fronds she'd managed to find, and was enjoying getting the feeling back in her toes after a long foraging expedition. A large stack of firewood off to the side showed what everyone else had been up to as well.

Ron didn't want to let their efforts go to waste so he threw a few wraps of rope around the wood and hoisted half of it to his shoulder. Rancin did likewise with the rest.

"Well, you'll thank me soon. I've found us shelter...real shelter! Follow me!"

It wasn't a difficult hike from there, Ron having already blazed the trail, but it did take a couple of billots, so when they at last reached the outpost, the small band was more than ecstatic about the find.

However, just as Ron had been suspicious, so were they...all heads peering intently at the countryside for any new threats.

"I'll make another sweep of the area," Ron told them for reassurance, "but I'm certain this place has been abandoned for the winter."

They were all decidedly nervous of their good fortune until they stepped into the smithy's shop, and then they were more than willing to accept the risk. The temperature inside the building was easily sixty degrees...not the harsh, sub-freezing realm they'd been living in.

Ron dropped the wood and his possessions in a corner and went straight to the furnace, stirring the deepest coals to the surface with a long spade. In less than five borts it was so hot in that room that everyone was eagerly shedding their thermal layers.

Ron then headed out for his survey while his friends set about getting familiar with the place.

They even went to a few of the windows and adjusted the louvered shutters to allow more light in. The cold came with it, but they made adjustments so that the windy side of the building stayed shut, and that worked out quite well.

Ron returned shortly afterward, and soon they were all sitting about in the toasty building and making plans.

"Why would the owners of this place just leave it?" Lasinii queried.

"Since we didn't see any sign of people when we came in from the north," Rancin replied, feeling he'd unraveled that knot, "and the valley is shaped somewhat like a canoe, the men who work here most likely had to make it over the southern pass before the snow got too deep and trapped them here."

Ron nodded his agreement. "Yeah, I've read about places like this back home. The location puts the metal-worker near a position where the resources are optimal, but happens to be in areas that are unsuitable for yearlong habitation."

"But wait!" Marsii questioned. "Does that mean we're...doomed?"

Ron gave her a reassuring smile.

"No, not at all. Most likely, they're not as adept at survival in the back-country as I am...or they simply don't want to. My guess is that they work here only during the warm santaris and then move back to their families during the cold ones. I've already seen plenty of animal tracks to ensure we won't starve. Plus, a couple of the other buildings have at least 'some' foodstuffs packed away...things that don't perish quickly."

"But why would anyone work way out here?" Rancin asked. "What could they possibly be making that's so important they'd be willing to live in the middle of the wilderness?"

Ron gave him a sly smirk. He'd already worked out in his mind exactly what was going on there.

"I think they're experimenting."

"Experimenting?" Lasinii queried. "On what?"

"Look around. You see all the different molds? There's dozens of them...maybe hundreds."

"Ooooh....yes, I see. So this is a weapons-maker's shop?"

"Yes," Ron replied, "and no, not exactly."

The others gazed at him quizzically.

"Do you see the multitude of varying devices? There are templates for arrowheads, for knives, swords, axes, and even saws. If I'm right about my hunch, I think this is a place where a few...or possibly just one...master smithy attempts to improve upon the metal used for each of those items. I think it's a metallurgic proving ground."

Everyone still stared in wonder.

"For example, if you want an arrowhead to penetrate...say...a brochic's hide...you would need something very sharp and hard. That would require a mixture of steel with a high carbon content. But a knife made of the same material would likely chip too easily, and a sword would surely break. A sword needs to have a hard surface along the edge but must give in the center so it will last. That usually means it has to be thick too, or it will bend. However, it also needs to be light enough for someone to swing it, so getting the content of the metal just so is critical. The same goes with a saw. The teeth must be very hard, but the spine ductile."

The women didn't understand much of Ron's explanation, but Rancin did, nodding his head carefully.

"So you think this smithy...or group of them...comes up here to try variations of metal combinations to see what works the best...for whatever application."

Ron grinned hugely. "Yes! Exactly! And I think it's a well-kept secret too."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because there's not a single sample of any finished items lying around...like they don't want anyone to be able to see what they've come up with. I bet they take everything with them when they go home...except for the tools."

There was a long pause while they thought about that...but then...

"Forgive me, Ronin," Marsii finally broke into their pondering, "but what should we do now?"

"Oh, yeah...uh...sorry. First we should replenish the fuel in this furnace so it doesn't completely die out."

No one complained about that. At least it would be a warm job.

"There are three wood sheds full to the rafters, so just find something to tote it with."

From there it was just a matter of fighting through the snow to get the job done. In some places it had built up to almost eight feet, so that was a substantial obstruction. Obviously whoever had occupied the little outpost wasn't prepared for braving the elements during winter because there was no equipment for moving the fluffy ice.

Ron eventually scavenged enough building material scraps to make a decent snow shovel and set to work clearing paths to each of the nearby buildings. That got things moving much smoother.

By nightfall of that first day, Ron and his friends had settled into three of the houses. Rancin had one, Marsii, Phateerii and Tamarii had another, and Ron took the third along with Lasinii whom he could not get rid of no matter how fervently he tried.

"Lord Ronin," she'd retaliated, "since you have admitted that you were sent from the Gods, it would not be right for you to tend to the mundane necessities of mortal life. Your time is far too valuable and your status is too high to be without a servant. Therefore, I will fill those needs."

"But Lasinii, I've told you over and over that your life is your own. You have already done enough. You helped me survive after the battles of that first day. You tended my injuries, cooked our food, and taught me about your people. I'd call that..."

"My duty!" she jumped in. "And my choice. Since you insist that I have the ability to guide my own future, I have decided. I will be at your disposal for whatever might arise."

Ron knew of her former duties as a slave and grew a little anxious.

"But it won't look right to be in my home...for a single woman, that is. People will think that you and I are...uh...familiar with one another."

Lasinii's face fell at that statement, and she cast her gaze at the ground.

"And that would humiliate you?" she asked, her voice trembling a bit.

"No-no-no...not at all. Believe me. You are a lovely woman, and any man would be honored to be paired with you."

That made her blush heavily with joy and pride. She looked up again into his gray eyes.

"But it would certainly prevent you from meeting a man who you might have a future with...maybe even fall in love with and have a family."

"I thank you for your concern, my Lord, but I am certain. I belong at your side until you either cast me out or find a mate to take my place."

And so it was settled. Lasinii moved into the small hut with Ron and immediately set about sprucing the place up to a more comfortable living standard.

From that day on, Ron and Rancin spent much of their time hunting for food. Sometimes they went together, when Ron needed help with some large animal he'd spotted, but mostly they separated to cover more ground. That worked out nicely too, as hunting was not always a guaranteed success, no matter who was attempting it.

The remainder of the time, Ron and the rest of his new clan worked with the forge. It was obviously an excellent way to stave off the cold, but he had developed a side project as well. He was keen to make himself a new sword...or more precisely, a pair of them.

"But why," Rancin asked. "The one you already have is far superior to anything I've ever even dreamed of."

"While that may be true...actually it assuredly is true...there is a good reason. If I am to blend in with this culture...your society...I need to stand out less."

He was thinking of the legend of Ronin that he'd heard about in the future culture of Caron.

"He carried a sword as black as the night!" they'd said.

"I need weapons more in common with your world, or I fear I will be seen as an outlander forever."

There were no finished...or even partially constructed...weapons that he could find anywhere, so Ron experimented with every piece of raw metal in the place, looking for the best alloy to construct a blade with. None fit the necessary criteria. The only samples he found large enough to consider were of useless, discarded slag.

He searched the entire village two more times, trying to figure out where they were getting their ore from...which he assumed must be some high grade material...but there wasn't the slightest sign of a mine anywhere around the vicinity. It was terribly frustrating, especially when they ran out of new areas to search. It took nearly a week of determined investigation, but at last, they stumbled across what he needed.

Phateerii was chopping her way through the river's thickening ice one day...trying to get some fresh water...when she noticed the unusual color of the sand that the bank was built from. It was very dark, and heavy. She carried some back to the village out of simple curiosity.

"What's that?" Lasinii asked when they met in the furnace shop. She and Tamarii were just then stitching the finishing touches of two thick coats...one for Ron and one for Rancin, so that they might withstand the cold better when hunting.

Ron was working about twenty feet to their right. He'd melted down some of the slag and was hammering out a long crank handle for their cooking spit.

"I don't know," Phateerii replied, still staring at the odd material. "It feels like sand, but is so heavy!"

That description triggered a memory in Ron's head. It was from a documentary he'd seen while in college. (A teaching event at a place of education) He'd been so intrigued with the subject that he'd eventually written a fifty page paper about it.

Ron pried his gaze from his current task and stared at the woman's hands.

"Come into the light, Phateerii," he urged. "Let's have a look."

She walked over to him and held out her hand. It appeared to be sand, but was as black a coal. Ron then took some of the material and rubbed it in his fingers, feeling the weight of it. His heart began to pump faster.

"Yes! Yes-yes-yes! I believe you've found it!" he told her excitedly.

"What, Lord Ronin?"

"The reason this sword-smith comes all the way out here into the wilderness to do his experiments."

He turned his gaze to sweep all the faces around the shop.

"I think this is iron sand!"

They returned his exuberance with blank stares.

"Sorry," Ron told them. "I think this," he added, holding out some of the material in his own fingers, "is where he gets his metal."

"From sand?" Rancin asked, totally befuddled.

"Yes," Ron said, his excitement still building.

He then glanced around the room quickly and frowned.

"This is not right," he announced. "Something's missing." Then his expression changed slightly. "But there's room!"

Ron strode over to the side of the central furnace and mentally measured the space again. Then he began moving everything out of the area.

"Come on, everyone. Let's move all this stuff to the far corner."

Some of the equipment was heavy, but it didn't take long to have a nice, large space emptied. Ron then hurried out of the shop and over to a storage building nearby. He returned with two large blocks made of clay.

"I remembered seeing these next door," he said as he set them down. "Rancin, would you help me carry these over?"

The blocks were too heavy for the ladies to handle, but between Ron and Rancin, they quickly built a new furnace beside the existing one. It was smaller, but Ron guessed it would be large enough.

"What is that?" Marsii asked.

"On my wor...that is...where I'm from, it would be called a tatara," he replied, but offered no further explanation.

A day later, the new furnace was blazing away and ready for the next phase.

Ron had the women carry buckets of the black sand into the shop and spread it out near the original furnace to dry. Once it was ready, they transferred that material to a different bucket beside the tatara.

Running purely off of his memory of the process, Ron began pouring the sand into the fully stoked kiln, watching the effects carefully.

"The temperature has to stay perfect," he instructed his watching helpers.

For the following three days, Ron stayed at the side of the furnace adding sand and charcoal from the other furnace systematically. When he felt the time was right, he let the flaming embers die and finally slept.

The next day, they began deconstructing the new furnace and used a long pair of tongs to remove a single ingot from the bottom of the tatara.

Ron cleaned the mass of congealed metal and inspected it carefully. Then he moved to the older furnace. From there, Ron heated the ingot to glowing and began hammering it into a shape he could work with.

After another two days, Ron had pounded a chunk of the ingot into the shape of a small knife. Then he began to work the edge. At the end of a week, he had a blade with a relatively sharp edge, having finished it off on the first two grinding wheels. Then he did his quench. The bad thing was, he didn't have oil to use for that part of the process. He ended up collecting a trough of fat rendered form the animals they'd hunted instead. The effects of that part of the procedure were a complete unknown, but he had nothing else.

Two more rounds on the finer honing wheels and he felt it was ready.

So much time and energy had been put into that weapon that anticipation was running high when he finally tested it. It cut very nicely at first. He used it on leather, wood, and then on flesh...skinning an antelope for its hide...but unfortunately, the edge dulled rather quickly.

Ron dropped his shoulders pointedly and walked away from the job with a sullen expression. Lasinii, who rarely left his presence, saw his demeanor change and knew something was amiss.

"What is it Ronin?"

Ron returned to the skinning job with one of the knives he'd gotten off a soldier and continued working.

"The mixture was off," he said, his voice sounding tired. "Not enough charcoal."

"And that's bad?" she asked, not really following his problem.

"Well, it's not what I was shooting for, but it'll still be useful later...so it's not a total loss."

The next day they all began again.

A santari later, on the third attempt, Ron's expression did not fall with defeat. Instead, it alit with a smile that denoted his victory.

That ingot was large enough for his other needs too, so at dawn of the next day, Ron began the process of sword making.

He already had a block of pure ore ready, so there was no delay. With both chunks of metal glowing bright red from the heat of the forge...one with high carbon steel, and the one made of almost pure iron...Ron used a huge set of fixed, pedal-powered welding hammers to pound one into the other. And when they were thoroughly merged into a single block, Ron began to fold it. He heated it until pliable, then pounded it into a thin plate and then bent it over and heated and pounded it again. For two solid weeks, Ron repeated that process until he'd lost count of the folds, and then he started shaping the weapon.

Again, going completely off of memory alone, Ron beat the block into a long, slim, curved blade, extending a section at the root to serve as a handle. He held his breath during the quench, but cheered when it came out straight and true. Another two weeks of polishing and sharpening and the sword's edge was done.

Tamarii was somewhat familiar with swords, having worked as a child with her mother in a seamstress shop that repaired and installed the grips onto such weapons. She knew that it took a very tough type of thread wrapped around and securely anchored to the hardwood hand-grip and brass pommel to provide the necessary endurance and roughness of a well-made handle, and she was determined to get it exactly right.

At last, upon Ron's return from a long day's fruitless scouting expedition, when he was tired, frozen, hungry, and frustrated, Tamarii approached him while he sat dejectedly beside the forge, warming up. Lasinii was preparing his dinner, off at the other end of the long room.

Her sheepish attitude caught his attention as she drew nearer, and he could see she held something behind her back, but didn't react. His mood was sullen and he really didn't feel like being sociable. But when she handed the finished weapon to him for his inspection, he couldn't suppress a broad grin.

"Wow!" he said as his hands wrapped the new handle. It fit his fingers perfectly. "It is truly beautiful, Tamarii," he added, praising her. "Thank you! Thank you very much."

She beamed at his compliment. "You are most welcome, Ronin," she told him, bowing sweetly.

The others were just entering the building while she accepted his praise, and so were drawn to the scene instantly.

Ron vividly recalled just how the makers of similar swords on Earth tested their new creations, and he thought of an antelope Rancin had brought down just the day before. It had already been gutted and cleaned, but would suffice for his purpose. It currently hung in an unheated storage building.

Setting the blade down, Ron hurried out and retrieved it, and then hung the partially frozen carcass up in an open area of the shop. Then he retrieved his weapon.

"What are you going to...?" Rancin began, but Ron was already in motion.

"Vit-vit-vit!" went the blade, side to side in three quick slashes. Three sections of the antelope struck the floor immediately afterward.

Ron then turned to his friends who now stood in utter amazement.

"Where I'm from, a new katana is tested for its ability to cut in this method. The blade is rated on how many bodies it can completely sever before dulling. I believe this one would pass."

They all nodded, their mouths still agape.

The very next day, Ron began construction of the second sword...the shorter partner to the one he'd just created. In another santari, he held it...a perfect match to its longer sibling.

Although he did not carry them the same way that his 'Samurai' predecessors had, he certainly felt a definite sense of legitimacy and camaraderie with those ancient Japanese warriors.

"Now I am truly a Ronin!" he told himself. "A warrior with no master."

(Of course, the real Samurai of Earth's ancient times considered such a state less than optimal...even degrading...as compared with defending a ruling master's lands or people, but Ron was not that devout to the old ways. He was more than comfortable choosing his own path and his own battles. And since defending the weak or helpless was a focal point of the Samurai's mantra...written down in the 'Bushido code'...that was where his motivation predominantly fell.)

### Chapter Twelve

### The Call of the Wild

By that point, Ron and his group of five had reached the pinnacle of the winter in the frozen valley, and hunting had turned into a real test of man's intellect against nature's unforgiving moods. Due to the sun's retreating angle, the valley floor was almost always in shadow, and that allowed the temperature to plunge to a brutal degree and remain their simply because of the natural shape of the landscape. In such conditions everyone had to layer up heavily just to survive the cold, but that hampered all endeavors outside. It also took longer and longer to find game animals since they were hiding from the cold too, which forced the men to forage deeper and deeper into the hill country, and take bigger and bigger risks. However, the rations they'd initially found were limited which meant meat was an essential part of life they could not circumvent, so they did what they must.

Upon the return of one such outing...a two day excursion that should have been one...Ron trudged into the little village with the carcass of a large female deer dragging behind him on a sled. He'd made the kill late the previous evening, but the weather had forced him to hunker down where he was so he'd spent the night in a snow cave he'd dug out and shaped at the base of a huge uprooted tree. It was nearly noon before the blizzard had eased up enough for him to head back. He was exhausted, stiff, and in need of some hot food and a warm place to stretch out, but Marsii and Lasinii ran out into the horrible weather and met him at the edge of town with worried looks plastered upon their faces.

They'd been taking turns watching for the men since dawn. He deduced the reason instantly.

"Rancin?"

"Yes!" Marsii replied. "He's still not back!"

That worried Ron too. It had been a very difficult two days for him and he suspected he could manage better than the native Erthanian.

"I'll go look for him."

"No," Lasinii said, fearing that they could lose them both. "You need to come in and warm up and rest!"

"No," Ron told her...not harshly, but with candor, "I'm already acclimated to the cold. If I warm up, I'll just have to adjust all over again. And frankly, I don't want to chance leaving him out there any longer than I have to."

"It's that bad out there?" Lasinii asked, her brow deeply furrowed with worry.

Ron nodded once...his appearance grim and filled with concern as well.

"Well then, I guessed you'd say that, so I prepared water and a meal pouch. Let me fetch them."

Ron hauled the sled to the building they used for processing meat and unstrapped the deer for Phateerii. He knew she and Tamarii could take it from there, so he met Lasinii halfway to their house.

"Here you are, Ronin," she said with a wonderful false look of cheerfulness. "Please be careful!" she then added, her eyes turning to an obviously harried state. "If you can't find him...please...please come home!"

Ron just smiled at her. "I'll find him."

Tears burst from her eyes, freezing almost instantly on her cheeks.

"Remember what you told me, Ronin. You are not a god. You are a man. You could die out there. Please do not!"

Ron had never shown her any open affection in the three santaris she'd been with him. He'd taken her into his bed for warmth and companionship...mostly to comfort her...but had always been clear that his heart was bound to another. So his next move frightened her even more than his rescue mission. He bent down and kissed her quivering lips.

"Do not worry, Lasinii. You're not rid of me yet."

As her heart leaped into full gallop, Ron Allison spun about and headed out again.

Ron knew exactly where Rancin was headed on his hunting expedition, but he also knew that it had been two days. The man could have roamed a long way out of that part of the valley by now. It took him until dark to reach the deep, wide hollow where he suspected Rancin had gone, and then he began to search in earnest.

The natural depression of the terrain blocked much of the wind he'd fought against during his own outing, but it also collected a great deal of snow. That being the case, he found no trail to follow, and he had to be extremely careful of deep pockets that he might fall into. It wouldn't take much to trap him in a crevasse he could not extract himself from.

Ron had taught Rancin many of the finer points of tracking beasts during their time together so he used that to guess as to which direction the young man might have gone. He headed south. The drifts were gathering on the northern bluffs, so it stood to reason that Rancin had picked the areas less likely to trap an animal.

The sky was overcast with a steady snowfall, but the whiteness of the frozen landscape gave Ron enough contrast to continue, so he pressed on. Also, he didn't want to stop anyway. The cold crept into his joints when he even paused to rest, and he didn't want to give it a better hold on him.

A billot later, Ron was about to change directions again, to head west, when he heard a familiar roaring sound coming from the east. He turned to see and instantly knew it was the leading edge of powerful storm, and it was headed straight at him. Also though, a slight movement caught his eye off to his right, up the rise a hundred kez. He'd worked his way well inside the confines of the forest, but there the trees grew sparsely, and far apart, allowing for better than normal sight distance.

Ron couldn't hone in on it right away because it was so minor, but he approached anyway. He wanted to be sure.

When he was barely thirty kez away, Ron saw clearly what he'd briefly glimpsed.

Up in the fork of a tree, some twenty-five feet above the ground, was a lump of snow that resembled the shape of a man...but only barely.

It was Rancin. He was straddling a large branch and covered with easily a foot of the frozen fluff. Only his left arm was moving...and it was waving Ron back!

He didn't understand at first. Not until he was close enough to catch Rancin's eyes. But when he did, he realized that they were filled with terror!

The young man couldn't speak. His lips were frozen shut. But he began pointing over Ron's shoulder with all the energy he had left...frantically gesturing for him to turn around.

Ron finally understood and instantly spun about, his hands already reaching for his weapons, but it was too late!

As his torso made the turn, Ron saw what had Rancin so alarmed. It was a gigantic, charging snow beast!

In the first instant, Ron knew the creature was built for that exact climate. It was an animal with long, thick fur that was so dense it could never live below the snow line. It had six legs that gave it incredible speed and dexterity in the steep terrain, and its paws were enormous, to spread out on soft snow to support its massive body. It wasn't quite a bear, but wasn't quite a wolf either, although it resembled a bit of both.

(Later, Ron would learn that they generally lived where men did not, and were extremely reclusive. In fact, they were so rarely encountered...and that encounter so rarely survived...that most people considered their existence to be a total myth.)

The beast had a long, broad snout that sported five-inch-long fangs in jaws that could open wide enough to engulf the chest of a man...and that's exactly what happened to Ron.

The creature scooped his body up like a dog snatching his favorite squeaky toy off the grass, and then it slammed him down hard against the snowpack...its jaws squeezing shut with immense power.

Ron felt those ghastly canines puncture his heavy coat as if it were paper and enter his body on his left side snapping two ribs as they went. He tensed his muscles against the rising pressure of the monster's jaws but felt his lungs squeezed so violently that he still exhaled every ounce of air he had in him.

He didn't know why, but for some reason, the beast suddenly stopped its rapid crushing of his torso for a moment, and that allowed Ron a quick chance of retaliation. He always kept a knife sheathed to the outer layer of his coat, just in case of emergencies, and so while he struggled to stay conscious without the luxury of oxygen, Ron ripped the ten-inch knife free and plunged it into the nose of the giant beast.

That attack resulted in two things in quick succession. The creature whipped its head to the right and flung Ron forty kez away, and then it screamed an ear-shattering wail of agony as it struggled to get the blade free from its sensitive snout.

Ron hit hard, only able to survive that impact due to the softness of the white ground-cover, and the impact jarred him badly, blurring his vision.

He rolled to his knees in a blink where he gasped and gulped at the air, grunting at the burning sensation of his ruined ribs and trying desperately to get some of that air to enter his body.

At that instant, the giant creature glared and snarled at him before it cut loose with a bone-rattling wail that shook the snow from many of the nearby trees' as it tore across the ice-covered landscape...and when it did, Ron Allison finally knew exactly where Kaskle's (his Aredanz predecessor) unnerving cry had originated.

He glowered back at the monster from his position, his savage inner self blitzing past the shell of the mere man outside to call to battle and release the full fury of the primal fiend within.

"To fight a beast," his grandfather had told Kaskle, "you must become a beast!"

His vision of the white, snow-covered land immediately turned to crimson. In a single heartbeat, the sole survivor of the once widely renowned arena sport known as the Retribution Games; Shartae the Invincible, was unleashed!

As if by magic, Ron no longer felt the white-hot heat of his damaged ribs. He inflated his lungs a moment later, like the force of his will alone was all it took. He then stood and faced the animal ten times his size and roared out his own challenge...perfectly mimicking the beast's fearsome, wailing cry. Mortal combat was the offering, and he dared the creature to accept.

The snow beast jerked at the sound, and then seemed amazed that its victim was up and answering its challenge. (Ron guessed that most likely it had never seen such an outcome after its initial bite. Every other animal had no doubt been crushed instantly.) That apparent surprise caused a new reaction in the monster. It immediately forgot the weapon still lodged in its nose and snarled a deep, crackling, hate-filled growl back at Shartae...and then it charged again.

In any arena that foregoes either some form of tether, or...at the bare minimum...a projectile weapon like a bow or spear, a single human against a wild animal is fraught with disaster for the man. Animals are far superior in strength, speed, and ferocity...and in the current match of Ron against the creature, size as well. And truth be told, if Ron would have been given the chance, he would quickly have retreated without hesitation or any feeling of cowardice. However, incredible, unimaginable things seem to happen when the human man bears the duel identity of Ron Allison and Kaskle Dangarth, and that man is pushed into a fight for his life!

The beast rushed forward in a blasting spray of flying snow, its great bulk held low against the ice.

Shartae knew he could not maneuver much at all, so he didn't attempt to. With bared teeth gleaming at the gigantic creature, he ripped his heavy coat off in a flick, his fingers immediately reaching for the blades strapped to him. The bow he carried was not even considered as it was currently wrapped up tightly to protect it from the elements and not even strung.

There were three swords on his person...the long katana, its shorter sibling, and the Raulden super-blade, as well as four new throwing knives he'd custom designed and manufactured himself.

The instincts of Shartae were so instantaneous that he didn't even think about what he should do. His right hand snatched the shorter sword from its sheath and his shoulder recoiled.

The creature's movements were exactly what he expected...smooth and even, its ears peeled back like a cat's. Shartae's hand whipped down hard and the blade was away. It didn't have the weight of the black razor, but it was eighteen inches of sharpened steel nonetheless.

The sword struck the charging animal on the chin before glancing away and burying itself in the creature's left fore-shoulder. That caused a violent catch in the momentum of the beast that forced it slightly left of a dead-on attack. That allowed Shartae to slide a step over and bring out the full-length Samurai sword. Instead of retreating, he leaned into the charge and slashed hard at the nearest paw. That violent strike caught it between two of its toes and a third of the forefoot leapt from the creature's leg.

The snow instantly turned red.

The air erupted again at that moment, but it wasn't the valiant scream of superiority emanating from the monster that shook the snow from the nearby verdure. It was another howl of pain!

The beast immediately danced away, snarling at its tiny adversary, but Shartae would have none of that.

With the colossal animal weaving and circling about in the surrounding snow...packing it down to a manageable footing...it gave the human a bit of mobility, so he took the fight to the beast.

Shartae dashed forward, again his fingers plucking weapons from their perches deftly and without hesitation, and before the snow creature could even gather itself, three more shivs struck home in its side. Those blades would cause decent damage if the fight lasted, but for the short term, they merely irritated the savage beast. Unfortunately they were all the long-range weapons he had. That was okay with Shartae though...the white monster was within reach by then.

The man lunged in with a phenomenally quick thrust, but the animal switched directions so fast that Shartae's katana barely clipped its hide, and then it spun about and retaliated.

Shartae saw the abrupt change and began his counter move, but again, an animal is simply faster than a human, and so the creature struck home with a fearsome blow. Shartae's only choice to get clear lay behind him, so he leaned back hard, trying to evade that blazing, incoming swat. With incredible fortune, that move caused his shoulder to brush past a four-inch thick sapling just before the snow creature's claws could strike and rip his chest wide open. The young tree took the brunt of the blow and saved Shartae's life, but the snow-beast's paw was larger than its opponent's entire chest, and was moving at a mind numbing speed. That heinous weapon slammed the tree into Shartae with bone-breaking force and its claws still bit deeply, gouging out five ragged slots across his thick pectorals.

Shartae literally flew backwards with the horrendous force of the impact, but landed in a roll that got him up and facing the creature before it could fully close the gap. Again his arm shot back and then forward, and again a sword raced to its target. That flying device of death found a spot in the expansive chest of the charging animal, and that forced another shudder from the massive creature, further slowing its reaction speed. Shartae smiled inside.

Out came the super-blade!

The wild man of the Retribution Games then cut loose with a maniacal barrage of swordplay against the iron-hard claws of the high-altitude monster. With the two katanas doing their brutal duty inside the creature, the match of man vs. beast became slightly more even.

Shartae ramped his attack up to the highest level he'd ever achieved, the shadow-blade seemingly everywhere at once, but the size and structure of the animal was such that he simply couldn't do enough damage to end the contest before the giant creature landed another devastating blow. It came in low, aimed at his legs just the way a Warshieg prairie tiger takes down its prey, and took Shartae down in similar fashion.

The moment he hit his back, the monster pounced. Shartae snapped up with truly astonishing speed, but not fast enough to regain his footing, and the giant animal was right atop him.

When in such a fierce battle mode, Shartae didn't think like a man, didn't react like a man, and didn't falter like a man. His instinct was pure, simple, and to the point. It was to fight; to inflict as much pain and damage as he possibly could before he himself perished...with whatever weapons he had!

His last sight of his gargantuan opponent was its enormous, gaping maw as it engulfed both his head and shoulders. Any other man may have been inclined to twist away, or to cover his eyes from that final glimpse of impending death, but as I have said...Shartae is a whole different kind of being. His reaction was to jam his sole remaining weapon somewhere into that creature in a last-ditch effort to kill the beast. It wasn't much, but when faced with an impossible task, one can only do what one can.

Shartae's final act of ultimate defiance placed the tip of the raven sword directly into the creature's soft pallet in a one-in-a-million location. As the massive predator lunged downward, the blade sliced its way up, piercing its sinus cavity, then its cerebellum, and finally came to a stop a foot outside the very aft part of its brain pan.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Shartae roared at the monster as the world was suddenly eclipsed from his view. He didn't even feel the beast's right canine rake across his skull, nor its jaw slam down hard against his left shoulder...and he fully expected it to snap his torso at any moment. But when that didn't happen, and no further movement came from gigantic, apex predator, he realized that somehow, miraculously, it had perished.

In an instant of time, the battle was over...and Shartae the Invincible yet lived!

Shartae was still trapped inside the mouth of the beast, breathing in great huffs of air, with every exhalation a grunting growl of bestial defiance. But he quickly understood that he needed to move.

The animal was far too heavy for even him to push off, so he did the one thing he could: he began to dig. His only available motions were akin to a swimmer's backstroke, and started out in small movements, but soon gained momentum. It took several borts, but he finally managed to excavate enough of the packed snow to crawl out from under the immense carcass.

The great beast's teeth snagged his clothing at the last, just when he thought he was clear, as if the creature was still trying to carry him to the afterworld with it, and that drew a snarling growl from the wild-man.

Shartae twisted to reach backward, but his left arm would not respond to the motion he needed, it having sustained substantial damage in the brawl. That frustrated the mighty warrior and drew a rumbling growl and a powerful upward surge, ripping the thin deer hide of his shirt.

It also resulted in his entire body blasting out of the thick snow in a dramatic, roaring release of angry exultation that in turn triggered his infamous victory call.

That horrifying, nerve-shattering cry tore from his throat like a thunderclap and raced across the land to let every creature, small and large, know that Shartae had still not met his match in battle.

As that primeval urge receded a few moments later, the beast-man glared across the snowy terrain once more to see if there would be any takers. Surprisingly, he found two.

The snow-beast had been raising twin cubs...and they were half grown!

Shartae instantly understood why he hadn't been crushed to death at the onset. Their mother had wanted _them_ to make the kill!

Shartae didn't hesitate even a lita, snarling at the pair like he welcomed the fight and brandishing the blade he'd just vanquished their mother with, it still dripping with her blood.

The young animals approached slowly, staying low, shoulder to shoulder until they were barely three kez from him, but then he saw their eyes flick to the side...to the sight of their dead mother. She had been teaching them to hunt, and until then, he was certain they'd never seen any creature even try to confront her, only to flee. (Even the male snow-creatures gave the females a wide berth...especially when they had young around.) So as the two faced off against Shartae, their minds were filled with doubt. And when a wild animal feels doubt...even at the smallest degree...they choose retreat every time.

So it went then and there as well, in the ice-locked valley high in an Erthanian mountain range. The relatively miniscule man escaped certain death, conquered the majestic snow-beast, and became a feared enemy of those creatures forever.

Shartae glared fiercely at those cubs as the youngsters disappeared into the windswept landscape, his head still swinging left and right to be alert for any more threats. But when all that remained was the howl of the wind through the trees, Ron Allison reined in the beast within and began to extricate himself anew.

He was waist deep in the soft powder, so he worked his way around to the area the creature had trampled. Once there, he gave himself a hasty inspection. And just as with many other clashes he'd had over the years since being turned into the unstoppable war-machine he was, Ron saw that his condition was not good.

His left arm would only move in one direction. He couldn't reach up or to the side. Most likely dislocated, he surmised, since he couldn't feel any break or excessively large flesh wound.

His chest was open to the sub-freezing air, so that exam was easy. The gashes across him burned and bled, but he could still operate the thick muscle beneath, so he moved on. He'd felt three ribs pop during the fight, but as he probed further, he found two more. Miraculously, none had punctured his lungs this time.

He could feel warmth at the left side of his head, which puzzled him until he felt of that area and found a good deal of blood all down his ear and neck. Quickly following it upward revealed it was coming from the upper part of his skull where a large flap of his scalp had peeled away, much like the skin of an orange someone was preparing to eat. He gingerly felt of the loose flesh before simply pressing it back in place and hoping it would stick. What else could he do?

Onward went his assessment.

His right arm felt relatively fine even though blood ran down it and dripped from his fingertips. That flowed from a slim gash on his triceps that was really little more than a bad scratch. No real damage had been done there.

His last inspection...and most immediate problem under the circumstances...turned out to be his right knee. His trousers were shredded on both legs and several nasty wounds leaked and oozed his life fluid into each of his boots, but that knee was already swelling...even in the cold...and so he knew he'd taken a bad blow. Something inside was torn. Muscle or tendon, he didn't know. Pain was coming in torrents from everywhere, so it was really difficult to pin down, but it was very challenging to put weight on that leg.

Ron searched the entire scene until he'd recovered his heavy coat and donned it. Then he limped and scrambled around the massive animal and retrieved his swords and knives. At that point, Ron returned to his initial objective...Rancin.

The young man was still up in the tree exactly like before, and that worried Ron more than his own condition. If he couldn't even get himself down, they were in big trouble.

"Rancin!" he called up to the fellow. He received no reply.

"You have to get down from there! I cannot climb!"

Rancin moved his arm again, this time to cover his mouth. He breathed hard into his mitted hand for a while, trying to defrost his face, but in the end he had to simply tear his lips apart to speak.

"C-c-c-can't-t-t-t...m-m-m-moooooooov-v-v-ve," he finally said. "T-t-t-toooooooooooo...c-c-c-c-cooooold-d-d-d!"

"Shit!" Ron cursed, his mind jumping into overdrive.

He looked at the base of the tree and saw where Rancin had discarded his equipment so he could climb. In his pack was a length of quarter-inch rope he'd brought with him from Nevari. It was almost fifty feet long.

Once again, Ron shed his own mittens and went to work. He tied one end of the rope to two of his throwing knives and began gauging the distance. Around and around those sharp devices spun, until he set them free, straight up at his friend.

Rancin closed his eyes, fearing the worst, but the blades looped up and over him safely...to his great relief...although they were very close.

"Grab the rope and wrap your arm with it!" Ron told him.

Rancin was so cold that he didn't even try to guess Ronin's plan. He just did as he was instructed. It took some time because he moved so slowly, but eventually he had a few wraps around his arm.

He looked down again and was about to ask, "What now?" but Ron didn't wait for the question. He merely yanked on the rope.

Rancin toppled out of the tree immediately, falling the long distance to the ground with his eyes wide and a frantic scream stuck in his throat. He went down face first.

Ron stepped back as he fell, but then rushed in when he landed, rolling the fellow over as quickly as he could. He'd gambled that the four-foot-deep padding of soft snow would spare Rancin any real damage, but found him unconscious just the same.

Ron brushed the snow from the lad's face hurriedly and slapped his cheek hard. That brought Rancin back to lucidity and he gasped in panic.

"What the...?" he croaked, the shock of the fall scrambling his thoughts. "Cre-at-or a-bove!"

He spoke in a garbled, mumbling way, but Ron understood him and sighed. He was fine.

The wind intensified yet again, its gale-force peppering them both with icy sleet and driving snow to an extent that Ron feared they could not survive it out in the open. Unfortunately there was no shelter around. His probing glare caught the hulking carcass of the snow beast and he immediately started limping toward it, dragging Rancin by the coat. He had an idea he knew would work.

Using the ebony sword, Ron gutted the massive creature and tore out all its internal organs. Then he stuffed Rancin inside before jamming himself in as well. The animal's intestines had been punctured during the fight, so a good deal of its digestive juices and excrement had leaked into the cavity, but there was nothing Ron could do but accept it. It was probably the vilest smell he'd ever experienced, and he had to concentrate hard to squelch his need to vomit, but it was warm.

Rancin was too cold to even react, lying completely still where Ron placed him, and for a few moments Ron was concerned that he'd died, but small puffs of mist could be seen at his nose and mouth, so he guessed the young man was merely sleeping. And once he and his charge were totally enveloped with the heat of the dead animal's body, he too collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The storm grew in magnitude throughout the night and half the next morning, but then it abated as swiftly as it had grown, leaving a small patch of the northern slope bathed in fleeting sunlight. That white star shining down on the snow was so bright it would have blinded a normal Earth man, and was powerful enough to reflect through the thick powder and into the grisly cave the men were hiding in. That triggered the survival instincts inside Ron, and so he stirred...and instantly regretted it.

Ron was extraordinarily sore and stiff when he awoke, and would much rather have simply laid there for another day, even with the horrendous stench, but he had no choice other than to summon all his strength once more to battle his way out of the now frozen, massive carcass. It was a monumental task too, requiring him to literally cut his way through, but after a billot and a half, when he was finally free, he gazed about the surrounding countryside carefully.

High above, he saw clear blue sky, but as he panned about, he saw the dark gray gloom of storm clouds in every direction. That's when he realized that they were merely in the eye of the storm. Apparently it was a gigantic, swirling cyclone of snow.

"Son of a bitch!" Ron growled.

He then swiftly took stock of their situation. They had no water. The fight with the snow monster had destroyed Ron's supply and Rancin's was frozen solid. There were some foodstuffs, but not much.

"We have to get moving!" Ron decided.

His left arm was screaming, as were his knee and damaged ribs, and he had almost no protection for his legs, but then, as he took one more look around, he developed another idea, and immediately got to it.

By late evening that day, the storm had returned to its full wrath at the little encampment village where Lasinii, Phateerii, Tamarii, and Marsii paced about, completely frantic. They were doomed if the men had perished...that much was certain...but what Marsii and Lasinii fretted the most was the aching in their hearts. Marsii had grown extremely fond of Rancin, and Lasinii was interminably in love with Ron, so the grief of losing those brave, valiant men was worse than their fear of dying.

The four women had taken turns as sentries, watching the forest to the north out of the last window in the forge's northern corner. For the entire previous day and night, and most of the current day, they'd never left that post unattended. Marsii and Lasinii had slept little, even when not on duty, and were nervous wrecks. Their eyes were bleary, dried out, and burning, yet they held to their vigil nonetheless. They simply could not give up hope. However, they'd also been keeping track of the storm and their minds told them that no one could survive out in that.

"Marsii," Lasinii finally said with a depressed sigh when dusk was beginning to fall again. "Why don't you get some sleep? It's my turn to keep watch."

Marsii's head had been bobbing up and down for the past few billots, and so she nodded her agreement and stood up to go. However, she did not move away. Her eyes blinked twice, long and hard, and then she latched onto the window sill with all her might, shoving her head out into the gloom with renewed intensity. The next instant her hand gripped Lasinii's shoulder tightly.

"What...is...that?" she said slowly, pointing to the outskirts.

Lasinii rose as well and leaned forward, straining to see what her friend saw...and then she too froze.

"It's...it's...it's...a...I don't know what...but it's moving closer."

They were standing inside the massive stone building, so they felt somewhat safe, but wild animals were not something any of them took lightly...as was only prudent...and what was approaching was very big! They both began to shake violently.

"Go bolt the door!" Marsii urged her. "It's some kind of beast!"

Lasinii started to obey her order, but the way the thing was moving made her hesitate. She paused a bit longer, staring even more intently. Then it hit her!

"Holy Creator above! Ronin!" she screamed, and then she flew down to the other end and dashed out the door without even a coat on.

Marsii was confused at her reaction, but followed Lasinii anyway, praying that she wasn't about to be torn to shreds by some hellish monster.

As the two women approached, they saw what exactly had entered the village. It was a huge, draping fur-skin that dragged the snow all around whatever was beneath it. A moment later, the women reached the moving mass and together they struggled to raise the frozen leading edge of it...and then they both shrieked!

Beneath that thick, heavy hide were their men, both completely covered in stinking, bloody gore!

Rancin was draped over Ron's back...tied onto him, in fact...and was unconscious. But the mighty Ronin...the man sent to them by the gods...was trudging along one step after the next...running purely on automatic. His eyes were half open but fixed onto nothing at all, and his mind was apparently elsewhere too because he didn't even react to the women's screaming.

It took another hundred feet for Lasinii to break through to him...to let him know that he had made it...that he could stop. At that point he pulled up, looked into her eyes, and said...

"Josy? My goddess? Is that you?"

(Josylinia had to pause a moment to clear her throat and dab her eyes dry)

And then the indomitable man who'd just done the impossible...yet again...fell flat on his face.

### Chapter Thirteen

### Back from the Brink

Ron awakened early the following morning for a full ten litas. He was lying on some soft, narrow surface, but not fully. His feet were hanging down into a large clay pot of water. He could tell because when he jerked awake, he felt the fluid lapping against his ankles. He momentarily considered why that was, but couldn't feel his toes above the sensation of a thousand shards of stabbing needles where they should be. However, that wasn't...by far...the end of his mental queries.

His arms dangled off the edge of the same surface, each ending in its own pot of water as well. And the same sharp sensation pulsed up from his hands. It felt like his normally dexterous appendages were all being chewed off by ants.

That odd stimulus , unfortunately, couldn't keep him from focusing on the mind-numbing agony that came from his right knee which was completely black, or his left shoulder and ribs which were all deep purple.

He felt his head pounding like someone was drumming upon his skull with a sledge hammer all along the eight-inch-long rip in his scalp that Lasinii had stitched back together four billots previous.

Ron's swirling thoughts faded to a dull blob about then, but not before he noticed that he was no alone on that make-shift bed. Lasinii lay half atop his nude body (on his good side)...naked herself...and they were both covered with some thick, heavy, soft material. She was sleeping soundly.

Her body felt good against his. She was warm. He stopped fighting to awaken then, and the world fell away.

The next thing he experienced took some time...until...

"Ronin," Ron heard in a worried, whispering breath of air.

Lips were barely half an inch from his ear. It was Lasinii. It tickled.

"Hmmm?" he grunted back. His mind was still swimming in a wonderful, comfortable pool of sleep. It was difficult to leave.

"I think he's waking up!" he made out as she spoke to someone else nearby.

"Ronin," she repeated. "Can you open your eyes?"

Ron took in a larger breath, attempting to clear his head, but that resulted in a shocking blast of white-hot pain from his chest. His eyes then burst open wide.

"Huuuuuuuu!" he grimaced, his eyes quickly finding Lasinii smiling back at him with tears of unrestrained relief draining from her cheeks. He felt like he'd been run over by a herd of wild bartcha.

It took a bort or two for Ron to gather himself enough to think past the horrid inputs his body was cramming into his brain, but then he spoke.

"How...long?"

His voice was cracked and hoarse and his throat was brutally dry.

Lasinii swooped down with a cup of water. She propped his head up and touched the cup to his lips.

"Here, Ronin. Drink."

He felt that sweet, cold water drain down his throat and perked up. It was straight out of the frozen-over river and tasted like pure heaven.

"More."

Lasinii refilled it four times before he held up his hand to stop.

"How...long...was I...out?" His voice grated out in a scratchy, broken tone.

Lasinii dropped to her knees beside him so that her face was right next to his. She had a very sweet, feminine countenance with a dainty nose and large brown eyes.

She stroked his bearded cheek softly. "Four days."

"Rancin?"

"He is fine. He suffered some pretty bad frostbite in his fingers and toes, but he'd surely have died had you not found him when you did and got him out of the cold."

"How did you find us?"

Lasinii drew back a bit at that and looked to her left. Marsii stepped closer.

"You don't remember?" she asked.

Ron stared back with a blank expression.

"I was lost in the storm," he said. "I couldn't feel my legs...or my hands...and when the hole I'd cut in the snow beast's hide iced over, I couldn't see. I didn't have the dexterity to clear it."

Rancin hobbled his way over to Ron's bedside. Phateerii and Tamarii followed him.

"Man..." he said in a bellowing, energetic voice, "you marched us right into town! Not twenty feet from that door!" Then he looked quickly around. "At least, that's what Marsii told me."

Lasinii then began to fill Ron in on what all had transpired after he'd returned.

She and Marsii had prepared for them to be in bad shape when they got back, simply due to the ferocious weather howling outside, so they had the beds made up right next to the forge, and kept two large tubs filled with warm water always at the ready.

The moment Ron collapsed, they'd called the other women and then dragged Rancin in first...because he was atop Ron...and got him into the tub. It was a mammoth struggle because of his size, but the four small women accomplished it. However, when it came to Ron, they had no chance. His dense molecular structure put him easily thirty percent heavier than the man they'd just wrestled, which was too much. They did somehow manage to drag him indoors, but getting him up and into the tub was beyond them. They finally slid a wide board under him and then hoisted it up with a block and tackle...just enough to tilt it into the bath. Once in the tubs, the women began their work, cutting away their patients' clothing and categorizing their maladies. That of course soon turned into a triple-team effort once Lasinii realized the extent of Ron's injuries. Marsii stayed with Rancin while Tamarii joined Lasinii and Phateerii at Ron's side.

Luckily for Ron, his closest female acquaintances over the years since leaving Earth all seemed to be skilled caregivers, and so it turned out that Lasinii was a natural doctor as well, having worked beside Nevari physicians at several battlefield triage centers. At her direction, the trio cleaned him up thoroughly before systematically repairing each of his many wounds.

Lasinii started with his knee that was the size of a portai gourd (a round melon larger than her head) and completely black. She scrounged around the village until she found a long bone in what turned out to be a medical supply room. It was about the same diameter of an ink quill and had been made from a bird's wing so it was hollow. It was also already sharpened at one end. She carefully located a place she hoped was correct...aiming between the ends of the femur and tibia...and inserted it into the back of the bloated joint. His flesh was so tough that she feared she'd break it off inside him and do more damage, but with Phateerii's help and one last strong push, she was rewarded with a long; "Pffffffffffffffffffffffffffft" sound as blood shot from the knee cavity, out the tube, and against the wall. It pooled there until a large puddle had formed...nearly half a normal drinking mug's worth.

Tamarii ran from the room and vomited.

After that, the repairs were more common, so Lasinii worked quickly and with solid confidence.

That brought him up to the present.

Currently his ribs were wrapped tightly, his right knee was elevated, and his shoulder had been reset.

"Phateerii figured out a way to rig up a pulley to get that done," Lasinii announced proudly. "It really was a group effort."

"Thank you, ladies...again," Ron told them all. "I don't know why you've been so kind to me. I truly don't. I...I..." he just shook his head. "There are no words."

They all blushed heavily and patted his good shoulder gently.

Lasinii then completed her story of his medical difficulties.

Much of the skin on his legs had been badly burned from exposure, but that at least had been mostly superficial. It was his fingers that had concerned Lasinii the most because they had been completely frozen. She'd done all she knew to do, but had feared the worst.

"I don't know how you didn't lose them, Ronin," she told him. "I really don't. But they all came back! See?"

He held them up for a look and saw the dark blue tinge that still lingered...a clear indication of lack of blood flow, but they moved...and hurt.

Ron reached out and took her small hand in his, forcing his protesting digits to obey his command, and pulled it to him. He then kissed it gently.

"Thank you, Lasinii," he told her warmly and with deep gratitude. "You are convinced that the gods sent me to you...but I think it's more accurate the other way around. This makes it twice that you've patched me up and saved my life, and I am forever in your debt."

She was completely speechless, so she just beamed back at him.

It took three huge meals and another day before Ron could rise from his bed, but once he did, his recuperation went quickly. Four days after awakening, he was still limping around gingerly, but was back working at the forge.

Life soon returned to normal except for one part. When Lasinii came to Ron's bed, it was not simply for warmth or company anymore. That was a change she never complained about.

(Josy didn't pause in her reading, even though everyone in the audience felt a sharp bit of hurt and sorrow for her. Having to read about her heart-song finding comfort with another woman certainly couldn't be easy. She showed no sign of being uncomfortable though, and merely carried on with the tale.)

Whenever they took seldom, yet necessary breaks from their arduous duties and almost continuous toil, Ron began tutoring Rancin in the art of swordplay. And even though Ron was armed as he himself wished, he returned to the forge and built another blade for his newest partner. It took another two entire santaris, but it kept them all busy, and in the end they felt it was time well spent.

Rancin wasn't a natural swordsman, but he was competent in Ron's opinion, especially for someone who hadn't been raised as a warrior. And with a santari of Ron's expert instruction, the young man was prepared well enough to defend himself if the need ever arose.

And the women were not left out either. Ron fashioned knives for each of them...as useful tools as well as for their own protection...and he gave instruction to them as well. He showed each of them every vulnerable area on a man, and how best to inflict the most pain, should they find themselves in any dire situation.

One afternoon, two weeks later, the small band was jolted sharply by a thundering sound off to the east, and every head swung about to see what had occurred. It was the river. The days had been growing steadily longer, and the sun had gradually returned to the valley floor. That had allowed the temperatures to rise enough to begin the spring melt in the high country. The inevitable result of releasing all that water had forced enough hydraulic pressure downstream to rip through the foot-thick cap of ice in the river. The rumbling echo they'd all witnessed was that cap succumbing to the tremendous stress of that building flow.

Everyone there gave a quick thanks to the gods for at last lifting the cold cloak from the land, but Ron tensed immediately afterward. Those who'd established the little village they'd been using all winter would be back eventually, and he wondered what they might think of their presence.

From that day on, Ron kept a close watch on the rim of the valley's steep cliffs. He had no idea where the natives' path out of the valley lay, only the one they used to enter, which was twenty feet deep in snow, and he couldn't go exploring that high up for fear of avalanche.

Over the next santari, Ron finally located it, and then he diligently watched the well-worn pathway emerge from under the icy overlay with ever-increasing speed. He spent many billots trying to circumvent that route, but to no avail. It was the only way.

During that time, they all tried to restore the village to the exact condition in which they'd found it...other than the supplies they'd consumed of course...and simply hoped they could slip out before they were discovered.

What they didn't realize though was just how important that weapons factory was.

Amidst a particularly long hunting expedition one day, one which allowed Ron to follow that main road to the outside realm for a good ten hoz, he finally spotted what he'd hoped for. The deep, snowy plug that had filled the narrow gap between two treacherously steep cliffs had collapsed. They were free!

Ron hustled up the final hoz to that pass like a marathoner, his heart pounding with anticipation, and when he stood at the pinnacle of that route, he couldn't suppress a broad grin and a hearty sigh of relief. The road on the southern side of the mountain pass was clear and open for as far as he could see.

Ron watched the sun dropping lower in the evening sky for only a few moments before turning about and racing off.

Barely a billot later, Ron rushed back into the small village with a loud call.

"COME OUT EVERYONE!" he bellowed, startling Lasinii the most because she was just inside their hut, only ten feet away.

She bolted out of the small living space with her eyes wide and fear on her face.

"What is it, Ronin?" she cried, her head swiveling about frantically.

"Sorry, Lasinii," Ron told her in a more relaxed tone, sweeping his arm about her shoulders to calm her. "I have good news."

By then, the others had gathered as well, so he told them of his discovery. They all cheered.

"When can we go?" Marsii asked excitedly.

"Well, I've been thinking about that on the run back here. We have about two more billots of daylight, so if you are all ready, we can pack up right now. The upper section of the road is a pretty steep climb, but we could be over the pass before midnight for sure."

"Okay then," Rancin said, "let's get moving!"

"At night?" Tamarii asked, frightened at the thought of that. "Now that the pass is open, might not there be leopards and greels, and other nighttime creatures prowling about?"

Ron had considered that too, but didn't balk at the notion.

"Sure...I suppose...but I don't think they'd attack a large group like us, if we stay tightly together."

The other women were equally skeptical of venturing out into the dark, except for Lasinii. Her absolute confidence in Ron's godlike abilities had her totally at ease. He would allow nothing to harm her. Of that, she was irrefutably convinced.

"We should not wait," she told her friends with steady conviction. "We must leave this place before we're discovered."

"But what land are we even in?" Phateerii asked.

Ron had been contemplating that question for a while too. He of course had no idea. Were they adversarial toward strangers? Most likely, the answer would be yes.

No one knew, or even hazarded a guess.

"Where will we go?" she continued.

Ron fielded that one.

"We will decide that when we're in a position to have a choice. Right now, we can go no direction other than the one. And if any of you would rather stay here and see what happens, I understand completely. I have no way of knowing whether staying is better or worse than going. It's a total guess at this point."

"I say we get out of this valley!" Rancin added vehemently. "Like Ronin, I feel being trapped in here is a bad idea...no matter whose territory we're in. Marsii, are you with me?"

He and Marsii had grown very close over the long winter santaris and Ron would swear he saw a bit of extra girth swelling about her middle. He had not inquired about that though.

"Of course, Rancin," she smiled up at him, receiving a strong hug.

A half billot later they were all striding swiftly up the road.

Sunset caught them midway to the narrow gap in the towering mountains, but Dersa was already high above and shown down through the cloudless sky like a spotlight. The path was wide, well-packed, and clear enough to negotiate on foot even in the darkened world, so they didn't have any trouble finding their way.

Ron had taken the lead, as usual, and so even though the route undulated sharply from time to time, he knew exactly when they reached the pass that would release them. At the pinnacle, he stepped out in the moonlit landscape with supreme confidence and totally without worry, convinced that no one was around for hoz. How wrong he was!

Just down-grade and hidden in the deep shadow of the mountain, easily a hundred bowmen lined the roadway forward, and when he finally saw them, they were already at full draw.

Ron froze where he was, causing Lasinii to run into him solidly, but he didn't give way. Instead, his arms snapped backward to gather her to him, shielding her slim body with his.

"Humph!" she grunted at the collision.

The feel of his mighty grip ensnaring her startled Lasinii very much, but she did not fight it...not that she could have of course since Ron's arms may as well have been steel bars. Rather than try to escape though, she waited silently. She understood one thing instantaneously...that he was protecting her. From what, she didn't know, but since his grasp was unyielding, she understood that it was gravely serious.

The others behind her immediately stopped at that too, their attention riveted on Ron's hulking figure. Rancin's hand went to the hilt of his new sword, but there it stayed any further motion.

"Pull that blade and you die, boy!" growled a deep voice from off to his right.

Another fifty soldiers, each armed with a drawn bow in his grasp, eased out of the nearby crags and scraggly bushes to complete the trap.

Ron and his companions were surrounded.

Ron surveyed the scene in less than an instant, knowing full well that he had no recourse other than to remain still and see what happened. He might have charged them if he were alone, willing to take his chances rather than give up his freedom, but there was absolutely no way he would gamble with his friends' lives.

At the very center of the half-moon gathering of warriors, one man moved forward and stood with his arms folded, staring at the small group trying to exit the secret valley. Ron noted that he was extremely calm while he assessed the interlopers.

"Why wouldn't he be," Ron mused in silence. "After all, at a snap of his fingers, we're dead."

"Move them all out here where I can see them," the leader ordered.

The soldier leading the other group motioned for Rancin to line up next to Ron.

"You heard the commander," he grumbled, his demeanor all business.

When they were side by side, the leader of the bowmen glanced down the short line and returned his gaze to Ron...their obvious leader. Rancin was visibly vibrating with the rush of adrenaline, ready to fight if he needed to, and the women were quivering with anxiety as well. Even Lasinii stood with her fists clenched, trying to stop shaking and seem brave, but failing.

The leader dismissed any interest in them but was highly intrigued by Ron...and his apparent lack of fear.

"You seem incredibly calm for someone in your position," he finally told Ron.

Ron shrugged.

"Fear will not save me," he said flatly.

"What will?"

"Mercy."

"And you expect such?"

Ron stared hard at the stranger. His face was as stoic as the granite peaks around them.

"No."

The leader smirked at Ron, yet he was examining the man before him very closely.

"What is your name?"

"Itsu."

"You are a warrior, Itsu?"

Ron continued his steely gaze. Then, after a couple of long litas, he nodded once.

"You have seen many battles?"

Ron nodded again...once.

The leader stepped closer, striding to within just a few kez. His men yet held their weapons at full draw. He gave Ron a careful inspection from head to toe. Even with Itsu's thick coat and long pants covering his physique, the man could see that this fellow before him was something special.

"You have never met your match in combat, have you?" he asked.

Ron merely returned his unbroken gaze.

"I don't know that I would claim that, exactly," he replied after a moment.

The leader smiled broadly.

"A man of humility," he said softly. Then he motioned for his men to lower their arrows. But they kept them nocked to their strings.

"I am Ragnar Esra, General in the Basharian army."

Each member of Ron's party inhaled quickly, as if shocked.

"The Piercellione!" Rancin whispered.

That caught Ron's ear and made his mind race.

Ragnar then waved his hand across the group of men surrounding the intruders. "This is part of my legion of troops that patrol the northern territory of Bashar. We came to open the passage to this valley...a place that is completely unknown to outsiders.

"This past afternoon, my advance scouts spotted you emerging...just where you now stand...and then turning back. We deduced why and set up this little surprise when we saw your party headed south. So, Itsu, how is it that you are already here?"

He seemed composed and genuinely curious, with no hidden malice in his tone.

Ron thought it best not to lie outright.

"We entered your valley at the northeastern end, fleeing a band of Nevarian soldiers bent on slaying us. It was at the beginning of winter, so we were trapped by the heavy snows and couldn't escape.

"We meant no harm and have tried to leave your village as it was. Of course, we have consumed much of your food-stores...which we would be happy to replace if given the opportunity."

His comrades all nodded nervously.

Ragnar continued his evaluation.

"You six crossed Pierci's northern mountains?"

Ron gave a nod.

"That pass you refer to hasn't been used in twenty-six years. It is too dangerous...too well guarded. How did you even know about it?"

"We didn't. I found it purely by chance as we evaded pursuit."

"But my own men claim it was impassable when we left."

Ron shrugged. "We were trapped by a terrible storm that dumped a foot of hard ice across the ridgeline. I suppose that layer made it possible to cross into your valley. I have no other explanation."

Ragnar stared at Ron, judging his demeanor.

"Why were the Nevarians tracking you?"

Ron thought swiftly. He didn't want to give away everything about himself.

"I erringly got into a physical confrontation with one of their military leaders. Things were said, actions were taken, and men were killed."

"But he did not initiate the conflict!" Lasinii blurted out, feeling she must clarify Ron's position before more assumptions were made.

Ragnar flicked his eyes to lock onto hers and Lasinii immediately dropped to her knees and bowed her head. That surprised Ron very much.

"Forgive me, General, for speaking," she pleaded.

He returned his gaze to Ron.

"An accomplished fighter who travels with..." he paused for a few litas, thinking, "what would you call them? Your followers? That seems strange."

"Lasinii here...as well as the other women...gave me aid when I first arrived in their land. That instigated a separate skirmish that eventually escalated. She and I escaped...and it may have ended there...but when I fled Nevari I didn't realize the other ladies that had helped me would be punished so severely...tortured and killed, in fact. When I learned of that, I returned and rescued them...that is, those still alive.

"Rancin there, chose to help us, so he joined our small clutch. We were pursued from that point."

Ragnar stayed silent for a while, just absorbing the tale.

"And then, while fleeing, you were forced over the northern pass?" he finally added.

Ron nodded again.

"You have all done well to have survived the winter in the valley...even with the help of our small village."

He seemed duly impressed at that. Then his expression grew terse and serious.

"Remove your weapons and place them on the ground at your feet,"

Ron wanted very badly to resist that command, but he felt his hands obeying the general's orders without delay nevertheless.

Two soldiers gathered the items and carried them away.

Ron felt extremely uneasy being without his sharp-edged weapons.

"I will give you one chance to live, Itsu, and to save your fellows." Ragnar told Ron. "Meecka, Sanjin, Aubry...step forward."

Three large soldiers dressed in laminated body armor rushed to their general's side quickly. They were each well-scarred from numerous close-contact skirmishes...seasoned warriors.

"Itsu, you will fight these men, but let me caution you. If you fall, your friends all die."

Ron glanced swiftly from one man to the next.

"One at a time, or all together?" he queried, seemingly unconcerned as to the answer.

"All at once," was the reply.

He then nodded to Ragnar.

"Very well," Ron said as he shook his heavy coat off and then knelt down to remove his thick, winter moccasins. "One question though."

"And what is that?"

"Is this battle to the death...or should I spare them?"

His men all chuckled lightly, assuming the newcomer was merely posturing, but their general did not laugh. Something about this stranger had caught his eye.

"Alive would be preferable."

Ron nodded. "As you wish, General."

### Chapter Fourteen

### Back we go

The soldiers herded the women and Rancin off to the side a dozen or so kez so the fighting men would have some room. Lasinii, Marsii, Tamarii, and Phateerii were all calm and unflustered. It was only Rancin who seemed distraught. He was practically white. The women huddled together expectantly...and happily...each holding the others' hands, as if the contest was already over and they were free again.

"How can you be so calm?" Rancin whispered to Marsii. "It's three against one! And look! Their pulling swords!"

Marsii glanced at Lasinii who then casually smirked and rolled her eyes. "You have not seen Ro...that is...Itsu fight," she whispered back. "This won't take long."

When Ron's feet were bare, he stood again, tossing the coverings over to Lasinii. She caught them with a bright grin across her face, so he winked at her.

She grinned even bigger and then turned to one of the warriors next to her...one of her guards.

"Do you men travel with a healer?" she asked.

It was customary in Nevari that any group of soldiers that large would. In fact, they should have marched with at least two.

"Yes," the fellow replied, scrunching his face as if confused. "Why?"

"You should call for him now."

"Why? We do not treat our enemies."

Lasinii raised her brows high. "Not for Itsu, sir. It's your friends who will soon need assistance."

"Humph!" the man grunted back without moving. "We'll see about that!"

"You men ready?" Itsu asked, sweeping his gaze around at each of them. They were positioned equidistant about him...their short swords in hand...and each was in a well-balanced stance.

"Fight!" Ragnar shouted.

Ron broke first, straight at the man behind him to the right...the one called Aubry. That attack surprised Aubry both by its quickness and by Ron's choice of target. He'd naturally assumed that if Itsu were to make any offensive move, it would be at the fellow directly in front of him. Ron however, tried never to do what is expected.

Ron had been in so many fights that he knew the men behind him would be leaning forward, anxious to get their blades into the hide of their adversary as quickly as possible. Not to kill necessarily, but to maim, slow, or simply distract the outnumbered fighter so one of the others might get a clean strike. In the first instant of the contest, that strategy was completely discarded.

When Ron pivoted and lunged at Aubry, the man reacted by taking a half step instead of a full one, putting himself out of balance and destroying his momentum. That was all Ron wanted. Aubry of course had his blade at the ready, so even though he was startled, he felt at least somewhat confident of his position. He led his body with the point of his sword, but by checking his own charge, it caused his torso to be more upright instead of leaning in. That was Ron's plan.

Ron feigned a straight forward attack, but then slid beneath the thrusting blade as smoothly as an otter avoiding a jutting rock in the water. He grasped Aubry's outstretched wrist as he did so...from beneath...and let one of his legs slip between the soldiers braced stance while he coiled the other. His next move was to extend that coiled leg as hard as he could, catching Aubry squarely in the crotch forcefully enough to catapult him forward, up, and over his own blade which seemed to be suddenly anchored in stone.

Meecka was barely a stride behind Itsu and lunging forward eagerly until Aubry's body suddenly flew up and over the sliding stranger and slammed into him hard. He lurched and twisted sharply to the side and was just barely able to get his sword out of the way so as not to skewer his friend, but that was the only success he had.

That collision was powerful enough to put Meecka flat on the ground, at least for a moment, but Aubry was much worse off. He had the wind crushed from his lungs and his tender area was urging him to vomit with dramatic insistency. His grip on his weapon evaporated as he rolled away from his partner and the clash and was sick on the sparkling, moonlit snow.

Ron popped up immediately and faced his attackers with a grim smirk upon his face. He also came away from that maneuver with Aubry's sword in his hand.

Sanjin was moving in from the right and had followed Meecka forward when Itsu turned, but when Aubry's figure was tossed like a doll, he pulled up to reevaluate, his eyes wide with shock. And when he saw the naked blade in Itsu's hand, it added another lita of hesitancy.

Ron saw Sanjin's face...and the doubt in his expression...and so he stood up straight. The young fellow was clearly weighing his options about how to proceed, so Ron took his gaze from the soldier and regarded the weapon he now grasped. It was made with decent craftsmanship for the era, he assumed, but it was poorly balanced by his own standard and the grip was small for his large hand. Still, he put it through some common moves just for the fun of it.

Sanjin kept his distance and watched the newcomer closely...and was amazed!

In the next moment Ron had the stolen sword whistling about his body in an ever-increasing blur, and when he changed hands five different times without slowing the weapon's speed once, everyone in the gathering stood stock-still and were dead quiet. And even though Ron had been instructing his young apprentice in swordplay, and had shown him many impressive moves, Rancin's mouth hung wide open.

Ron didn't consider the phenomenal display as showing off so much as giving his adversaries a warning that they were badly overmatched. Also, it was exhilarating to test his curious nature...to see for himself how he could adapt to the unique situation.

When he was satisfied that his demonstration had done its work, Ron stopped the spinning blade with it pointed directly at Sanjin.

By that time, Meecka was on his feet again and stood just wide of his friend's shoulder. He too had an expression of dread on his countenance. Ron regarded them both for a brief moment and then looked to their leader.

"My apologies, General," he said. "I forgot. For this fight, I'm not supposed to have a weapon."

He then tossed it to Ragnar's feet. Ragnar furrowed his brow tightly...stunned and confused.

"What madman would do such a thing?" he pondered.

Meecka glanced at Sanjin, then at their commander, and then the two soldiers moved in again. They did not rush that time, yet attacked simultaneously. Meecka advanced with a back-handed uppercut hacking/slicing maneuver designed to force Ron into his partner's reach. Instead however...to the fellow's great dismay...Ron refused to yield ground, and when the blade whistled around to return on the downward stroke, he tracked it with marked precision and slammed his open palms together violently, catching the speeding weapon between them. Meecka's face contorted immediately, the unexpected impediment of Itsu's grasp sending shockwaves through his arm and shoulder.

Before the onlooking soldiers could even gasp at that move though, Ron pivoted his hands so quickly and with such force that Meecka's wrist shattered, forcing him to shriek and stagger to the side. Ron didn't pause even an instant, whipping the butt end of the blade around to catch Sanjin's sword halfway into a powerful thrust that was meant for his chest.

That blow sent Sanjin's blade catapulting into the crowd where chaos instantly erupted and at least one man let out a cursing howl of pain.

After blasting Sanjin's sword from his grasp, Ron promptly dropped Meecka's and punched the startled fellow squarely in the jaw. He intentionally pulled up on the blow, but nonetheless there was an audible "snap" resulting from the collision and the soldier fell to the hard, cold turf without so much as another twitch. His jaw was broken.

Once more, Ron stood upright and scanned his opponents. Aubry was on his hands and knees, wiping spittle from his mouth and struggling to regain his feet on quivering legs...and Meecka was a few steps away, cradling his broken wrist against his chest. Ron saw no more defiance in their eyes...no more aggression or bravado. They were scared, plain and simple. Each of them flicked his eyes to Ragnar.

Ron turned to their leader at that point.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked.

The commander glared at him with an odd expression. It was a strange blend of awe and recognition.

"I could have killed them easily...and I can only assume you know this."

Ragnar stared a bit longer before...

"It _is_ you then!" he told Ron.

Ron didn't know what to make of that statement, but he sensed the conflict was over, so he ratcheted back his hostile mindset. After all, he still needed the troopers to stop threatening his friends.

"We are not your enemies," Ron told the leader again, his hands open and spread wide apart, and his tone subdued and calm. "We meant no offense for entering your valley or trespassing in your territory. We would be very grateful to put this entire incident in the past and simply be on our way."

Ragnar took a long, deep breath...and then his eyes glanced across the faces of his men. They were all staring at either him or Ron, wondering what might happen next. Some gripped their sword pommels tightly, sweat forming on their brows even in the cold, dry air. At a single nod, they would attack, no matter how much doubt clouded their minds.

After another few moments of contemplation, Ragnar stepped up to Ron. He approached very closely...so close in fact that he had to wave off his lieutenants that wished to guard him.

When he was a foot from Ron, and his proximity was such that he could not be overheard, he whispered to the newcomer.

"You could kill us all, couldn't you?"

Ron broke his gaze with the man for a flashing moment, taking in the size of the mini army, their positions, their weapons, and the unsettled nature they exuded.

"Many," he replied. "But that is not my wish."

"Because we could kill your friends?"

"Well, partly...yes. But I did not come here to fight. I truly don't want any trouble."

"You mean like you ran into in Nevari?"

Ron looked keenly into the eyes of the leader. He said nothing.

Ragnar was watching his reaction closely.

"My sources have reported two stories from our northern neighbors, each contradicting the other, but the name attached to that devastating warrior was not Itsu. It was Ronin Alsone."

Ron didn't flinch.

"One says that you used surprise and guile to murder one of Nevari's captains and then baited his men into a well-conceived ambush that resulted in the death of more than two hundred soldiers."

"Grrrrrrrrr!" Ron growled, his disdain for such falsehoods leaking out. With his jaws clamped tight, he said, "That is not..."

Ragnar held up his hand and Ron fell silent.

"The other is that you tried to explain a similar circumstance as we have here...but that their commander attacked you and you slew him in mortal combat, thus setting off a brutal skirmish that ended badly for the Nevarians."

Ron just stared at the man.

"You don't seem to be the murdering type to me," Ragnar told him afterward. "Nor does your party appear to be capable of ambushing two battalions of soldiers."

Ron sighed lightly. "No. Not hardly."

Ragnar continued studying Ron's face for another moment, and then he stepped back a bit.

"I would like for you and your friends to return to the outpost with us," he said in a normal voice for all to hear. "We can discuss the best way of making amends for your crime of trespassing along the way."

Ron glanced at the ladies of his group with worry clearly visible across his face.

The general noticed his expression.

"We have no reason to threaten your harem, Itsu," Ragnar said to reassure him, waving his hands in a dismissive motion. "We have brought our own women. They lag behind with the main caravan, but will catch up with us tomorrow."

That put Ron much more at ease, but still he hesitated. He did not like the idea of returning to the valley compound. There was only one way in and one way out...and it was clear that the exit would only be granted at the whim of these strangers. His mind raced with possible escape strategies, but he had to reinforce to himself the fact that while he alone might slip away and survive, his friends would surely not.

"Very well," he replied.

Ragnar tilted his head slightly in agreement. Then he turned to his men.

"These travelers are now our guests! We will continue to the outpost as planned. The king would not want to delay his smithy, nor shorten his time at the foundry."

With that, his soldiers fell into ordered lines and prepared to march...that is, everyone but the medical team and a small entourage of porters. They were bent over the injured men, trying to revive Sanjin and ease all three's suffering.

Ron regrouped with his friends and explained the situation as best he could while he replaced his footgear. Their weapons were not returned, but their guard detail fell in line with the other soldiers, ignoring them.

"I don't think we are in danger," he told them. Then he stood again and donned his coat. "I think Ragnar is curious about me for some reason. He apparently heard a few intriguing stories about my clash with the Nevarians and wishes to investigate them further. But I don't know to what end."

The Nevarian group eyed the Basharian troops with great caution nonetheless.

Ron leaned close to Lasinii.

"Why did you call them; 'the Piercellione'?" he asked softly.

"These are Pierci's mountains," she replied with a tremor in her voice. "Bashar is the secret kingdom...the highland territory. They are the mountain warriors! They are like you, Lord R-Itsu...superior woodsmen and fierce fighters. And they are protected by the God of War himself. It is said that no army has ever returned from a clash with them...and there have been many. That is why these lands are forbidden."

Ron absorbed her explanation as the army organized.

Ragnar stepped over to the side and had a quick word with his subordinate leaders, and then he strode up to Ron briskly.

"Itsu," he called out, "if you all are ready, we should be off. The temperature will continue to drop quickly until the light returns, but we can stave it off with our exertions."

"As you wish, General Ragnar."

Down the long trail they went, moving at a fast pace. The ladies were tired and weary, but none of them spoke a word of protest. They were afraid to push their hosts' patience.

It was nearly dawn by the time they returned to where they'd just left the evening before. They were exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, but still they kept their mouths shut.

The soldiers immediately broke into small bands that spread out across the village quickly, searching each building and clearing away the remaining snow and debris from all the dwellings. By nightfall everyone was situated into their accommodations.

The soldiers were camped in a wide field south of the village to guard the road...the single point of ingress, with half a dozen sentries spread out around the hills. On top of that, four men were positioned at the northern end of the valley where Ron and his party had entered.

Even though every hut had a pre-assigned dweller, Ron and Lasinii were placed in one of them. It wasn't the one they'd been using, but was virtually identical. That really surprised Ron, but not more than it did to the original tenants who found themselves forced into a tent at a small distance from the other huts.

Ron was tempted to inquire why he was being treated so well, but decided to just see how things played out. Rancin and Marsii, and Phateerii and Tamarii were issued tents as well.

Barely a billot went by before that feeling of ease was displaced.

Lasinii and Ron had just finished setting up house and she had collapsed onto the small bed in exhaustion, ready for a much needed nap at the very least, when they were startled by pounding on the door. Ron had heard the approaching men, so he was already headed toward them, but Lasinii leaped up so fast that she fell out of bed, her eyes wide with fright. Ron hurried to her and swept her into his arms.

"Sh-sh-sh!" he said softly. "It's all right."

Ron then led her by the hand to the wide entrance and opened it. Four soldiers were waiting outside.

"Itsu," one of the men said sternly. "You have been summoned. Follow us!"

Ron gave Lasinii a strong squeeze and said; "Try to relax."

That did little to calm her however as she was white with fret.

The reputation the Basharians had...to the outside world...was not one of inclusiveness or clemency. Quite the opposite was true, in fact.

Ron just smiled at her. "Stay here for now. I'll be back soon. Don't worry."

The soldiers led him straight to the large workshop at a trotting pace. When they arrived, Ragnar was engaged in loud discussion with the master smithy. As soon as Ron entered, the huge man...Kline Milson...charged at him straightaway.

"WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING IN MY WORKSHOP?" he roared, ignoring Ragnar completely. His massive hands were outstretched and his size eighteen fingers reached angrily for Ron's throat.

Ron simply reacted out of self-preservation. In a flash, Ron ducked beneath those vises of flesh, sinew, and bone and countered with a forearm to Kline's midsection, one driven by the full strength of his bulging shoulder. The blow was so powerful that it lifted the giant man...a fellow who towered half a foot over Ron...completely off his feet and sent him flat on his back on the hard-packed dirt floor.

A large cloud of dust billowed out from under his massive frame and everyone in the room lurched backward a full step, shocked by that herculean feat.

Ron stood upright and looked down at the man, surprise and confusion written across the smithy's face.

"Huuuuuuuuuuu...uh...uh...uh..." gasped the burley fellow as he desperately searched for air.

Two Basharian soldiers then rushed forward at Ron, but a quick upraised hand from Ragnar halted any further clash.

Ron relaxed again and then crouched next to the huge blacksmith and placed his hand firmly on Kline's shoulder.

"Concentrate on your breathing!" he told the man. "Calm yourself and force your body to inhale slowly! This will pass in a few moments."

Kline slapped at Ron to get him away and struggled to catch his wind on his own.

Ron just stepped back and regarded Ragnar.

"What's this all about?" he asked the leader as if the attack was nothing at all.

Ragnar couldn't suppress a slight snicker. It would have taken the combined weight and strength of three of his men to do what Ron had just done off-handedly. The smithy was that stout.

"Kline here," one of Ragnar's lieutenants offered, "was just telling me that his equipment has been modified without his consent and that some lump of metal that he, himself, had not developed was on his table."

"Oh...yeah," Ron returned, "well, that and the animal skin, there on that table, (two men were just then unfurling the colossal snow beast hide that Ron and his friends had carefully tanned and wrapped) were supposed to be payment for the use of this shop and the supplies we'd consumed over the winter."

Ragnar strode over to have a better look at the pelt, and then his eyes grew wide. He ran his hand across the spectacularly white, unbelievably thick, ultra-soft fur. Then his eyes slowly found Ron's again a moment later.

"What type...how did...where did you get _this_?"

He was obviously, and openly, shocked.

"We were hunting in the northeast part of the valley...a few santaris ago...when this creature attacked me and my friend; Rancin. He managed to get out of reach in a tree, but I was forced to kill the beast."

"YOU? ALONE? YOU FOUGHT A SALDARE ICE-DEMON? SINGLE-HANDED? AND _KILLED_ IT?"

Ron merely shrugged his shoulders. "It gave me little choice in the matter."

Ragnar stared at Ron anew, shaking his head very slightly.

"Those creatures are the reason we cannot use the northern pass. That is high country... _their_ territory. And as winter moves into the valley, they are why we move out. When the snow comes, they come with it.

Ragnar then gave instructions for the men to take the fur to his hut, and then turned back to Ron. He strolled slowly toward Ron, looking him over once more, head to toe. Then he motioned to the chunk of metal on the table.

"What is this, exactly?" Ragnar queried.

"It's an alloy I created...a combination of mild steel and high carbon steel. It makes for a stronger blade that will hold a sharper edge."

"Horse dung!" Kline grunted, still winded badly. It had been a very long while since the last time someone had treated him so roughly. He'd managed to roll onto his side and was following the discussion with staunch indignity. His pride was badly bruised and he was in no mood to be upstaged again by this puny foreigner. After all, this was his area of expertise.

Ragnar knew that their kingdom's best metallurgist was lying on the ground in that room, so he was skeptical of Ron's claim.

"Can you prove this?" he asked.

"Of course," Ron replied matter-of-factly. "But I'll need my swords back."

The general seemed uncertain about arming such a formidable man, but he turned to the nearest soldier nonetheless.

"Fetch me his weapons."

By the time that fellow returned, Kline was on his feet again and they all went outside.

Ragnar unsheathed one of the blades and examined it. By their standards, it was exquisitely made.

"Very nice, Itsu...but it looks pretty flimsy. What's your proof?"

"You have a butcher I presume?"

Ragnar nodded, puzzled. He pointed down the street.

They all strolled to the open-ended shop a hundred kez away where they found three men at work. Two were dismembering fowls, and one was just finishing gutting an antelope. It was the size of a fully grown Earth elk and it hung from its hind hooves. Its hide was still in place...a fresh kill.

"Hand me one of your swords," Ron said to Ragnar.

The general tilted his head a bit sideways, unsure of Ron's request.

Ron grinned at him and turned to the man who'd brought the blades.

"If you don't mind, would you retrieve Lasinii...that is...the woman in my hut?"

That fellow looked to Ragnar again and received another nod.

A few borts later, Lasinii was hovering at Ron's side, her eyes dancing from one foreign face to the next.

"I need you to do something. Lasinii," Ron said to her coolly. "I promise you will not be harmed."

She nodded at him with utter confidence. "Anything, my lord."

Ron turned back to Ragnar. "Take her a small distance away and put a knife to her throat. If I do anything aggressive, you can kill her."

He then looked at her again with tenderness in his gaze. "I will do nothing to endanger you," he said. "I swear it."

Lasinii just smiled back at him, easing his conscience. "I know that...Itsu."

She then walked fifty feet to the side and stood there calmly while one of the soldiers placed his dagger against her neck.

Ragnar then motioned for one of his men to give his blade to Itsu, but he himself kept a safer distance.

Ron waved the weapon around a few times to test its weight, and then he struck the antelope a powerful blow in a downward, slashing motion. Even with Ron's exceptional strength behind it, the blade lodged into the animal's body barely two-thirds through. Its ribs were three inches thick and the weapon's relatively dull edge had just scratched them.

The men looking on each raised an eyebrow at that, impressed that the newcomer had sunk the sword to that position.

"Okay," Ron then said. "Now hand me one of mine."

The slimmer, longer sword passed into Ron's hand and the men fell back again...their curiosity piqued.

Ron glanced to Ragnar. "Observe," he said calmly, and then he swung the blade he'd created.

"Swish-swish," went the cutting tool...his weapon of personal defense...and the massive creature's body fell to the ground in two pieces. A third section still hung from the thick rope around its ankles.

Ron's blade had sliced completely through the chest cavity twice...through the heavy muscle and bone of the ribcage and back.

Those in attendance...even the irascible smithy...dropped their jaws in open amazement.

Ron merely reached over and snatched up a clean piece of cloth and wiped the blade.

"You see?" he queried Ragnar, handing him the blade for another inspection.

There was no damage to the long, slim sword.

The leader of the small army then broke out in a broad grin, his eyes shining like a five-year-old's would at his first greased bartcha race.

From that point on, Ron and his band of followers were no longer treated with any suspicion or contempt. They even got all their weapons back.

### Chapter Fifteen

### The Basharians

Ron and his friends stayed in that valley through the spring and summer, which was short, but very pleasant. The climate at that altitude was moderate and the wildlife burst into existence as if out of the ground itself, which was partially the case because so many of the inhabitants hibernated through the long santaris of winter.

The Basharians didn't take such abundance for granted however, and had brought with them two hundred head of deer and antelope to restock the forest. That was the number they'd depleted during the previous year.

Ron grew quite fond of Ragnar over the springtime and was soon willingly training the Basharian soldiers with his superior fighting skills. He also taught Kline Milson his method of tempering steel and adjusting the blend of hard and tough alloys, and in turn, their master wood-smith...Gavin Bream...helped him create a bow that would fit his strength and hold up to the rigors he demanded.

They were a tough and hardy bunch...the Basharian soldiers...quick with a prank or a half-hearted insult, like any tight group of men, and Ron soon felt himself powerfully drawn to their way of life. As a matter of fact, he admired them a great deal. And why not? Their simple life and dedication to each other were almost intoxicating.

The change from summer to fall was quick, with the nighttime temperatures slipping from cool and pleasant to plunging below freezing in less than a week. That caused a noticeable alteration in the Basharians' routine as well.

When their scouts reported that the northern pass was once more rapidly gaining thickness, they all made ready to leave the valley.

The men were anxious to begin the march because they'd been away from their families for that entire period, but Ron was one of the most eager to get going. He not only wanted a look at the rest of the world, he did not care for even the slightest chance of another frigid season in that valley.

It took two weeks at a fast marching pace to reach their home, mostly because the terrain was very rugged, but when they finally broke out of the highlands and into an immense, mountain-ringed basin, the entire group roared with delight.

A company of heavily armed soldiers met them at the rim of the enormous gorge and replenished their water supplies, passing along what news they had of changes over the seasons.

From there it took another three days to descend the winding, narrow path and make their way to the central city of the Basharian people; Vaaltees.

A thousand citizens lined the streets to welcome back their homesick travelers, and it appeared quite clear to Ron and his friends that news of them had been thoroughly circulated.

Whispers of the newcomers passed through the nearby crowd in waves, and there was much pointing and staring, each inquisitive individual vying to get a good look at the strangers. After a few borts of that, Ron realized that in such a society...one totally separate from the outside world...strangers would indeed be very rare. What surprised him the most was that nearly a dozen times he heard the name; Ronin Alsone clearly. It was an obvious deja` vu moment for him.

Under the guise of 'guests', Ron and Rancin were given temporary quarters with their women and Phateerii and Tamarii were taken in by two families, to act as their sponsors until they could adapt into the Basharian society and manage their own way. The Basharians did not recognize slavery, so...to the Nevarians' great fortune...the women were viewed as people rather than possessions. That, of course, took some serious adjustment on their part.

Marsii was heavy with child by then and the Basharians sent a midwife to her so they could become acquainted before her services were needed. The exceptionally warm welcome was extremely odd to Ron, as well as to his friends, but none could find reason to protest the fact.

Ron was a bit surprised that he wasn't immediately asked to train more of the Basharian warriors, but didn't press the issue. Instead, he volunteered to be a hunter and tracker...a valuable job in their social hierarchy, and was well accepted once his skills had been demonstrated.

Rancin joined the craftsmen's guild at a construction business. They built everything from wagons, to homes, to bridges. He easily proved his worth as he was quite gifted in mechanics and woodworking. Marsii was too far along in her pregnancy by then to seek employment, so she was relegated to managing their home life.

At Ron's suggestion, Lasinii went to work at the local hospital, and even went travelling throughout the town with one of their healers. Her eagerness and aptitude served her well.

They made friends quickly and easily, and in no time their lives had completed the shift from the previous tense and haggard existence, to a pleasant, comfortable sort of normal. And to each of them it was all extremely welcomed.

The winter in Valtees was much milder than the previous one in the secluded valley, and so was also much less hectic, treacherous, and strenuous. With friends nearby, a warm home to return to, and only himself and Lasinii to provide for, Ron slowly began to drop his constant wariness, lower his guard, and relax. And as more time passed, is moodiness...the periods when he longed for his previous life so badly he would disappear into the snow-covered mountains for days on end to mourn and sulk...grew less and less frequent. He was slowly becoming contented...domesticated.

However, concurrent with those occasions where he did allow himself the luxury of happiness, often-times he would force himself to stifle it...to push the emotion away. Happiness was the one thing that the unstoppable warrior actually feared. It was the easiest thing that could be taken away, and the hardest to do without.

Lasinii's constant and total devotion, and her genuinely sweet disposition, tugged powerfully at his heart as well, even in its shattered condition. She was easy to be around, never demanding, a great listener, and a passionate lover. Many times, Ron would gaze at her and wish he could give her more. She deserved it. But it was far too soon. Every time something wonderful happened, his thoughts were of Josylinia, and how much he wanted to share his news with her. Her memory was still blazing in his mind, and even though he tried to push it away...to tell himself he must move on...he simply could not.

Nonetheless, Ron did show Lasinii a good deal of affection because he honestly cared for her deeply. He didn't formally join himself to her in the eyes of the community, but everyone knew she was his and he was hers. Once he even went so far as to apologize outright for not marrying her, but she cut him off mid-sentence.

"My dearest, Ronin," she interjected with a raised hand. "I know your story, about how your life was destroyed to bring you here, and I will never try to have you replace your chosen mate with me. I know how it feels to love someone so desperately and completely as you do, and I wouldn't want you to ever forget it...or her. I am more than satisfied with our arrangement, so please don't think of it further!"

That proclamation made him feel even worse about his lack of ability to commit to her, but at least he knew he was being truthful. At that time in his life, it was all he could give.

One evening during the following spring, as Ron and Lasinii sat down for their evening supper, Lasinii was a bit overly excited, and that got Ron curious. She flitted nervously about their new home...a nice little stone house at the edge of town...but refused to answer Ron's repetitive inquiries about that mischievous grin she couldn't shake.

Once they were served though, she could contain her exuberance no longer.

"Ronin, my darling," she began.

(They had dropped the pretense of Ron hiding his name when everyone called him Ronin anyway, even though he said his name was Itsu)

"I have some news to share that I hope will..."

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM sounded a heavy metallic object against the door frame of their tiny house. Ron could tell it was a sword's pommel.

That startled Lasinii badly, and an odd expression flashed quickly across her face. The entire time they'd been there, no one had shown any outward hostility toward them, but the pounding at the door had a definite, ominous note to it.

Ron patted her hand to calm her, took a large bite of his meal, and headed for the door.

Ragnar was the one waiting there. He was accompanied by twenty armed soldiers.

That gave Ron a strange sensation, but he tried not to show it.

"Kaor, Ragnar," he greeted his friend in Basharian fashion. "Would you like to come in?"

"My apologies, Ronin," he replied, "but no...not this day. I have been sent to escort you to the king."

"The king! Really? Why?"

"Forgive me, but I do not question my orders. I merely obey."

"All right then. Can you give me a few borts to finish my meal?"

Ron then turned to retrace his steps.

"When the king seeks an audience," Ragnar said tersely, "he is not to be kept waiting."

Ron spun back around swiftly, noting the general's tone.

"Is something wrong, Ragnar?" he asked his chum, searching his eyes for some clue as to what was happening. "Should I be worried?"

"I really don't know, my friend, but..." the general started to say, but he was cut off.

"NOW, General!" bellowed a strange voice from farther outside. It was a fellow Ron didn't recognize, but clearly he was Ragnar's superior.

"Ronin?" called Lasinii, sensing the rising tensions. She'd been standing by the table, but immediately ran to the door. "When will you be back?"

"I don't know, Lasinii...but don't worry. I'm sure everything's fine. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He gave her a quick kiss and patted her hands...and then he stepped out.

The troopers set off at a fast jogging pace and Ron fell in with them.

Ragnar was not permitted to speak to Ron during the three hoz hike, and that began to irritate Ron, but he just went along peacefully. After all, he had received no indication that anything was the matter up until the moment they'd come to his door. As far as he knew, their king was merely an eccentric and his men were just keeping to his wishes.

The soldiers delivered him to a large, yet modest-looking stone structure at the very center of the city. It wasn't gilded or ornate any more than any other building, and although it was expansive, wasn't overly remarkable at all.

Ragnar's superior broke free of his subordinates and motioned for Ron to follow.

Ron glanced at his friend, but the general offered no comfort or explanation, so he guessed that he was as in the dark as Ron was.

They wove their way through four inner rooms and three hallways, until...

"Follow this corridor," the commander told him. "Then go through the door at the end."

Ron did as he was told and found himself in a square room that was lined at every edge with cushions, and the floor was covered in thick furs. It was easily twenty feet across, with a stepped tray ceiling peaking at more than fifteen feet above him, and immediately before his person were three low tables covered with food...meats, breads, fruits, and drinks.

Also, on one of the cushions directly across from the door, sat a man of approximately thirty-five years of age. He was reclining against the far wall, devouring a large pear-like fruit...a torl, Ron recalled. Beneath him was a large, dense, white fur.

"A saldare hide," Ron presumed as his eye caught the gleam of it. But it was not the one he'd provided.

"Ah, here you are at last!" the man said. "Please, come in...come in. Have some food if you are hungry!"

Ron sensed no anxiety or animosity from the fellow, so he helped himself to a large plate and took a seat at one of the tables, across from the king, with a goblet full of mear (Erthanian fruit punch that was slightly fermented but not quite alcohol) beside him.

"I have heard much about 'the man from the heavens'," the king said lightly, with one hand opened in a welcoming manner and a broad grin splayed wide.

Ron had a strange thought flash through his mind just then. "This guy seems to be in quite a marvelous mood for some unknown reason. Either that or he's deranged."

"You are the king of the Basharians?" Ron asked.

"Guilty," said the man easily, his hands flopping open in acceptance. "But that's obvious, I'm sure. What I want to know is your story...the story of Ronin Alsone."

"It seems that everyone here is already familiar with that," Ron countered, sinking his teeth into a vorsk steak as thick as his wrist.

"Ooooh, but they're not...really...are they? Rumors and additions tend to grow in a story such as yours, and it's only natural that they deviate from the truth. Am I right?"

Ron nodded his agreement. "Usually...yes."

"But please eat first. Relax. Get comfortable. I will step out to relieve myself while you dine. When I return, we shall talk."

Ron never knew if someone was watching him or not, but curiously, the king returned the very moment he finished his meal.

"All done?" he asked.

Ron nodded and wiped his hands clean on some of the towels the king had provided, and then stretched out his legs on the plush cushions. The king made his way around the tables and sat three feet away, facing him cross-legged.

"Excellent. Now, whenever you are ready."

Ron found the entire experience extremely odd, but also saw no reason to lie, so he began with the first moment he awakened under the farm-workers' tent and concluded with his initial interlude at the valley pass, where he met Ragnar. He didn't give every detail, but was thorough enough to explain the story.

The king was a very patient listener, very jovial, and very attentive. He asked only a handful of questions until Ron told him about the battle with the saldare. He admitted he'd never seen one in person and spent a solid billot on the subject.

After Ron's description of the bout was complete, the king shook his head with another broad grin.

"That must have been quite something," he said joyfully. "Although, your young friend; Rancin, told a somewhat different tale. His was much more exciting, with vivid descriptions of incomparable abilities, unfathomable quickness, and astounding strength."

Ron merely stared back at the ruler, although he did take mental note that the king had been checking up on him.

"You seem to have a preference of downplaying your incredible accomplishments and capabilities. Ragnar told me he'd come to the same conclusion."

Ron offered no addition to his assessment.

"We lost twenty men in the quest to conquer this one beast," the fellow explained, sweeping his hand to encompass the hide beneath him. "The one you offered as a gift now adorns my private chambers...as does the skull...which is easily twenty percent larger than this poor creature's."

The king's eyes found Ron's once more a moment later.

At that point, for no outward reason, the great leader of the Basharian people suddenly morphed into someone of intense seriousness. All his earlier, light-hearted flare evaporated.

"Are there others like you?" he asked bluntly. "Are you part of an invasion?"

Ron noted the change of course, but he remained very calm...not his usual cautious self at all. That sent a wave of puzzlement up to his brain, but he answered the man's queries unreservedly nonetheless.

"No. There's no one else. I'm all alone."

"Is your ship still in orbit?"

"Orbit?" Ron thought, but he let that curiosity go. "No. It was destroyed far from here."

The king nodded his understanding...even though he should have understood none of it...and then his eyes looked away from Ron, losing their focus as he stared off at nothing, as if he were recalling a specific memory from long ago.

"Mine is gone too," he said. "The _Velicavatae Minuousi._ It was a fine vessel...our home for twenty-eight years...and the fastest ever created."

"Our home?" Ron's brain tried to decipher. He watched the man carefully, wanting to follow up on that statement, but found it difficult to frame questions.

The king dragged his thoughts back to the present and caught Ron's gaze once more.

"So what are you going to do now?" he inquired sternly.

"I have no idea what I'm supposed to do...if anything. So far, I've been guided my whole way from one battle to the next simply by fate...or if you prefer; pure happenstance."

"Nonsense!" the king said harshly. "There is no such thing! We choose our paths...not chance...and not the gods...if there are any. Therefore, 'you' choose."

Ron had faced that argument with himself hundreds of times over the past several years, and had settled on the clear fact that he hadn't chosen hardly any of what had happened to him. He'd merely stayed true to his personal beliefs of right and wrong, and reacted to each situation as best he could. However, he also understood the king's point of view as well, and so didn't try to change it.

"Then," Ron answered calmly, "I suppose my answer would be; I haven't decided yet."

"Then you are not here for me?"

"Here for you? I don't understand. We have never met, and I have never heard of this place before Ragnar guided me here."

The king pondered that for a moment.

"What were you before you came to our world?"

Ron considered the frank truth of his answer and couldn't suppress a smile.

"What?" the king asked, noting the flash of mirth. "Tell me...please."

"Long ago...before all this began...I was an ordinary man...a husband. Nothing special at all."

"Until?"

Ron shook his head again and chuckled.

"Go ahead. Say it."

"Until a race of advanced humans recreated me."

"And just what race was this? From what planet?"

Ron's mind operated separate from his mouth. It queried how an Erthanian could speak so, but his voice simply answered the question.

"They are Rauldens, from a world known as Rauld."

"And they did what, exactly? They used some genetic technology to enhance your body? They gave you great strength and superior physical prowess?"

"Genetic technology?" Ron's thoughts echoed back at him. "How does he know that term?"

"Not exactly...but something like that. Their tech made me what I am now."

The king shook his head slightly, thinking hard.

"No...not as you are now...not really...right?"

"I don't follow."

"They altered you...okay, I get that...our people have performed similar procedures...but they didn't make you as you are now. Life with those abilities did that...yes?"

Ron stared at the king long and hard. "Our people?" he thought. "What does that mean? And similar procedures? How could he understand such things? Being from such a primitive world...how could he even fathom it?"

However, he answered the king's inquire just the same.

"I suppose that's correct," Ron admitted.

"To what end?"

"They needed a warrior...to help them defend their world from a fierce enemy."

"And you did that?"

"Yes."

"And apparently you were successful."

"Yes."

"And then they sent you here?"

"No. There were other wars to fight. There were always more wars. We did what needed to be done."

"I see." The king thought some more. "You said 'we'. So you don't work alone?"

Ron shook his head negatively. "Not normally. There is a coalition."

"So you are a mercenary?"

Ron thought hard at that.

"No, not entirely, but somewhat...I guess."

"And so you were hired to come here?"

Ron frowned deeply and shook his head again.

"No. My ship was destroyed in a battle and I was pulled into some sort of spacial anomaly...and then I ended up here by accident."

"Shart piss! I don't believe in accidents," the king said flatly. "There is always a reason for everything. You were sent!"

He then scoured Ron's face for a few moments. He seemed extremely adept at reading people.

"There is more to it that you're not saying, isn't there?"

Ron shrugged. "Yes...but it is of no relevance."

The king kept staring intently. After a few moments, he apparently decided that was enough."

"So what now?" he asked.

"At this point, I really don't have a clue what I should do next."

The king suddenly sat up straight.

"That seems clear to me," the king told him matter-of-factly.

"What?"

For some reason, Ron was suddenly finding it difficult to keep up with the conversation. His head began to swim a bit.

"What you must do, of course."

"And just what is that?"

"You must find out why you landed on Erthania. Why this planet...and why would an advanced culture send you to this primitive time in its history?"

"He said 'its' history...not 'our' history," Ron realized, trying hard to justify the king's train of thought. "That seems odd too."

He then began to grasp what was going on. His gaze scanned the food trays...and the drinks. He had not seen the king sample any of it since he arrived.

A new look suddenly swept over the face of Ron's host at that point, as if he'd worked out some tidbit of a clue.

"You know exactly why, don't you?" the king pressed, seeing a tiny crack developing in Ron's mental armor.

Ron tried to stay silent, but found it impossible to evade the questions. "Some type of sedative," he quietly surmised. "A truth serum, of sorts."

"Yes," he answered the fellow. "I do. But I'm too early."

The king leaned in closer again, his attention riveted on Ron's unwavering gaze.

"I have heard what the natives' old prophets foretold. 'The coming of a great warrior will be the downfall of Heraitey.' And since that is where it all began, we thought it would be our people coming for us...to undo what we've done and restore this planet to its rightful course. Is that it? Is a larger force on its way?"

The king's eyes were livid just then, as if he'd waited to ask that exact question for a very, very long time.

Ron furrowed his brow pointedly. His brain was fighting a monumental battle to keep his mind closed to the king's obvious interrogation. Instead of answering, he managed to turn it around.

"Natives?" he asked. "You said 'our people' again? What are you talking about? Who are you? Who are 'your people'?"

The king huffed harshly, obviously perturbed that Ron was evading his inquiries...and that his answers were not definitively fitting with his own narrative. He then spoke a phrase in a foreign language, one that sounded mildly familiar to Ron, but with his thoughts so sluggish he could not comprehend it.

"What?" Ron asked. "What did you say?"

The king glared at him even harder, seemingly much more confused all of a sudden. His fingers clenched into tight fists, as if thoroughly frustrated, but then they opened again and he continued his cross-examination, although a bit more frantic...like time was running out.

"Simple, direct questions," the ruler murmured, as if reminding himself.

"If you were not sent for us," he asked, "then what are you here to do?"

Ron's head slurred to the right...his focus totally gone for a moment.

"I'm supposed to stop another war," he replied.

That made the king's face go blank with surprise...completely taken aback. "What war?"

Ron didn't know the answer to that, never having heard a name of the specific conflict, so he remained silent. He simply shrugged his shoulders.

"When then?" the king asked starkly. "You said you were too early. Do you know when this war is to take place?"

"Many years from now."

"How is it that you know this? That a war will happen in the far future?"

Ron closed his eyes for several litas, and then shook his head to clear it.

"It is in the legend."

"What legend? Told to you by who?"

Ron chuckled a bit more than he should have. He thought it made him sound a little mad. "Mine," he laughed. "Told by a friend."

"A legend, you say? The legend of Ronin Alsone?"

Ron laughed again, shaking his head as if even he didn't believe it. "Crazy, right?"

"So this fortune teller has seen the future. And in it is a great war?"

Ron let out another silly laugh. "Fortune teller! That's a good one." He giggled again. "Big war...yep!"

"Many years from now, huh? So you have time then...," the king sighed, "time for the story to unfold. That is good."

He looked Ron over once more, as if surveying him...sizing him up. Then he decided on his next question.

"How can you...a single man...hope to stop an entire war?"

Ron stopped laughing and became serious again with that query.

"I have to kill a man...at a certain time during this war."

"You are an assassin?"

"No. He will come to me...face me...man to man."

"And you know this?" The king seemed extremely keen all of a sudden.

"Yes."

"How?"

"History."

"History?"

Ron nodded once.

"Not a foretelling then?"

Ron shook his head.

The king pulled back in utter astonishment as he reasoned out the only way that could be possible.

"Are you saying you have travelled through time?"

Ron chuckled softly again, shaking his head slowly side to side, as if even he did not believe it, but then replied; "Yes."

"How?"

"I..." his voice just trailed away as his hands went palms up and he shrugged again.

The king scowled harshly, then spoke again.

"So you know who it is you have to stop?"

"Yes."

The king waited, but Ron offered no further explanation.

"WHO?" he demanded, taking Ron by the shoulders and shaking him.

"He has not been born yet," was all Ron replied. His willpower was still functioning, although at a fractional degree, so he yielded no name.

"I see," the king said softly, deep in thought.

"Who sent you, Ronin? Do you know that?"

Ron let that question swirl around a while before answering. It was hard to keep his eyes open.

"Fate," was all he could manage.

"Dragen yark dung! I already told you! Fate is nothing but an excuse used by fools to keep from facing the reality of their own decisions. But if you don't know, then they haven't exposed themselves to you. However, they must expect your mission to take time...a lot of it...to unravel, so you need to begin."

"But where do I start?" Ron asked, still fighting to follow the king's reasoning. It was very difficult by then. He felt so woozy.

"Where do you think?"

Ron couldn't think clearly so he didn't respond.

"Where did your ship's escape pod deliver you?"

"Nevari," Ron answered. "That's where I landed." Suddenly the answer appeared in his swirling thoughts. "That's where I'll find my first clue?"

Then his floundering mind told itself, "Wait a bort. I never said 'escape pod'."

"I don't know if there is an actual clue," the king said, thinking hard again. "This sounds political. It's most likely heavily layered. That could be why it will take so much time to unravel, or perhaps something key must be done in the interim. But it seems obvious that Nevari is where your journey begins."

Ron was still lucid enough to realize that the king's logic was extremely well conceived, especially for someone locked away in a mountain fortress that had no contact with the outside world.

"Just who the hell are you?" Ron finally asked, recalling the man had never really stated his name.

The king of the Basharian people leaned close to Ron and stared right into his eyes.

"You are in a specific range of mountains, are you not?"

"Yes," Ron forced himself to remember. "The Nevarians call it Pierci's Mountains...after their god of war. What does that have to do with anything?"

The king smiled a sly grin at Ron.

"I am Pierci Bashar!"

(The entire group of mountain men gasped as Josy read that name. It was as if they were listening to two Gods' conversation, and the impact of that was profound.)

To the God of War's guest however, it barely even registered. His eyes had lost their focus completely.

The room tilted heavily to the right just then and Ron slumped to the floor.

Josylinia Gitove Allison slowly pulled her head up to gaze at her parents, and then swept her eyes across the others. She was stunned to silence but her mind was ripping along at alarming speed.

"Pierci was...real?" she asked to the crowd.

Everyone seemed as shocked as she was...except Terista. She just smiled a wry, crooked smile.

"If Ronin Alsone is real, then why not Pierci?" she offered.

### Chapter Sixteen

### Alone Again

The next time Josy gathered her guests was four days later. The delay was caused by the weather. It had grown blustery and wet, so grouping the men together was impractical...and if they had, half wouldn't have heard anything she said. Also, she felt she needed a break to absorb what she'd read...and she reread the book up to that point to clarify some of the finer points of the tale. When conditions were once more acceptable, she called them all together again.

"We are up to a new chapter," she announced to the crowd of eager listeners, and they all leaned in a bit closer.

Ron awakened in a lush forest glade. He sat up quickly, but immediately regretted it.

His head pounded so harshly that the world swam and listed. He slammed his eyes shut again and grabbed his skull with both hands in an attempt to quell the nauseous sensation, and then he placed his head between his knees, breathing very deeply.

A few borts drifted by before the sickening feelings subsided enough so that he could raise his head again. He moved very slowly that time...very carefully.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked to the empty glade.

The grassy space was small and surrounded by trees, but it had a feel that was completely foreign. The air was thicker...lower in altitude, he guessed...and the sounds were unfamiliar. It was a totally different forest from where he'd just spent the last six santaris. He was positive of that.

He got to his feet to have a better look around and his attention was immediately drawn to a sign. It was a hand-drawn arrow scratched into the turf at his feet. It pointed west.

It was obvious that someone...whoever had left him there...wanted him to follow that directive.

He then went over the conversation he'd had with the man claiming to be Pierci; the God of War, but so much of it didn't make sense that he thought perhaps the sedative he'd ingested had altered his perspective...maybe even his memory.

"How could anyone on this world...in this ancient past...possibly know about space travel, other worlds, and genetic engineering?" he asked his pragmatic self.

Ron then shook off what he couldn't make sense of and checked his possessions, finding he appeared fully provisioned for a long trek. He had food, water, the custom-made bow he'd constructed for himself with the careful guidance of Gavin Bream in the secret valley, along with thirty arrows, and both his personally crafted swords. All four of his throwing knives were placed where they were supposed to be as well. But when he reached back for his old friend, the Raulden super-blade Cache Kuar had made for him back at the beginning of his miraculous, tenuous, wonderful and horrible new life, he grasped nothing but air.

His entire torso constricted hard, his stomach twisting and his heart lurching in a jolting fit of panic.

For several frantic moments, Ron searched for that raven weapon. It was the only thing he had left to tie him to his past existence...not that he needed it to remember that life, of course...but that particular item was so much more than that.

With an uncharacteristically loud growl of anger, Ron dropped to his knees and emptied his pack, knowing that it wasn't actually large enough to conceal the sword, but suddenly overcome with desperation and willing to try anything. Dread rose steadily within him while he ripped everything out of that pouch, eventually building to a degree he would have thought impossible.

When he'd reached the end of his search, the sack lay open, completely stripped of every shred of tool or possession. The weapon was nowhere to be found. He knelt there, numb...the shock debilitating...staring at nothing.

Over the next few borts he contemplated just how much a part of him that length of metal had truly become, and it forced his mind to recall exactly how he'd received it, and why. His thoughts quickly raced through the time he'd owned it, and skipped along all the friends and loved ones in his life he'd defended with it. He easily recounted each of the many times he'd put it to use; the duels, the brawls, the skirmishes, and the all-out battles against his mightiest foes. As his mind blitzed through the years, the joys and heartbreaks ebbed and flowed, along with all the corresponding feelings of excitement, danger, thrill, anguish, pain, and triumph. It was a roller coaster ride of emotions that he'd always managed to accept and justify...even to embrace. But now?

That blade, he realized just then, kneeling there in that quiet, green meadow, was almost a talisman to him, so engrained into his psyche had it become. But also, through every moment of the fate-guided, insane campaign he'd been thrown into, that blade had never failed him.

Fate had placed him where he needed to be time and time again, to be able to stop some truly evil event, be it on Rauld, or Caron, or Earth, or the Theranian world.

This time though, it was different. Fate had nothing to do with it.

When he'd awakened on Erthania after the pod had delivered him from death's door, he'd been shocked and heartbroken at the loss of the wonderful life he'd been anticipating, but he hadn't had the opportunity to grieve the loss of that life. Danger and battle had forced him to put that on hold...to push those feelings aside. Now however, finding himself completely alone yet again...his newest friends having just been torn away from him...again...and this time not by some cosmic, life-saving turn of fate, but by a mere man...he couldn't stop it from all rushing in on him at once. That's when Ron Allison did something else that was totally contrary to his demeanor...he folded over, placed his forehead firmly on the ground...and wept.

For five long borts, the wrenching changes in his life poured out in waves of grief, and sorrow, and despair. Every period of happiness and solace had been systematically ripped away from him through absolutely no fault of his own...and right then and there he finally recognized that each of those times had crushed his soul a little bit more.

Josy had to stop there, tears draining down her cheeks as her heart was torn open once more for her love. She wished with every shred of her being that she could have been there with him, to share in his grief and help him bear this new burden. But that was not to be. It had happened over a thousand cycles in the past.

No one in her waiting, expectant audience complained, fidgeted, or spoke. The iron-hard, savagely fierce, Piercellione warriors were yet again deeply moved by her obvious pain and sorrow, and they showed their respect with total silence.

Mishea leaned over and pressed her shoulder to Josy's for comfort, but Josylinia Gitove was not some frail adolescent girl.

"Please forgive me for my emotional reaction," she pleaded of her audience, wiping her eyes and nose with a nearby nursing cloth.

One of the burliest, sternest looking men of the warrior crowd spoke up just then. His voice was nearly as deep as Karnes...a dry, grating, gravelly sound.

"There is nothing to forgive, Mistress Josy. Nothing at all. Please...take your time."

"We can take a break if you wish," Terista added softly.

Josy waved them off however.

"No-no," she said, sniffling a time or two more. "It's just...hard...sometimes. Let's continue."

Her fingers found her place again, and she cleared her throat.

Now he was faced with beginning anew...yet again...but with no one to help him understand why all this had happened, and kept continuing to happen. What had he done to deserve to be so abused over and over? It was so much to take in, to process, and to come to grips with. Every other time it had occurred, he'd found comfort in a companion to keep him anchored...to keep him focused and moving forward. First it was his goal to return to his wife; Angela, then to find and rescue Cache. His life with Josy followed that, and most recently it was his bond with Lasinii. Now he was isolated like never before...literally. No one was around. There was no town, or village, or...anyone. And now he didn't even have the single continuity of his blade to ground him and to bolster his resolve.

After another bort passed, he recognized that his body felt hot...intensely so, in fact. It was easy to understand the reason for that however. It was fury, pure and simple.

Ron gripped his newest weapons with bone-crushing intensity and carefully scanned his environs, wishing there was someone, or something, to fight...to release his pent up rage. Just as with the moments before, though, he found himself utterly alone. There would be no relief for the wrath inside. Instead of combat, all he could do was to call for it, and so he exploded in a cry for blood...the insidious wail of an Aredanz fighter ready for war!

That primordial blast rose and rose, its pitch running the gamut from a growling bellow that would make a greel cringe to a screaming shriek more in line with a mountain lion, and it continued until there was no more air in his lungs.

Dead silence followed the end of that nerve-shredding sound, as every living creature seemed to have stopped to witness it...each of them afraid to find out what had made it.

After a few borts passed, Ron felt the burning in his soul begin to cool.

He knew he would get past this time of abject depression and epic confusion...that he would survive and carry on...but at that exact moment, he was monumentally angry and severely bitter nonetheless.

He clenched his jaws hard as he returned all of his things to the large pack, situated his swords and other survival aids exactly where he wanted them, and got to his feet. Then he glanced at the arrow dug into the soft, grassy glade and headed west.

He soon found a well-worn road barely a quarter hoz away running off to the north and south. There he paused. North would undoubtedly take him where Pierci; the Basharian king wanted him to go...to Nevari...because Lasinii had told him that it was the northernmost city in Erthania. South would send him to unknown towns and most likely Heraitey, from what she had taught him about the geography of the countryside. Each way had its pros and cons, obviously.

He looked left...then right...and then he ground his teeth together and growled a deep, hateful rumble, the salty dampness of his misery still drying on his beard-stubbled chin.

On his homeworld of Earth, sociologists all agree that man was not meant to be alone. He is a communal creature and requires interaction with fellow humans or risk falling into depression, delirium, and eventually insanity.

Ron decided to put those highly educated doctors' theories to the test.

"Screw this!" he grumbled in a harsh tone filled with the outright obstinacy he felt. "I've given enough!"

He turned east and marched back into the forest.

Josy paused again, her emotions aching terribly for her beloved. Those around her could see the turmoil building inside her as her eyes teared up heavily once more, so they kept still and allowed her another moment.

Mishea wrapped her arms around the young woman once more.

"It breaks my heart to hear how hurt he was, Mother...how lost he felt."

"Let's call it a night, Josy," she said softly.

Josy shook her head though.

"No. I need to continue. I need to know that he fought through this part of his life and was okay."

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose again. Then she read onward.

Ron immediately began a thorough survey of the surrounding woods. Whoever had deposited him there had provisioned him with a week's rations, so there was no pressing need to hunt; therefore his primary objective was to scout out this new patch of ground and determine if he could make use of it.

He stayed on an easterly route for the next three days, moving cautiously and examining the hundreds of animal signs he came across. He finally turned south when he reached a large river...one wide and deep enough to support boat traffic. Of all the certainties of the Caronian world, he knew that men would make use of that waterway for travel and commerce, and he badly wanted to avoid humankind altogether, so he turned his back to it.

Retracing his steps a good hoz from the banks, Ron swung his search into a wide arc, which, due to his incredible abilities as a woodsman, crossed his original path exactly two hoz from the north/south road. That took him another four days. By then he'd taken down several smaller forest creatures, just to extend his rations. The thick woods were not like the Caron he'd gotten used to north of the massive mountain range, where it was more like a jungle. There in the south, the trees were very similar to the temperate, wild, old-growth forests of Earth...particularly northern USA and Canada, and from what he'd seen in documentaries; Germany, France, and England. Ferns were abundant and there was a good deal of open space between the trunks of the living monoliths all around him.

Hunting was excellent as it appeared that no other human had ever traversed that region. He suspected that wasn't actually the case, of course, but theorized he must be in a wide open area between whatever cities were making use of the western road.

Ron completed his circular inspection of an area easily fifteen hoz in diameter by the end of the following week, where he stood gazing down from a four-hundred-foot-tall peak at the same winding river that bordered his new territory to the east.

"This will work," he told himself while he watched the sun casting its long shadow on the water. Then a barge loaded with crates and sacks of unknown materials drifted into view. He could just make out the men strolling around the deck, working paddles and poles to keep it centered in the main stream. He vividly recalled some of the trips he'd taken on similar vessels, and having watched such traffic from the porch of the Gitove plantation. But that just reminded him of Josylinia and how dramatically he missed her. He felt his chest tense up as he remembered the sweet smell of shavassy that always lingered about her...and then the knowledge that he would never be able to hold her or touch her again caused the bile to well up in his throat, filling his mouth with that metallic, acidic taste he so hated.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" rumbled from his broad chest and his fingers gripped the pommel of his katana tightly.

He turned from that scene too and dove back into the wilderness. It had been more than two weeks and he hadn't uttered a word.

Over the next santari, Ron canvassed his new home in a diagonal pattern, scoping out the landscape of the inner portion of his boundary. It had a very diverse topography with six different streams, two deep hollows, four rather prominent hills, and even a fifty-foot waterfall.

Ron saw clear signs of at least two different panthers, and five different greels. He smiled.

"Life without risk isn't really living," he thought sarcastically.

One day, a santari later, Ron stumbled across something that both shocked him and sparked his curiosity. It was a house built from large rocks set in a mud/mortar mix and topped with a thatched roof. It was located at the base of a steep cliff next to a small stream that burst out of the ground near the bottom of that rocky outcrop. Beyond the far bank of the waterway was a large tract of ground that had undoubtedly been cleared at one time but was by then overgrown with wild verdure. It was a forgotten farm.

He didn't feel any proprietary distress over it as it was abundantly clear that it had been abandoned for a long while, so he had a look around. A quick scout of the area revealed that the place appeared at least five years forgotten, but miraculously enough, many of the unknown farmer's crops were still sprouting in his unkempt field.

Ron inspected the building and noted that it was still dry within, with meager furnishings of the typical country life, as well as the basic tools of such an existence. Some wise craftsman had constructed the roof beams out of wood that resisted rot well, and it was apparently still clear of insect decay too. The door even swung freely on leather hinges that had been so well soaked in oil that they didn't even creak...and the roof was made of grass and soil two feet thick and solid enough for even him to walk on, with steep enough pitch to withstand heavy snow.

"I don't know who you are, friend," Ron thought about the person or people who'd constructed the place, "but you did a fine job. I'll take it." He moved in immediately.

Just two days later, the chimney was alive again and Ron was cooking up a fine stew for himself.

Spring turned into summer and Ron settled in to a comfortable routine. He scoured his surroundings daily and trekked out to the edges of his domain often, always on the alert for anyone who might infringe upon his isolation. Once, he crossed the trail of a pair of hunters who'd ventured far enough to skirt his domain, so he followed them for two days to see where they were headed. They looped the perimeter of a shallow valley nearby, and then headed south, away from his new home. That suited him just fine.

Ron could have warned those hapless souls that they themselves were being tracked...and not only by him. But he just grunted and turned around, deciding to leave them to their fates. A mated pair of leopards was closing in, and it was almost dark. He doubted those men ever made it out of the valley.

As time passed, he felt the possibility of any human interlude grow more and more remote, and found the need to leave his sanctuary grow nonexistent. He was alone, it's true, but he was also at peace.

Now that doesn't mean his life was without the occasional heart-pounding moment. Ron inevitably clashed with one of his feline trespassers, two of the greels, and a male deer the size of an animal he called 'a moose' that nearly gutted him with its ten-feet-wide antlers. But he always found a way to escape death, and even serious injury...although only by the very slimmest of margins.

His victory cry resonated often enough through the countryside that itinerants of the western road even began to name that section of the route after those horrific sounds they heard during their crossings.

Half a dozen travellers reported hearing those spine-rattling wails tearing across the land from his domain, so it became dubbed; The Screaming Hills.

Those in the nearest cities (villages really, with no more than four hundred people) began to offer wagers that no one had the nerve to spend the night among those demonic trees. Mostly it was laughed off, but to the men who ventured into the wilds for game and such, it was no laughing matter at all, so they stayed clear. Their business was filled with enough danger, and to be so foolhardy as to go seeking more was not a prospect many stepped up to embrace. Therefore, Ron's region became a literal sanctuary.

Summer turned to fall, and fall to winter. Half a year on his own and he had spoken not a single word.

That winter was a hard one with terrible storms and plunging temperatures. That was when Ron was really thankful for his little house. He'd prepared well, having learned a great deal from his experience in the high-country valley.

He had a side of elk hanging in a smokehouse he'd built during the summer and a good stockpile of vegetables from the old farmer's crop. He even took a week and weeded and revitalized that patch of dirt. Whoever had worked the land had done a wonderful job, and so it provided all his dietary needs.

Winter inevitably gave way to spring, of course, and around the year he went again. When snow began to drop once more, it had been more than a year and a half since Ron had uttered a single spoken word.

The days grew short and the nights were long and harsh, but he merely carried on. He'd grown accustomed to the lack of company. The doctors had been wrong...at least about him.

Then one day in late winter, during a spell of decent weather...still horribly cold, but with fair skies...Ron headed out to hunt and to continue his vigil of keeping an eye on his territory. He was at its northernmost edge when he spied a good-sized doe grazing on some moss it had dug out of the snow.

Ron was a very patient hunter, and always did his best to never wound an animal he wasn't fairly certain he could get a solid kill-shot at, but this one caught him out of position. Therefore, he decided to make a long, sweeping approach to get downwind of the animal so he could get close enough to it. That diversion could easily take a billot, but it was still morning and his feet were warm inside his gort-fur boots, so time was of no matter to him. He set out directly.

(A gort is a mid-sized forest animal with very thick, water-proof, winter fur.)

As he drew near, creeping around as silently as the leopard whose pelt now kept his body warm, his focus was locked on the deer like a hawk eyes a field-chinch. Stalking like that was as easy as breathing to the incomparable woodsman.

Once in the best position he could achieve, his powerful bow pulled back to his ear for barely an instant. Then...thuuuummm...went the string.

The female deer sprang left a good twenty feet, and then leaped once more. She was stone dead when she struck the icy ground the very next time.

Ron went straight to the creature. His bow was in his left hand and he was reaching for a knife with his right when he suddenly realized that something was amiss.

"Crunch!" came a sound at his five o'clock position...his back, right shoulder area.

Ron spun so fast he was an absolute blur, and when he stopped that blistering twirl, the knife was in the snow at his feet and an arrow was once again pulled to his cheek.

There before him was a man. That alone nearly caused him to loose the arrow. It would have been justified too, for the fellow was holding a bow as well, but Ron was an expert of weapons and their uses and abilities, so he paused. What the man held was a simple little poorly crafted trinket, not much better than a child's toy.

"What're you hunting with that pathetic thing?" his brain queried, but he did not speak.

The man immediately threw his hands out wide, casting the weapon aside as he did, and dropped to his knees...which actually put him chest deep in the soft powder. Ron did not lower his.

"Please don't kill me!" the man pleaded. "Please! Please don't kill me!"

Ron's innate senses and years of experience kicked in full bore. He dropped his torso lower in the snow to minimize his exposure, and sent his gaze panning the area like an owl. He put his ears on high alert as well. He even sniffed at the air.

"I am alone!" the man said, remaining motionless. "I swear it!"

Ron returned his attention to the intruder and his keen eye inspected the fellow in a flash.

The man was tall, and rail thin, even inside his coat...which was a horrid attempt at real protection. It was far too flimsy and didn't overlap at the opening nearly enough to stop the frigid wind.

The guy's head was covered, but his face was sallow and drawn and his eyes were sunken and dark. He was clearly starving.

"I am no threat to you, sir," the man said in a pleading, pitiful voice.

"No shit!" Ron thought back.

They stayed locked like that for a few long moments while Ron evaluated his position. Each man was utterly motionless.

"My name is Ilsarin," the stranger finally offered. "Ilsarin Jacar."

Ron said nothing, but a lita later he lowered his bow and stored it away in a weatherproof cover. Bows do not respond well to cold and damp. It weakens them and shortens their useful life.

When the weapon was securely across his back, Ron plucked his knife from the snow, his eyes hard on the interloper.

Ilsarin's own eyes grew wider.

Ron then turned his back on the stranger and continued to the doe. Once there, he knelt beside it and began the gutting process, totally ignoring Ilsarin.

Ilsarin was a desperate man though, and so even though he knew he was pushing his luck, he approached the woodsman...but very slowly...very cautiously.

"Sir?" he said at last, when he was no more than twenty feet away.

Ron ignored him.

"Might I please make a small request of you?"

Ron ignored him.

Ilsarin had no choice but to continue. He was a terrible hunter.

"You see, I have a family a few hoz to the north...just over the next hill, in fact...a wife and a son."

Ron continued working. He was fast and efficient. The stomach and entrails were gone already and he was working on the lungs. His hands were covered in warm, bright red blood.

"We have had a rough few santaris, you see, and...well...I was wondering if you might could spare part of your bounty there."

Ron kept working.

"I would be most grateful...really, I would."

Ron kept working.

He then heard Ilsarin drop into the snow again...to his knees.

"Sir...I...I...beg of you. Please. Not for me...truly...but for my family. Please!"

The man was weeping by then...completely overcome with desperation. Ron could tell he was not lying.

Ron was presently slicing the deer's heart free from the chest cavity. It was still warm and steam lifted off it in the cold air. He turned to face Islarin and sliced a thick slab off it. Placing a good-sized chunk of that in his teeth, he tore it free and began to chew. Deer blood dripped freely from his chin whiskers and hands. Then he tossed the rest to the starving man. It fell to the snow a foot in front of him.

Ilsarin was obviously shocked, never having eaten raw meat before, but when Ron motioned for him to take it, he complied without further hesitation.

Ron knew the blood would metabolize quickly and the raw meat would do well to begin restoring his energy. Too, he wanted to see just how determined the man was to survive.

Ilsarin didn't turn green like Ron thought he might. That was a good sign, so Ron decided to take pity on the poor fellow. And also, he thought it would be a good idea to know who his neighbors were, how many there were, and what armaments they had.

Ron quickly washed his mouth and hands with clean snow, hoisted the deer onto his shoulder, and turned to Ilsarin. Then he motioned for the man to lead the way.

Ilsarin was stunned, but he jumped to his feet and bowed.

"Thank you, sir...thank you!" he said, still chewing the warm heart meat. "Thank you! This way!"

They walked a little more than two hoz before Ron caught the scent of a wood fire on the wind as they crested a gentle hill. From that point, he began memorizing everything about the area.

Ilsarin had been trying to strike up a conversation with Ron the entire way, but it had gone completely one-sided. Ron still had not spoken. He'd already decided he would deliver his gift, scout the area, and go. That was the plan.

The Jacar family was part of a group of farmers who'd taken up residence in a previously defunct plot of land located well off the beaten path. They had gotten a 'good deal' on the farm...according to Islarin. They'd been there three years and had struggled through the past two winters barely scraping by. This one though was much harsher and their supplies had run out.

Ron surmised that was a recurring theme all across the primitive country. Some years gave plentiful harvests, but the lean years took heavy tolls.

The small community...about ten houses, if you could call them that...supported a total of twenty five souls. Aside from Islarin, there were fifteen adults and nine children, and of those youngsters, most were less than ten years old.

When they were within shouting distance, Islarin called everyone out with a loud, cheerful voice, but that was the last cheerful thing Ron heard or saw.

The people who showed themselves made Islarin look like the peak of health and vigor, and it was difficult for Ron not to gasp at the pitiful sight.

### Chapter Seventeen

### A Helping Hand

Slowly, out of each of the meager buildings of the communal compound came hapless-looking individuals. Each person, large and small, staggered in the cold, clearly weak and at the end of their ropes...that is until they saw the massive deer Ron still carried.

Ron would have sworn that not a single one of the citizens of that little village glanced at him even once, only at the incredible bounty he hefted.

"Please, sir...if you would," Islarin pleaded to Ron while motioning further. "We can work over here."

Ron stepped over to a small lean-to they used to butcher animals and strung the carcass up. He was shaking a bit, not from anxiousness of being amongst people again, but at the piteous state of those poor country folks. It was truly heart-wrenching.

"Before I say too much, kind sir," Islarin said to Ron, "Might I inquire as to how much of this fine beast you are willing to part with?"

Having not spoken a single word in nearly two years, Ron found it uncomfortable to just begin again, so he merely motioned with his hands to encompass the entire deer.

"Oh dear Creator above!" the man squeaked. "Are you serious?"

Ron nodded once and got to work.

"Everyone, listen...listen!" Ilsarin explained...his voice vibrating with glee. "This fine woodsman has offered us the entire antelope!"

Every adult present instantly dropped to their knees in the freezing snow, thanking the Guardian for sending them the saving grace of that meat.

"Get your fires going!" Islarin announced to his friends, all of whom were crying openly. They struggled to their feet and scurried away mumbling nonstop prayers of thanks.

Ron had the deer sliced up into steaks and ribs and roasts in fifteen borts, and Islarin passed the sections around as evenly as he could. The villagers all enjoyed one large meal immediately, but were careful to save as much of the meat as possible. Winter was far from over.

There was a stoutly constructed out-building where they could stash the extra food, so they hung the meat there. Ron looked it over and confirmed that it was protected as well as they could devise to keep out any scavenging woodland critters. The meat would freeze in a few billots and be ready when they needed it. As far as the larger predators that might be looking for an easy meal, the leopards were unlikely to attempt such thievery and the greels were all hibernating.

Islarin and his wife begged Ron to come and have supper with them, but Ron declined gruffly with a shake of his head and a grunt. He would not take a single bite of food those poor people would undoubtedly need to survive until spring.

He did have a look around at the village though.

They were quite the collaborative group and apparently shared everything they had. He quickly found a single axe hanging in the only woodshed, which was barely ten percent full, so while the townsfolk cooked and ate, he headed into the woods. He knew there would be a dead tree nearby because there always was one in thick forests, and so he wasn't searching long. It was exactly what he needed. It had fallen across a rise in the terrain so it did not set directly on the ground. That made certain it would not be too wet to burn. Soon the surrounding timberland was echoing the sounds of blade meeting wood.

In short order, Ron had shucked his coat and was halfway through the two-foot-diameter tree, enjoying the feel of the work and the cold air whipping over his wide frame. He went back to the village and dragged a sled made for hauling wood out to where he was working, piling it four feet high with logs.

Most towns would have had an ox to tow it, but Ron just did the work himself as there was no such beast to put to use.

When Ron returned to the village, the entire community met him there. They looked a bit better then...at least in the respect that they weren't overcome with despair...and they wished him well and thanked him repeatedly. He merely nodded and kept going to the woodshed. While Ron split the fresh wood, Islarin and another man joined him to stack it.

"What is your name, my friend?" asked the other fellow.

Islarin quickly waved him off.

"He wishes his privacy, Hoarin. Don't ask!"

He was anxious and worried that continual prying might irritate their godsend.

Ron just kept to his work.

He'd be gone soon and never return anyway.

When all the splitting was done, the shed was a third full. They wouldn't have to ration their heat anymore.

Ron replaced the ax and turned to leave, but saw a chunk of wood that had flown wide and had been missed. He bent down to scoop it up and came face to face with a young girl. She was about six. She'd bundled herself up and raced outside to go and see the strange man who'd saved them all. She skidded to a stop right at his feet...totally unafraid.

Ron gazed into her big, light-brown eyes and saw nothing but sweetness staring back. It surprised him so much that he paused right there and just stared at her. She was looking him over very thoroughly, with the open curiosity of a child. And then she did something totally unexpected. She reached out her arms for a hug.

"Thank you, sir!" she told him.

Ron lowered himself to one knee and took the child in his arms.

"You're welcome, little one," he whispered in her ear.

She smiled at him when they separated and then waved and headed back to her mother who was just catching up to her by then.

The mother reached down and scooped her daughter up, but she was still very weak from their overall, horrible condition.

"Don't run off and bother the nice man like that," she fussed. "I'm sorry if..."

Her words died on her tongue as she looked over to where Ron had been standing.

He was gone.

Ron made his way back to his new abode with the firm declaration of staying clear of that village. They were fools who had been swindled and would likely never make it through another year anyway. He growled and grunted in anger as he marched.

"I should never have gotten involved in the first place," he told himself. "It's not my responsibility to keep them alive!"

Four days later, a large sack was left hanging in the farmers' woodshed. It was full of a variety of vegetables from Ron's adopted home. He'd cleaned out a quarter of the cellar he'd stocked up over the previous fall.

On that same day, close to nightfall, Ron strolled into the community dragging a massive bartcha (Caronian boar) on his own sled. It was just a yearling, but still weighed more than the deer he'd provided on his first visit.

Once again, the villagers were overwhelmed with emotion and praised and thanked him repeatedly. Ron noticed that they appeared much better, had more energy, and their spirits were extremely high.

He dismembered the beast by torchlight and Islarin dispersed the sections as before. Islarin again tried to strike up a discussion with Ron while he worked, but silence was all he received.

It was still early, even though the sun had set, so most of the townsfolk were busy inside their homes cooking their suppers and looking forward to another veritable feast from their newfound benefactor. The chatter was about a single subject, and much speculation went round.

Ron heard some of it, but chose to let them make up their stories as they wished. It meant nothing to him. He drifted off into the forest before anyone had even sat down to eat.

Ron continued his gifts over the next two weeks and watched the villagers become much stronger and healthier. The young children all rushed out to greet him anytime he showed up, and seeing them smiling and playful began to actually defrost his frozen heart.

One evening he lingered longer than normal, undecided about leaving for some reason he didn't fully understand.

The day had been another cold one, and was still overcast, so he received many offers to visit inside their homes, and even to spend the entire night out of the weather, yet he just waved them off. Instead, he cleared away an area he noticed had been used for an outdoor fire pit and started a large blaze using wood he foraged from the nearby forest. It wasn't as easy to get going as seasoned wood would have been, but he didn't want to deplete the villagers' supply.

By the time the cooked suppers were over, he was sitting cross-legged by his fire, eating his own meal. It wasn't hot, but once he set it near the fire for a bit, it wasn't cold either. He merely chewed while he watched the surrounding woods and didn't give it a thought.

After a few billots, the tiny community grew quiet and Ron lay down to sleep. He was warm enough under the leopard-skin cloak he wore, and the hard ground was nothing new, so he was out quickly. That lasted only about a billot though when his ears alerted him to approaching footsteps. They were faint, made from very light feet, but his eyes cracked open instantly and he watched as the little girl who'd hugged him on that first visit came closer.

The fire had died down quite a bit, but was still burning, so she was easy to spot in the light. She was bundled up in a thick blanket but her feet were bare, so he wondered why she wasn't hobbling around in the snow. Undoubtedly it didn't faze her however because she just kept coming.

She walked right up, grabbed the edge of his thick fur blanket and slipped in, snuggling up against him like he was her long-lost big brother. She was out immediately.

Ron almost couldn't restrain himself from laughing, but instead, carefully slid out and tucked her in tightly. He then stoked the fire some more and laid down next to her, his arm draped protectively over her tiny body. The ground had thawed and dried, and was actually warm there, so he was not unduly bothered by the lack of a blanket. He was asleep again directly.

Around midnight though, Ron's slumber was once more broken by a strange sound, when the child's mother awakened and found her daughter missing. Ron heard her call out in the night.

"Avarii!" she whispered harshly, not wishing to disturb the entire village.

When she received no reply, she stuck her head out to see if the girl had gone to the only outhouse in the settlement, but there was no lamp-light on there so she really began to get anxious. Ron watched her scan the entire courtyard that the houses were arranged around until she looked his way.

When she did, he raised his hand and waved her over. Then he slowly sat up, trying not to wake the girl.

The woman held her wrap tightly around her and headed toward the fire, her eyes still darting this way and that. Clearly she was uncomfortable about approaching the large, unkempt stranger. (his beard was very long and wiry, and his hair was thick and bushy.)

When she was thirty feet away, Ron raised his hand again and pointed his finger at the lump of fur beside him. The woman furrowed her brow, straining to see what he was indicating, and then her eyes flared open and she dashed forward.

Ron threw up his open hand sharply, forcing the woman to check her approach, and then he motioned for her to be calm as he carefully rose and eased backward away from the girl. He held his finger to his lips as he retreated.

The mother crept forward after that and gazed worriedly down at her daughter. The child was snug and warm though, sleeping soundly.

She wanted to scoop her up and carry her back to the house...and actually reached out to do so...but something made her stop halfway into that motion. Her lips pursed for a moment and Ron could tell she was thinking hard about something. After a long few litas, she stood up again and looked at him.

He was a good ten feet away, his hands still open and empty, trying to appear as nonthreatening as he could.

"You would never hurt her, would you?"

Ron thought that a very odd question, especially coming from a mother staring at a total stranger. He shook his head no.

"And you would never let anyone else...or 'anything' else...hurt her, would you?"

She watched as his gaze turned hard and his jaws clamp down. His open fingers curled into tight balls, the muscles in his forearms knotting up, and a low rumble began to emanate from his chest.

He head again slid side to side...his eyes never leaving hers.

In that instant, the woman let out a soft sigh. Possibly it was woman's intuition, or faith, or something Ron had never heard of, but he recognized that she no longer concerned herself about the man before her. He was no threat to her or her daughter, nor any other member of their group. She knew that as confidently as if he were her own late husband.

Ron relaxed again as well.

She stepped closer, until she was barely three feet from him.

"Avarii is worried about you, sir" she told him softly, glancing at her child and then back to him. "She says that you are very angry...and terribly sad."

Ron said nothing, but his eyes softened a touch.

"She is extremely sensitive to such things...has been ever since she could talk."

Ron looked over at the child, and then back at her mother.

"I am Oonanii," she told him sweetly. "Sleep well."

She smiled a tiny bit and then went back to her house. Her little girl remained sleeping where she was.

The next day saw an end to the cold snap and began to hint at the change of seasons. In a week, the thaw started in earnest, and in a santari, the ground was clear in all the open, sunlit areas.

Ron didn't move in with the villagers, but he continued to visit at least once a week, always arriving with some kind of game animal towed behind him. The sled still worked rather well, even after the snow had receded.

He still hadn't chosen to converse with the village adults, but he was a huge hit with the children, who needed no such verbal interaction. For the older ones, Ron constructed bows that they could manage, and gave small demonstrations of his own abilities. That got them all practicing daily so that they might impress him on his next visit. For the little ones, he showed them how to tie knots, and practical examples of the need for such knowledge...like constructing snares, traps, and even his sled, which he gave them rides on.

When spring was well along, Ron took one of the oldest boys hunting, showing him what to look for...how to track...and eventually let him try his bow skills. They came back with three large turkeys.

"Fantastic job, Terrin!" the boy's father told him when he and Ron returned. The men of the village were busy turning the soil out in the fields, preparing for planting. "I think we have a new hunter!"

"Well," Terrin admitted sheepishly, "I shot one and hit it, but he," he tossed his thumb over at Ron, "finished it and dropped the other two...all in a blink...and in flight!"

The boy's father turned his attention to Ron.

"My thanks, sir...for these birds and all the other gifts you've brought us...and for taking the time with Terrin. I was never much good at hunting."

Ron accepted his thanks with a strong nod of his head, and then he moved on to clean the fowls.

The townsfolk had given up trying to get Ron to speak with them, instead simply accepting his silence and his company, which they all felt uncannily comfortable with. He never asked for anything, nor did he seem to judge them for their obvious faults at survival. He pitched in whenever a job was too large for a single man, and even helped each family repair their homes in various ways...patching a roof, replacing a hinge, rebuilding shutters and doors. He was a 'Jack of all trades', but was never pushy.

One morning in mid spring, after he'd been away for a week, Ron showed up clean shaven and sporting a well-needed haircut. The cold was gone and he no longer required their natural protection. That got everyone's attention...especially the women who ended up muttering about that for days! He kept his chin bare from then on.

Ron even accepted a dinner invite one day. Avarii walked up to him near midday on a particularly lovely morning and took his large, rough hand in her tiny soft one, and then simply towed him into her house. Her mother was a good cook and fixed a wonderful roast from a deer he'd killed, with gravy...and also potatoes he'd brought from his place.

"My thanks, Oonanii," Ron told her as he rose from the table. She was so shocked that she could do nothing but stare. "The meal was delicious," he added.

Then he turned to Avarii. "Thank you, Avarii, for having me over for lunch." He leaned in low and kissed her on the cheek. Then he walked out the door like it was just any other day.

"I...I...I...didn't think he could speak!" Oonanii told her little girl.

"Oh yes, he talks. He just doesn't like to talk to people...only kids."

"Really," she said, completely surprised at that revelation. "And why is that?"

"People lie and cheat and man-i-pu-late,' he said. Kids are honest."

Oonanii really couldn't fault him for that. "Well, he's not wrong," she admitted.

That very fact of human nature came to haunt them all barely three days later when a man rode in on a cart pulled by a pair of torbins (heavy-set beasts with short, stout legs that were used to pull common carts and wagons). He had two men with him. As soon as he was spotted, the children raced off to get their parents.

Oonanii recognized him immediately and walked out to greet the visitors. She was terribly anxious and not at all happy.

"Good day to you, Effron," she said as pleasantly as she could, yet her words were still slightly laced with a sour edge.

"Good day, Oonanii."

"And just who are these fine men?" she asked.

"Oh, they wanted to have a look around, that's all. They're interested in purchasing this farm."

Oonanii turned bright red at that. She started to let her temper loose to give Effron a good tongue-lashing, but luckily Islarin came rushing over first.

"What can we do for you, Effron?"

"He's come to sell the farm out from under us!" Oonanii blurted out.

"What? But we still have another santari to make our payment!"

"Go and have a look around," Effron told his patrons. Then he returned his attention to Islarin. Three other men were just arriving from the nearest field. "Look, folks. This is nothing personal. It's just business. You were given three years to pay off the place, and now, unless you somehow struck silver during the winter, it's over. These men have the largest farm in the area and want to add it to their land. They can pay me the full amount whenever we strike the deal."

"They don't want this place!" Islarin scoffed. "They just want to run off any other farmers so they can raise the prices at the markets!"

"Now-now...I don't know anything about that."

They exchanged opinions for another billot before Effron and his party headed back to town. That left the villagers in dire spirits.

Ron strolled in a few billots later, towing a huge elk carcass. He was excited to try out their new smokehouse. When he found the villagers so distressed, he went to Oonanii. She explained the entire situation to him.

He listened intently, and then stood there a few litas silently, his thoughts whirring.

"Well," he finally said in a relaxed tone, "these things have a way of working out. You'll see."

### Chapter Eighteen

### Back to Reality

After his conversation with Oonanii, Ron made a fast trip to his own little place and was back before dusk. He pitched camp in the woods outside the communal village that night, in a strong lean-to he'd set up for himself for when he visited. At dawn, he joined up with Terrin who he'd offered another hunting lesson to.

"Have you been to the town where this fellow, Effron, came from?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?"

"I'd like you to show me."

"It's a good two days from here."

"Fine. Tell your folks that we're going to be gone several days...so they won't worry."

Terrin came back a billot later with a large pack.

"Okay, let's go."

Ron set a pace that the young man found very aggressive, but could manage, and they trekked till midnight. They were on the move again by dawn and so arrived in Turtle Bend by noon the following day.

It was a decent size town of approximately five hundred people and was laid out much as Lampsh had been...mostly because the predominate traffic came via the river. The area all about the town was a farming and ranching community that exported their goods downstream to the bigger city of Cavier, thirty hoz downstream.

There was a central market area that handled most of the trade in Turtle Bend, so that's where Ron and his guide headed first. Both sides of the street were lined with shops, each specializing in some particular skill. They passed a wood-wright, a black-smith, a tack and feed shop, two tailors, and a general store for food-stuffs and such. And there was a building with the title; "Land and Deeds". That drew Ron's attention.

The structure was fairly large, and inside it were long rows of tables, all covered with maps of the territory. That's when he found out he was living in the central part of Vassar. Nevari was northwest of his current location.

"Pierci's Mountains were to the west of Nevari," he recalled, "so his men hauled me a hell of a long way! I guess he really didn't want me finding my way back."

The walls of the shop were lined with similar drawings, some appearing very old, and some that were obviously brand new. Ron walked around the place once and then strolled up to a counter at the side of the entryway.

"What can I do for you, today?" asked a grisly old soul who appeared to be around seventy years old but was probably less than fifty.

"I'm looking for whoever it is that takes care of the land purchases and deeds."

Without hardly letting him finish, the man threw his head to the side and barked out; "Marjorie!", and then headed off to another customer.

Marjorie Stinte was a solid woman in her late twenties or early thirties, with unkempt raven hair that was stranded with gray streaks. She was large at the top and large at the bottom, with little deviation in the middle. She stepped out of a back room and scanned the store, then smiled brightly when she got a look at Ron.

"Well, gorgeous," she said as she reached the counter, "what can I do to you?"

Ron grinned back with as much warmth as he could muster. Terrin stood to the side, just watching.

"I was wondering if I might inquire about some farmland that I heard was for sale."

"Sure thing, darlin. Do you know where it's located?"

Ron turned to Terrin. It took him a moment to realize what Ron was wanting.

"Oh, yeah. Uh, well, it's the place at the end of Redbud Cove...twenty hoz south-southwest of here, just past Rock Falls. It was old man Wiansted's farm when we bought it. We call it; Rock Falls' Garden."

"Oh, yes...I know that place," she acknowledged. "It's owned by Effron Cathery." She mumbled some expletive as she retrieved a large, thick book from a shelf behind her. "That man sure sells that piece of ground a lot!"

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

"Well, in the fifteen years that I've been keeping the records, he's resold it four times."

"That seems a little excessive," Ron admitted. "Why is that, do you think?"

"Simple. It's water! That place is the most fertile ground you've ever seen in a good, wet year...but once the snow melt's gone, it tends to dry up...and that kills anything left in the ground. You can get one good crop out of five. So he sells it in the spring when everything looks wonderful and baits poor people in by saying they can pay him after the harvest. If they get a good year, they're nearly halfway out of debt in one shot. But when the next crop is half the yield, or less, they usually give up and move away.

"This past year, I heard the poor saps that bought it last gave him everything they had just to make the second payment...even their animals. Everyone around here figured they starved to death over the winter. Dragen shame too. They were some really nice folks...with kids too."

"So the place isn't for sale then?"

"Well, it will be soon. They're running out of time to settle the note."

"How much do they owe?"

"Let me see. Here it is...seventeen silver pince."

Ron glanced over to Terrin and raised an eyebrow.

"That's a lot," the boy whispered.

He turned back to Marjorie.

"Thank you, Marjorie. Now could you tell me where your furrier shop is?"

She guided him there in a quick bort. After all, the town was very small.

On the way out of the land office, Ron spotted something that drew his attention. It was a flyer on the wall next to the door. It was half covered by another notice of an upcoming event...the sale of an estate and all its holdings...but it was clear as crystal to Ron.

"I'll catch up, Terrin," he told his young friend. Ron took a step over and peeled back the auction announcement. Then he just stared at the paper. It was a reward poster for a violent, unnamed outlaw wanted in Nevari for heinous crimes against their people. It had words like 'Murderer', Deviant, and 'Mentally unstable'...and it had a hundred and fifty silver pince reward. It also had a very accurate and lifelike depiction of Ron's face on it, both with and without a beard.

"Do you mind if I take this?" Ron called over his shoulder to the old man who he'd first spoken with.

"Sure," the man replied, only half looking at what Ron was referring to. "I don't care. I have a stack of them in back. Know someone interested?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"That's great. Good luck to them. The bidding starts at midday."

"Okay...thanks."

Ron smiled, yanked both posters off the wall, and then stuffed them into his pack. He was out the door a moment later wondering just how many of those were circulating the area.

"It's a small, out of the way town," Ron told himself. "What's the chance that anyone would even make the connection unless I was standing right next to the drawing?"

With that, he dropped back into his casual demeanor and pulled up alongside Terrin.

Ron and his young sidekick strolled down the road to the edge of the forest where a wide building stood...and a horrible odor clung in the air.

Ron smiled inside. "Slaughterhouse in back," he told himself. "Just like Lampsh."

Half a billot later, he walked back through the door without his leopard pelt and a beautiful black greel fur he'd cured the past summer, but with twenty-five silver pince.

Two days after that, Ron and Terrin arrived back at Rock Falls' Garden with two oxen, a plow, and a couple huge sacks filled with dry goods.

The townspeople were dumbstruck once again.

Ron sat down with the adults and explained what all he'd done. The villagers were overwhelmed at Ron's generosity and ashamed at their naiveté. They all wanted very much to not be so deeply in debt to him, but Ron dismissed their concerns.

"I have been a warrior for a long while now, and I've seen far too much violence and misery over those years. So it truly has been a welcome diversion...even therapeutic...for me to do something kind and good for a change. Please allow me the peace that comes with it."

Everyone empathized with the hardened soldier standing before them...each of them having witnessed some form or war or other horrible time in their lives...and so they graciously accepted his generous gift.

Afterward, they discussed the water situation at length. It was true that the primary water supply they used to irrigate the farm dried up in late summer, but they were simply hopeful that it was not the norm. It nearly broke their spirits again to hear that it was.

Their entire group had moved there from the southern fringe of Nevari, where the soil was poor and filled with rocks. In Vassar, they thought they'd found what they'd always dreamed of; rich fertile ground filled with promise. They'd been certain that with hard work, they could all enjoy a better life. Now it appeared they'd failed.

"What do we do?" Islarin asked, his hopes unraveling.

"Well, I didn't pay Effron for something I didn't think we could make work," Ron told them. "I have an idea. If you can spare Terrin and one of the women, I think we might be able to remedy the water issue. But it will take time and it'll be hard work."

Terrin was all for it, and Islarin's wife, Lianis stepped forward to help as well.

The next day Ron took his little work detail up the steepest slope in the area, to where he knew a strong-running spring burst from the mountainside and ran downgrade to the wide river, a hoz to the east. He used his limited knowledge of surveying properties and tested multiple areas, tying long strands of rope to a couple dozen pairs of trees while he gauged the pitch and contours of the hillside with a water-level. He used short pieces of weighted string to act as plumb-bobs, and read the angle on a crude protractor he devised himself.

It took the better part of two full days to satisfy him, but once he'd figured out the exact route, Ron hefted a large pick he'd brought with them and began to dig.

The hillock was very rocky, so it was slow going, but Ron was a machine of staunch determination and herculean strength, and his helpers were dead set not to let him down. As he broke the ground, Terrin and Lianis cleared the debris as fast as they could. It took them nearly a santari of grueling work, but they made noticeable progress every single day, so it kept their spirits high even though their bodies protested pointedly.

Using the largest stones that Ron managed to leverage out of the trench he was digging, the trio built a solid levy along the route. At first they used it as a guide to keep them true to their goal, but in the end, it would also serve as corralling banks to the new waterway...or so they hoped. At the very uppermost end, that ditch ended up almost eight feet deep when Ron finally reached the edge of the spring-bed.

"All right, you two. I'm going to keep digging, but you stay clear of the sluice. When I break through, it could get real exciting, really fast!"

As a precaution, they tied a rope to Ron and looped it around a tree and over to a point where Terrin and Lianis could brace themselves safely and solidly...so that if something unexpected happened, they could pull him out of the danger area.

Ron broke through late that day, but the flow was weak and fragmented because the final few large rocks had collapsed into the trench, so Ron wasn't satisfied. After a few borts of watching, he realized the water couldn't gain enough momentum to clear itself of that debris, so he cast his own safety aside and dropped back into the trough. He stood in waist deep, freezing water to gain a better understanding of the blockage. Half a dozen huge boulders later, and Ron was down to the last of them, but it was a slab of granite the size of a four grown men. He dug around it and dug around it until dusk was looming heavily, but still it wouldn't budge. Finally, in a last ditch attempt at success, Ron slammed the pick down into a crevice between it and the mountain, and heaved. He felt it give just a hair, so he increased his pull.

The two-inch-thick wooden handle of the pick bent into a banana shape, but still he increased his input even more. A few litas later the boulder could fight no longer and at last gave in, and when it reached the tipping point, it jumped into the downstream flume and tumbled swiftly away.

Terrin and Lianis screamed in triumph at the sight of it...almost having given up that it would ever move. Ron tried to step clear, but the pick yanked him back when a large section of the upper embankment collapsed upon it, and down he went. The two assistants felt the rope jerk taught and hung on, but the weight of water pulling at Ron was such that they were immediately towed downhill by the load. Lianis nearly let go of the rope when it slipped through her fingers for a few feet, burning her hands badly, but she reacted well and fought through the pain to regain her hold once more. Unfortunately however, she continued being dragged downhill.

Terrin was the key though because he broke the downward momentum three times by leap-frogging along and jamming his feet into the soft forest ground.

Finally, when he and his female partner were about to pass a fair-sized tree, he diverted his course outside it and hauled Lianis with him. The rope wrapped around the tree instantly and slammed them hard up against it, but they hung on frantically, refusing to yield. It was horribly painful and frightening, but they held their ground nonetheless, even against that massive load.

Ron did what he could during that heart-stopping few moments, beaten and bashed about as he tumbled a good sixty feet down that muddy, rock-strewn flume. And he soon recognized that his friends' preparations had indeed saved him from being swept away and likely crushed to death in the deadly fluid when the rope snapped taught and quelled his haphazard descent.

Ron was able to use the anchor of the rope to first right himself, and then to leverage his way onto dry ground where he flopped free to spit and cough his way back to normal. Terrin and Lianis raced down the hill as fast as they could to help him, but Ron waved their fears aside and sat up, shaking his mop of raven hair like a dog. As soon as he caught his breath and thanked them properly, he began treating Lianis's damaged hands.

Ron was cut and bruised at almost every inch of his body, but miraculously, nothing was broken, so he just laughed those minor wounds off, and together they followed the new stream downslope to the village.

It had worked out perfectly, reaching the flat farmland right in the middle of the fields where it subdivided them and eventually found its way to a different stream...the one that dried up in late summer. That waterway eventually wound around the nearby hills and joined the larger river on the eastern slope.

It took another week for the newly created creek to settle into its permanent course, and by then, Ron and his friends were cutting new irrigation trenches to water the fields.

The very next week, they began expanding those fields.

That fall, when the villagers brought their harvest to market, they thanked the Guardian once again for delivering them. Actually, to be more precise, they gave thanks to their creator for sending them Ron. Their food reserves were full, as was their woodshed, and they had made a tidy profit with which to purchase clothing, tools, more seed, and such. It truly was a wonderful time of plenty.

Of course, as with anything in life, there are ups...and there are downs.

Less than a santari after the small band of villagers returned home in triumph, on a beautiful late-fall afternoon, a cold north wind began to push its way through the hills. That was to be expected, of course, at that time of year, but along with it came twelve heavily armed, serious-looking men. They were each well-scarred from what appeared to be many battles, and they carried weapons at the ready in both hands.

Upon entering the village, they immediately fanned out into the little community and began a search, disregarding everyone's protest. Of course, the only people milling about the houses were unarmed women and their children. The strangers forced themselves through every door until all of the inhabitants' domiciles had been inspected, and then they hiked out to the fields where the men were turning the ground over, preparing it for winter. The strangers quickly rounded up the entire group and herded them back to the village, placing them in the center of the courtyard.

"Where is the fugitive?" their leader, Mocco Nile demanded.

He received nothing but confused and frightened stares.

"We are all here," Ilsarin told him. "This is everyone in our group."

"This man!" he growled, snapping open a poster like the one Ron had seen at the land office.

They all immediately recognized the picture, but no one spoke.

"I know he is here!" Mocco announced. "The previous owner of this farm recalled him vividly. He was none too happy when this outlaw personally paid off the debt on this farm, so his memory was quite clear.

"If you give him to me now, none of you will die."

When no one offered to assist, Mocco strode forward and grabbed Avarii's arm and yanked her from the group. Oonanii lunged forward to protect her daughter, but Mocco back-handed her hard enough to knock her from her feet. Then he continued back to where he'd stood and pulled out a long knife.

"Where is the fugitive?"

They all held their tongues for the moment, but it was clear that their minds were blitzing along, frozen in a moment of indecision. Should they give up their savior to save the child? How could they not?

"If you don't speak up, I'll slit her throat! I swear it!"

Oonanii was on her feet again, and she took in a breath to answer, desperate enough to do anything to save her little girl...but it was Avarii who spoke first.

"I'll tell you."

Mocco stared down at the girl inquisitively.

"You, little one? You know where this man is?"

"Yes...at least, most likely."

The vicious man smiled a yellow, twisted smile. "Where then?"

"He stays out in the forest, in a lean-to up on that hill...when he's here that is."

"Is he here?"

"He was this morning."

Mocco signaled for six of his men to check out her story.

When they were out of sight in the woods, Avarii spoke again. Her voice was sweet and calm.

"Mister,"

"What is it?" he snapped back at her tersely, his eyes still scanning the nearby forest. He was no longer interested in what a child had to say.

"You should have brought more men."

Mocco quickly glanced down at the girl, and something in the frank, unconcerned way she'd just said that made his blood run cold.

"You men," he hissed, pointing to the other five. "Go!"

It wasn't long after those five souls had entered the wooded land before cries rang out...and then unnerving screams of pain echoed down the hillside. That pattern repeated again and again, each having its own unique pitch and tenor. And then after only twenty borts, all grew quiet once more.

Mocco was no stranger to combat and death, having served fifteen years in Navari's army. He'd been wounded more times than he could remember, and he'd faced many fearsome, worthy adversaries. But he had never come face to face with something like this. He suddenly realized he was sweating heavily, but held his ground. He waited a while longer with growing anxiety, which ultimately shifted to outright fear.

Ten borts later, when none of his ruthless, hardened men managed to return, he decided the bounty wasn't worth the apparent cost. Escape quickly became his primary focus.

His racing thoughts were suddenly broken though, when Avarii gasped lightly, forcing him to regard her yet again. She was grinning at something behind him.

His heart turned to ice!

In the next instant, three things happened. First; Mocco spun about, his hand gripping his sword's handle. Second; an arrow slammed into his right knee...the one furthest away from Avarii, forcing Mocco to go down hard with a sharp release of air in the form of a shriek of pain. And third; Ron Allison began walking toward him.

"We need to talk," Ron told the bounty hunter.

Mocco fought through the burning torrent from his knee and pulled his sword from a half-kneeling position.

Ron didn't even break stride. He flipped the knife that was already primed in his palm and it landed dead center of Mocco's shoulder...the one wielding his sword. More fire screamed inside the bounty hunter's brain and he writhed on the ground in a mad attempt to escape it...but of course that was impossible.

Ron stepped right up next to the whimpering fellow and dropped down in front of Avarii.

"Are you hurt?"

She jumped forward into a strong embrace...her arms flying around his thick neck. "No. Are you?"

Ron patted her back affectionately. "No, sweet girl. Not a scratch."

"I told him he should have brought more men."

Ron pulled back and grinned at her warmly. "Did you now?" Then he passed her off to her mother who had just run up and was vibrating from fear for her baby.

"Thank you, DanKor! Thank you-thank-you-thank you!"

Ron pulled his worried gaze from the child and it changed to one of absolute stone.

Mocco was desperately trying to scramble away...leaving a thick trail of blood behind.

Ron stepped over and looped a short length of rope around the man's ankles and then just headed off again, back into the woods.

"Sorry about the disturbance, everyone," he called back over his shoulder. "I'll just tidy up a bit."

Ron dragged the screaming man off without another word, high into the hills of his old territory. It was almost three hoz before he stopped, and by then, Mocco was looking rather grim. The underbrush had been rough on him.

Ron propped him up against a tree and secured his hands around the back. The bounty hunter's face was torn, scraped, and swollen. He seemed a bit delirious.

Ron slapped him hard enough to get his attention back.

When Mocco's eyes swam to a stop and focused on Ron's face, he cringed. He still had part of the arrow protruding from his knee.

"Please," he pleaded, "please...I've had enough!"

"Are you ready to talk?"

His head bobbed up and down in vehement agreement.

"Good. Now, if you cooperate, I give you my word that I won't kill you. Okay?"

"Yes-yes-yes...thank you...yes!"

"Who are you?"

"Mocco Nile."

"Why are you hunting me?"

"For money...a great deal of it!"

"Who posted the bounty on me?"

Panic jumped onto Mocco's face instantly.

"I-I-I-I...don't know!"

Ron sneered at the man...their faces barely inches apart...and then he growled so viciously that Mocco began to blubber almost incoherently. He'd never seen...never even dreamed of someone like Ron.

"I don't...I'm sorry...please...I don't know."

Ron gripped Mocco's skewered and bloody shoulder...his thumb sinking into the knife wound...and squeezed.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he wailed.

"WHO?" Ron bellowed back at him.

The bounty hunter was crying and gasping, his mind shattered with fear and pain.

"SOMEONE IN NEVARI! I DON'T KNOW! SOMEONE HIGH UP IN THE MILITARY GAVE THE ORDER! PLEASE! I BEG YOU! I DON'T KNOW!"

Ron released the man and stepped back. His memory brought up only one person who had seen him clear enough to have drawn that picture, and who might have had the clout to get that kind of money for his bounty.

"Brossin Negalli," he growled. "General of the northern army."

Ron turned and strode away.

"Wait!" Mocco cried. "What about me? You said you wouldn't kill me if I helped you."

Ron stopped and turned.

"I'm _not_ going to kill you."

"B-b-but if you leave me here tied to this tree, it's the same thing!"

"I never break my word," Ron insisted. "Those bindings aren't that tight. You should be loose in a short while...but listen."

Far down the slope, there was a grunting sound echoing up the hill. It sounded almost like a deep cough.

"You hear that?"

Mocco tried to listen, but the pulse of his heart pounding in his ears forbade him from hearing anything else. And too, the melee` of forest sounds...animals calling and croaking, birds chirping, and insects screeching...would have confused him anyway.

"This is the territory of a female greel...a big one. We are only fifty kez from her den, just up that rise. That sound she's making is the sign that she's caught your scent. At this time of year she's gorging herself to pack away fat for the winter. 'She' is going to kill you...and well before exposure or thirst could do the job."

He turned again, but Mocco screamed at him.

"BUT I HELPED YOU!"

Ron stopped and walked back until he was directly in front of the bounty hunter. His searing glare was filled with so much rage that he looked demented to the former soldier. Then his left hand flashed out and gripped Mocco's throat before lifting the large fellow until all his weight hinged on that point. Mocco face turned purple as his toes reached for the ground to relieve that stress.

Ron eased in until his nose was almost brushing Mocco's chin.

"You put a knife to a seven-year-old girl's neck just to get to me...to get a payday. Did you really think I would show _you_ mercy?"

He then spun about again and left the man screaming behind him.

Ten borts later there was a loud, deep, angry roar...then a new, higher pitched scream that carried on for nearly a bort...and then nothing.

Ron spent the rest of the day carting each of the bounty hunters over the ridgeline and down to a large, slow-moving river called the Saivien (wolf's leg). It wasn't the one that most of the barge traffic occupied...but one of its tributaries. They merged ten hoz downstream. The Saivien ran hard and fast in the spring, carrying icy snowmelt from way up in the high country, but after a long summer it changed its appearance dramatically. In fact, the particular area Ron was currently in wasn't much more than a bog for a hoz in every direction, until it dropped another fifty feet at a very picturesque, narrow waterfall. That swampy patch of muddy terrain was filled with the typical creatures drawn to such a place. Snakes, turtles, rats the size of dogs, wolves, and of course the far ranging leopards and greels.

By dusk, Ron had set the eleven hardened bounty hunters floating along in that mire.

"Eat up fellas," he said to the unseen inhabitants. He then turned and headed back. He didn't even blink.

A billot after sunrise on the next morning, Ron said his goodbyes to the villagers. It was a difficult scene, and many tears fell and were wiped away, but before he left, Ron gave the villagers a final directive.

"If anyone comes back here looking for me, tell them that the last time you saw me, I was in shackles being dragged away by those men...the bounty hunters. The leader's name was Mocco Nile."

Little Avarii approached Ron and held open her arms. He dropped to his knees before her and gave her one last, long hug.

"I'll miss you very, very much, my sweet little Avarii," he whispered to her.

"I'll miss you too, Ronin," she whispered back.

Ron pulled back from her to see her smiling, adorable face. He gave her a sly wink, and then he stood up, waved, and strode away into the shadows of the burgeoning day.

He was headed north. The thought that he was finally headed exactly where he'd been told to go two and a half years ago did not get past him unnoticed, but he felt that at least this time it was his decision, not another's. And too, he now had a clear, definitive objective in mind.

### Chapter Nineteen

### The Search for Ronin

"We are up to a new chapter," Josy told her audience. She gave a curious expression, and then added; "It starts off with a short notation; (BACKING UP A BIT), it says.

After a rather anxious year of searching, Arethnii had found little luck in her venture to locate the oracle's prophetic individual. She'd sent emissaries to every major city in the sprawling kingdom...thirty such places in all...but it quickly took the shape of a hopeless quest.

Once word got out of her search for any strangers demonstrating uncommon behavior or exceptional skills in battle, rumors quickly exploded in several areas. It took another year just to investigate them all.

In Gosmere, the capital city of Eshara, a newcomer to that realm seeking to gain renown and an all-expense-paid-trip to Heraitey claimed to be a great swordsman and a miraculous tactician of battle strategies, yet when Arethnii's envoys pressed the matter for proof, his efforts turned out to be far less than stellar. Balcor produced a fellow who could demonstrate astounding results with a bow and arrow, yet did not even own a sword. No less than two dozen possible leads ended with only frustration and disappointment. As is typical...especially in a primitive society without electronic communications (Ron's words that I don't understand)...most rumors turned out to be just that; rumors.

In the summer of the third year however, a fantastical tale from the most unusual of places...Nevari; Arethnii's homeland...eventually filtered its way to the queen. That account seemed to fill all her expectations and then some. In its telling, the deliverer of the story described in great detail the amazing feats this traveler from the heavens had performed, attributing over a hundred soldiers' deaths to the wraith from the sky. He was so clear and precise in his recounting that Arethnii was convinced the fellow was sincere, even if she was also as certain that he'd intentionally inflated the story to gain a bit of extra attention.

The queen immediately dispatched new messengers to that faraway northern city and asked the Regent Governor; Lord Byronin Seddith Erapson (her older brother) to authenticate the traveller's yarn. However, when formal replies finally returned, they responded that all was normal and that the region had been mostly quiet. There had been a small skirmish with some marauders from the plains, and it had cost some soldiers' their lives, but beyond that, nothing of note could be reported.

Arethnii had happily paid for the traveller's accommodations for the three santaris it had taken to receive the answer, plus a nominal pittance for his story, but when it turned out to be a false lead, her jovial attitude evaporated and she commanded he be brought before her.

It took more than half a day to find the fellow, but at last he stood before the queen.

That amount of time had given her the opportunity to reign in her anger and frustration, but she let it be seen just the same in her burning glare.

"I have received word from Nevari, Sir," she told the man, "and it does not substantiate your claim." Her voice was terse and her jaws were overtly clenched.

The fellow instantly dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the polished marble floor of the grand room.

"My queen!" he said in his suppliant state. "I swear to you that what I said was true...every word of it! I was at the trial of the field workers...hidden from view in a narrow alcove that only slaves use...that is how I still live. Those women all told the same story of the man's arrival...and of his battles with the elite Nevari Panthers. And I saw the man with my own eyes, some two weeks later. I saw him fell three Nevari warriors with only a single knife and his fist...all in the span of a single heartbeat! I personally carried him and his followers to the edge of the forest, and watched two hundred armored soldiers follow him in. And I saw the eyes of those soldiers who'd survived battle with him when they returned. They were shattered men, my queen. They shook and cast glances over their shoulders even when they stood within the safety of the city's grand walls again. They called him demon, wraith, sorcerer, Pierci's spawn, and several others I cannot speak in your presence, my queen."

Arethnii was once again moved by his impassioned words, and her intuition was telling her he absolutely believed what he said, but she couldn't reconcile his account with her report from her brother. Her disposition shifted a bit though, and she softened.

"Please rise," the queen told the fellow.

"Well, I am at a quandary. I have a formal statement from the Regent Governor that no such battles as you've described took place."

The man tensed at that. Then he glanced hastily about at the guards at his sides. Their swords were drawn.

"May I approach, my queen?"

She was hesitant, yet quickly consented with a wave of her dainty hand. She wanted to have this issue completely covered, and she knew the fellow was carrying no weapon.

The man slowly drew near and then kneeled at her feet, his eyes again shifting quickly to the guards. Arethnii motioned for them to step back a bit more, her curiosity escalating.

The man then spoke very softly, so that Arethnii had to lean forward to catch it.

"I have heard that you are wise and just, Queen Arethnii, so let me appeal to your intellect and pragmatic common sense. I am not an educated man...obviously...but I am not an idiot either. I couldn't possibly hope to invent a story such as what I've told you without expecting that you would thoroughly investigate it, so why would I have stayed in Heraitey if it were untrue? Certainly trying to fool the greatest ruler in the realm and accept payment for a fantasy would beckon your wrath, which would undoubtedly land me in prison, and I absolutely do not want to end up in chains. As I've said; I'm not an idiot.

"Now, with that said, let me caution you, Queen Arethnii. Lies flow from Nevari in rivers, your majesty. This entire event has been formally purged from the public's knowledge, and alternate explanations have been given in place of the truth in that city...under penalty of death. Something important is being protected...shielded from any unwanted inspection...but by who, I know not. Their ultimate goal is yet unclear. But I swear to you that I have spoken only the truth...and I beg you to beware! Those in power in the north cannot be trusted!"

The man then placed his head to the cold floor once again and retreated without looking at her. When he reached the guards, he rose.

Arethnii decided that since the fellow unquestioningly believed his tale was completely factual, she could not make herself punish him for it.

"I thank you for your story, sir...and for your council. You are free to go."

His face alit with joy and he pressed his palms together in a show of reverence. "Thank you, my queen. Thank you...thank you." He continued muttering his gratitude to Arethnii, and...bowing the whole way...backed out of the great hall.

Arethnii was left to ponder his warning, and it made her a bit uneasy. The way he was so wary of her personal guards really rattled her. Nonetheless, the rest of the day's duties soon distracted her, and so by the time she returned to her children, the man's dire omen was pushed far to the back of her thoughts.

More time passed and some of the fifty or so stories that reached the queen were genuinely intriguing, but upon closer inspection, each failed to qualify to what the old soothsayer had foretold...a man of such exceptional abilities that no doubt would remain once he'd been tested. She tried to stay optimistic about her prospects, but time can cause the mind to fight against itself, and eventually even betray itself.

Again and again however, the memory of what the old carrion collector had said to her resurfaced, and each time it did she felt the urge to travel to her birthplace grow. She convinced herself it was the only way she would ever be certain. However, such a trip was extraordinarily dangerous and expensive. It also took a tremendous amount of preparation. She couldn't leave the city without half a legion of troops for protection, and so every day she was on the road required support on a monumental scale. She simply couldn't justify it, especially on the word of some stranger.

It was all very trying on her psyche. Arethnii was never one to take the ancient beliefs too seriously...and definitely not literally...but something about what Oderus had said had caused her to fully expect this Ultra-man to be a real, flesh and blood person. And that possibility seemed to fit extremely well...far too well, in fact...with the story the visitor had told.

Nearly another year passed before an opportunity arose that gave the queen enough justification to okay the visit she'd grown more and more anxious to make...her brother's thirtieth birthday. Her journey began in late spring, while the weather was moderate, and she planned on turning the long excursion into a fine expedition that would visit half of the expansive breadth of Erthania, and reconnect in person with three of the four other rulers.

That all took time, of course, so it was late summer...almost a full four years since she'd heard Oderus's announcement...before she arrived in Nevari. However (and thankfully), the high altitude of the city's location kept the heat from being too oppressive, and there was always a fine dry breeze, so it was still a pleasant visit, at least in respect to the weather.

It would have been impossible to hide her arrival even if she'd tried, but that wasn't what she was after anyway, so the elaborate homecoming welcome she received was no real surprise to her and her entourage.

The streets were lined with adoring citizens proud to know that the sitting queen had once started in their little corner of the world. All the hoopla and glamour of a royal visit went smoothly, just as it had in the other towns she'd visited, and Arethnii's brother and his wife welcomed her in grand fashion.

The birthday celebration went on for two weeks and was lavish to the extreme, but it eventually gave way to the realities of leadership in an immense realm. That's when the two siblings sat down to entertain real discussions. But before the conversation turned too boring, Byronin initiated an intriguing question.

"So tell me, dear sister," he asked calmly, and with true interest in his eyes. "Did you ever find this mysterious "super-soldier" you were inquiring about some years ago?"

Arethnii said that she hadn't, of course, and they spoke of the tale she'd been told for quite a while, but he impressed upon her that he'd heard nothing of that, so the fellow must have been a con-man, or delusional. And with absolutely no proof, Arethnii could not discount his assertion.

Nevari's accounts were carefully reviewed by her personal team, and were all precise, accurate, and as they should be. Even the massive block wall that protected the city...and all other municipalities south of the northern pass...would be completed on time and within budget in another year.

Arethnii had no reason to delve any further into the workings of her brother's station, yet that very fact made her mind itch. She had found no reason to question a single thing in her old home, but uneasiness crept into her thoughts at every turn.

No other town or city had been so well managed. None could show the prosperity and economic solidity that Nevari did. It was true that each of the five kingdoms formally subsidized the city and its purpose as a shield, but nevertheless, she found it all just a little too perfect...and so she grew apprehensive. And her suspicions inevitably pointed her to her most trusted and astute council...Vessia.

Over the past three years, Arethnii had grown extremely fond of the young woman and was truly astounded by her intelligence and level of maturity. After Oderus passed on to the afterlife more than two years previous, she quickly realized that his pupil was of extraordinary acumen and deeply thoughtful. She was technically a slave...the daughter of his former servant...but her master had deliberately chosen not to have her branded, caring for her more like a daughter than a pupil, and he had actually freed her as part of his passing wishes. She had then carried on with his work just as he'd hoped, and Arethnii had never been disappointed with that fact.

As the queen spent more and more time with her during those years, she also found in Vessia a wonderful friend and confidant...viewing her almost like a little sister. The girl had no living family and no known ties that could be leveraged to jeopardize her trust, which was both sad for the girl and fortuitous for the queen. She didn't even have a husband, although Arethnii knew that many had offered, for she was quite a lovely woman. She said she simply didn't have the time for a relationship.

The queen discussed her concerns with Vessia every day of their visit in Nevari and the younger woman said nothing to dissuade her trepidation.

"I would have to agree with your skepticism, my queen," Vessia told her candidly. "It would be impossible for a city of this size to have absolutely no monetary errors. Their commerce is strong and steady, but how could everything be so prosperous that they could manage the tremendous burden of the barricade without faltering? I would have expected no less than a dozen pleas for an increase in their budget...and their coffers...due to unforeseen circumstances."

"That is my assessment as well," the queen agreed. "But if such support were indeed necessary...and being met...where could the funds be coming from?"

"Perhaps an unknown partnership?" Vessia offered.

Arethnii considered that carefully.

"That would make sense, but with whom, and to what end?"

"I don't know who, but money and/or power would be the why. Those are the usual impetuses."

"Or maybe it's something we haven't thought of," Arethnii added, "Something really nefarious!"

Vessia had learned a great deal from Oderus, and one thing was to stay calm, and reason through every situation or problem.

"Let's assume the worst for a moment," Vessia mused, sitting back in her plush seat. "If it is about power, what could be gained?

"The logical goal would be control of this city...and the protection it gives everyone south of here."

"Yes...I agree. And that kind of power could be used to extort just about anything from the other realms."

Arethnii nodded. "But that's exactly why our check and balance system was put in place...to keep that very thing from occurring. Each kingdom provides an equal number of troops and military leadership to support the ruling council here. And this assembly of five nobles is overseen by a single person; the governor, who answers directly to the high king...the ruler of Minara...which happens to be me at the moment.

"And each time a legion of soldiers is to be relieved, it is done ten hoz south of here to keep the levels inside the city as neutral as possible. Thusly, no one kingdom can gain leverage over any of the others."

"And each watches the others as a natural deterrent to those types of schemes," Vessia said, following the rationality of the plan.

"Exactly."

"Okay then. If some high official...or say, a military commander...could somehow join his forces with another kingdom's, would that work?" Vessia continued.

"I suppose it wouldn't really matter. It wouldn't be enough to upset the balance. Two thousand against the other three is still untenable...especially when the invaders would be outside the walls at the onset."

"So it would have to be more than two, wouldn't it...to have sufficient numbers?"

"Yes, and getting three to break the long-standing treaty is extremely unlikely."

"Yes, I would have to agree," Vessia nodded. "Unless," she then added, thinking very shrewdly, "these two partners managed to coordinate the relief of their troops...or even worse: at the same time another innocent exchange was occurring ten hoz away."

"Yes...that's right," Arethnii agreed, following her advisor's thoughts. "The military relief cycles were set up to assuage such a condition, but if they were to manage that somehow, and brought their own additional troops in surreptitiously, they would have a huge advantage over the forces of the others; four thousand against two.

"And they could pawn it off as a huge, innocent mistake, right up until they made their move!"

"Right. So if that's the case...if it is a power-play...how big? Would it stop in Nevari, or could it go beyond this one city? What exactly would they use their newly gained authority to do...worst case?"

"That's simple; Use it to extort control over the entire scope of Erthania," Vessia concluded.

"But the other kingdoms could send our entire armies to take back the city and restore authority."

"Yes, but that would take a great deal of time to prepare, and if these new Nevari rulers were to make a pact with the marauders of the plains, those horsemen could devastate our lands before we could restore order, leaving them as the sole wielders of power in the entire realm."

They both sat in silence for a while then, just thinking.

"But that truly sounds far-fetched, doesn't it?"

Vessia again nodded. "Very. To my knowledge, there has never been a successful parley with those barbarians." Then her brow shot upward. "On the other hand," she continued to postulate, "Let's assume the opposite. If somehow this mystery benefactor...who, for practicality in this hypothesis, must exist...is completely legitimate and everything is actually above board, why would they be doing it?"

"And why would they wish to keep it a secret?" Arethnii added. "Why go to such brutal lengths?"

Vessia nodded her agreement once more, still deep in thought.

"But that is precisely the reason it must be disreputable...," she finally concluded, "whatever _it_ is. No one would kill a group of innocent slaves and then threaten to kill law abiding citizens and their own soldiers just to stay in the good graces of some philanthropic ally.

"No, you're right. I concur. If that part of the story is true, it was all done to keep the status quo...at least in the eyes of the other kingdoms...to prevent any of those eyes from turning their way. I firmly believe that such measures would only be justified by the most unsavory of individuals, and they...in turn...must be hiding some very dangerous secret."

"I see what you mean," Arethnii agreed. "All their efforts to cover up what really happened have been to stymy any attention...any attention at all, actually. And that would also explain the infusion of money toward the construction project too, because to ask for increases, in either funds or manpower, would invite closer scrutiny of the city's finances and eventually require an oversight team be sent from Heraitey. If that were to occur, this alliance might be discovered...a circumstance I would have to guess they wished very badly to avoid."

Vessia saw the wisdom in her thinking. " _That_ does make the most sense. And if what the old man had told you is true...the story of the super-soldier...that would have had similar results...unwanted scrutiny...thus pressuring whoever is in charge to quell any spread of that tale, and suppress any further investigations."

"Yes. I would agree with that as well. And my visit probably isn't helping ease their minds just now either, so I would expect maximum pressure is being applied to keep this...whatever it is...a conspiracy?...quiet."

"If there even is one...as we have absolutely no proof there is."

Arethnii nodded her concurrence again.

The real problem Arethnii faced was that no one had made any attempt to bring these matters...if there was something...out into the light. And for her to use her royal authority to begin inquiries without invitation or just cause would be perceived as a glaring insult...an open accusation of distrust. That would no doubt have abrasive, if not disastrous results to the relations of the five kings...and possibly to the entire realm of Erthania...for no king or governor would wish to find himself, or herself, in such a position. And beyond the political calamity of it, success in any investigation into a foreign city's affairs was far from a certainty even if she did decide to take that unprecedented step.

The two ladies sat in silence for a while longer, just thinking.

Finally, after a bit more hypothesizing, the queen consented to a simple, hopefully innocuous, covert plan that Vessia derived. She (Vessia) would go out into the city to investigate the one thing that might still be verifiable; the story the traveler had told Arethnii, for she felt assured that if it were true, then the mysterious conspiracy...whatever it might entail...must also be. They both felt it would be challenging to discover conclusive proof with such violent decrees being in place, but Vessia was confident that a tale like that could not be completely bottled up forever.

She would leave behind the trappings of her high status and go dressed as a commoner. It was viewed as somewhat of a gamble, just due to the day to day hazards of life in that status (thieves and ruffians preying on the citizens), but in a city like Nevari, it was a relatively small one. And as far as blending in, generally women milling through the marketplaces of any city drew little attention amongst themselves, even when they took a stab at gossip. That was the case there as well, but since Vessia was a stranger, she knew it would take time, so she rented a small apartment in the market district and began her campaign.

After a week and a half, she'd gleaned a fair amount of information concerning the general, middle-class workings of the city from bits of several conversations she could catch amongst the shoppers. But there was no talk of past events, troubles, or attacks, and absolutely nothing at all about any super-soldier.

She grew bolder and befriended a few of the younger women, thinking them the most likely to open up to her, but she simply couldn't find a logical reason to interject her line of questioning into their short visits.

At last though, she caught a vague slip from the unlikeliest sources; one of the marketer's children...a boy of about ten. He was off in a nearby alley, play-sword-fighting with a few of his friends. There was a scuffle, and then one of them hissed at the others;

"I don't want to be a Nevari soldier anymore. I want to follow 'The Great One'!"

That wouldn't really have caught her attention, but it was the reaction of the group that did.

"Shhhh/shhhh/shhhh," issued from three of the four boys simultaneously. "Are you mad?" questioned one. "Shut your pie hole!" growled the oldest.

Then they all spun about, searching every angle for anyone who might have overheard.

Vessia saw which young lad had made the statement, but turned her back and raised her eyes to the second floor of a nearby store....pretending to be very interested in the sign there...as they glanced her way.

The boys immediately dispersed in different directions, just to be sure.

It took another four days before she could catch the youngster alone to question him. She pretended to 'accidentally' bump into him as he came out of one of the stables. He'd been sent to fill a basket with straw... "Clean straw!" his mother had clarified...to protect a dozen eggs she wished to sell to a local merchant. His father worked at the stables, two blocks away, so that was where he'd gotten the straw.

"I'm terribly sorry," Vessia told him as she helped him up. "That was completely my fault, young sir."

It was a lovely, bright sunny day, and her face caught the full impact of it as he arose with his eyes locked onto hers. She was a very comely woman and she dazzled him with an entrancing smile.

"Oh, that's okay," he told her, his gaze unblinking.

"You're not injured?"

"Course not," he replied, throwing his shoulders back and standing tall. "I'm a lot tougher than I look!"

He was a slight youngster...rail-thin and wiry.

"I bet you are," Vessia acknowledged, grinning all the more, "but let me make it up to you anyway...alright?"

He would normally have been suspicious of any stranger's offer, no matter how small, but he just couldn't bring himself to distrust her.

"Okay. How?"

"Here, how about a bite of estle."

(Estle is Nevarian candy, like taffy. It was a rare treat to citizens in the lower classes.)

"Wow!" he said, his eyes wide and his mouth grinning madly. "Really? Thanks, lady!"

"You're welcome. It's the least I can do after knocking you down."

Vessia paused a moment, waiting until the boy had tasted the sugary dessert.

"I'm Asaria," Vessia told him, (Asaria was her middle name that almost no one knew.) "and I must confess that I've seen you several times on my trips to the market, but I'm afraid I've never caught your name?"

"Ev-er-in," he got out between chomps. The estle was very chewy and tried to glue his teeth together with every bite.

She walked with him slowly back toward the marketplace, both of them chewing the sweet candy.

"Do you like it?"

"Oh yes!" he grinned.

When they were out of earshot of any passersby, Vessia began her interrogation.

"By the way," Vessia continued. "I unintentionally overheard you and your friends playing last week and I was wondering who you were talking about. This...Great One."

Everin stutter-stepped immediately, his head swinging left and then right several times as he scanned the area. He stopped after another moment and swung around to face Vessia.

"Shhhhhhhh!" he hissed, sugary spittle slipping out of his mouth in his haste.

Vessia pulled up short, her brows raised out of surprise.

"What?" she asked innocently. "What did I say?"

Everin shoved the candy to the side of his mouth and gulped down the juices.

"You can't talk about him!" he urged her, whispering harshly. "It's forbidden!"

"Oh! I'm sorry! I'm not from here. I'm from the south. Please forgive me. I was just curious. I won't say another word."

She then brushed her fingers down the side of his hair and stroked his chin, all while displaying that devastating smile.

Her bright teal-colored eyes and perfectly glorious face melted him in an instant. She was very astute and knew what would work on a young man.

"Naw, it's okay," he said back, returning her grin with a crooked little one of his own. "Nobody's around...and I hate all the orders anyway. Bunch of liars and bullies. They can't hide what really happened!"

"Oh...and what's that?"

Everin looked all about once again and then leaned up close to Vessia. She still maintained her innocent air of curiosity.

"Well, you see...this man came right out of the sky one day in this giant black egg. He argued with one of the army's outer patrol leaders and then wiped out an entire legion of our soldiers with his bare hands! Then he headed off into the forest. I heard he was as big as a nurote and as strong as a greel...and he had fangs!"

"Really?" Vessia replied, displaying shock and fear. "Where was this...where he fell from the sky, I mean?"

Everin spun about and pointed in the direction of the far-off fields.

"Out in the farmland...south of the city."

"Why did he land there? What did he want?"

Everin just shook his head. "I don't know."

"That's too bad. I've heard rumors and stories, back in my homeland, but they're too fantastic. They can't be true."

"I wouldn't be so sure, cause from what we've heard, anything's possible with that guy!"

"Do you know his name?"

Everin looked all around once again and then bid Vessia lean down so he could whisper in her ear.

"Those who were impressed called him "The Great One" because they claimed he was the finest warrior they'd ever seen. Others...those who were terrified of him...called him Vanta Sosha."

"The reaper's hand?" she said a bit louder than she should have.

"Shhhhhhh!" he hissed, his eyes flaring in all-out fear. "You can't say it!"

"Oh, yes...of course. Sorry."

They began their walking again at that point.

"That all sounds very intriguing and exciting!" she whispered after a while, giggling a bit to add to her ruse. "Do you know anyone who might be able to tell me more? I'd be willing to pay them. And I'd pay you too, of course...for helping me."

Everin could tell that she had money, even though she wore simple clothing. Poor people can always spot rich ones.

She saw him tilt his head to the side for a moment, and then he looked up at her.

"How much?"

"What about two silver pince for you," she replied, watching his eyes grow large again, "and ten for the storyteller?"

Everin's mouth shot open as he stopped to gape at her.

"Seriously?"

She pulled at the strings of her purse and produced the silver a moment later.

The boy whistled long and low. Two silver pince was more money than his parents saw all year. His brain jumped into high gear in a blink.

"Well, the perfect person to talk to would be someone who was working the crops that day...but they're all gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

Everin just looked down and shook his head. "The Guardian has them now."

"Oh," Vessia said, clearly taken aback. "The man from the sky?"

"No...at least not that I heard. No, we saw the sentencing announcement. Me and my older brother had snuck into the trial, you see...hiding under the ground...in the storm drain. We sometimes play in there when the weather is dry. Anyway, everyone who helped...you-know-who...that day was called a traitor and sentenced to death. They were executed."

"Executed?" she reiterated, acting openly shocked at that. In fact, she was mortified that it was true.

He nodded sadly.

"Except for four, from what I heard...but they're gone too...not dead, just gone."

"I don't understand."

Everin took another careful look around and explained.

"You see, from what I heard...and I got it from the son of a guy working the wall that day...one woman went with...uh...'him' that first night into the forest. Then just before the final group of traitors were going to be put to death, this guy...you-know-who...shows up...right here in Nevari...and helps three of the women escape. He slaughtered the guards posted that day and took the women out in one of the 'Collectors' wagons! Can you believe that? And one of the two men who worked the wagon went with them into the woods too."

"What happened to the other one?"

"Two soldiers hauled him to the jail and questioned him for a week. Then I heard they 'disappeared' him."

"What about the soldiers? Do you think any of them would tell me?"

"Oh, no. I don't think so. Not even for twenty pince. Anyone who survived those battles wouldn't say a thing, cause if they did, their entire family would be killed."

"Really? Who gave that order?"

"Some military commander, I guess. Somebody real high up."

"Oh...I see," Vessia replied softly. "My goodness. And there's no one else who might know?"

Everin thought hard for a few more moments.

"Maybe someone who was working on the barrier wall that day...you know...the guys building the new stone section...I don't know."

"But that wall is on the north side of the city."

"Yeah, but the section to the west has a pretty good view of those fields, the way it winds around...just there."

He pointed off in the direction he'd indicated.

Vessia gave Everin the two silver pince. "Thank you, Everin."

"But I didn't do anything," he replied, astonished at her offer.

"You pointed me in the right direction. I'll take it from here."

Vessia then turned to leave.

"But what am I going to tell my parents? You know...about how I got this money?"

She looked back as she walked, smiling sweetly.

"Tell them you helped a lady out of a tight spot and she was grateful."

Another couple of days ticked by while Vessia switched mental gears and adjusted her tactics to fit the new venue of her goal. It would take some careful planning, a great deal of nerve, and even more luck. She eventually found an opening that would get her where she needed to go by volunteering to take water to the men working on the massive wall, pretending to be a slave girl.

Up until that point, she'd been making regular reports to the queen, but decided to tell Arethnii nothing of this alternate plan, as she knew the queen would forbid it. She then had to teach herself how to draw a slave brand onto her own face...one convincing enough to pass close inspection...and act the part as well, which was the hardest part. She'd never felt herself a slave, so she knew nothing about the way they really thought, but she was very intelligent, and watched real slaves' interactions out in the city closely as she prepared.

Once she felt she was as ready as she could be, she reported to one of the slave centers, claiming her master had sent her there as punishment. She'd even written herself some formal papers stating that assertion. Then she went into training, which was basically a quarter-billot of instruction of where to go and what to do.

It was grueling work for someone like her, never having had to perform manual labor in her duties for the queen, but she'd set her mind to the mission and would not be deterred.

She acclimated to the tasks quickly and found dozens of innocent ways to hover around any conversations that were taking place. That way she learned the names of all the workers and where they were from. Once that was set, she very delicately questioned everyone about how long they'd been on duty there, searching for anyone who was around when the alleged event had taken place. The problem was that it had been a long time ago, and the men who worked the project were mostly transient, so they didn't stay long. She had no luck at all for another full week and grew frustrated. She was a woman of staunch determination though, so every day she went through her tedious process and pressed onward.

One day however, things went decidedly bad, and changed her outlook...and her life...forever.

Whenever she wove her way through the gruff, filthy, hard-working laborers, Vessia was always careful to stay out in the open, so as to deter too much unwanted attention. After all, she was a young, attractive woman amongst hundreds of unpleasant men. In fact, many of the laborers were actually convicted criminals trying to work off their sentences. Those fellows however, turned out to be less of a threat than their overseers.

### Chapter Twenty

### The Hand of Justice

It was late in the morning on a particularly cloudy day, right after a brief shower had passed over the city. Up at a thoroughly congested section of the wall, the sun managed to burst through the gloom just long enough to bake the moisture from the recent rain until the entire construction area looked like it had been consumed by a thick fog bank.

Vessia staggered a bit going up the long flight of steps to the upper walkway, slipping on the wet stone. She lugged a yoke with a pair of newly filled water skins...one draping from each of her dainty shoulders...and was trudging her way back up to the level of the thirsty workers. That surface, although designed to be wide and smooth enough to allow rapid movement of men and supplies between stations, was not as open as it would eventually be when finished. The reason for that was simple. Once construction of a section had been completed, it was utilized to store the materials that would be needed for the next. So at present it was cluttered with stone blocks, barrels of mortar material, carts for mixing, and crates of hundreds of items soon to be put to use. Those materials were stacked and jammed until there was barely room for men to walk beside them, and some sections were piled with various things more than eight feet high.

Down that narrow avenue, Arethnii's friend and novice spy scurried as quickly as she could, until she heard the sound of heavy, booted feet approaching. That occurred often, of course, due to the nature of the project, and so when it did, she would have to press herself to the side amongst that clutter to let the larger men get by...those who traveled between the work zones. She didn't pay particular attention to those fellows...always trying to lower her gaze and fade into the background to avoid trouble, as any diligent woman would have in those circumstances. But in doing so at one particular moment, she failed to acknowledge her immediate surroundings, and so she didn't notice exactly what was happening until it was too late.

She was just going by a tall stack of miscellaneous goods when she saw the owner of those boots...one of the overseers...heading her way. At a narrow gap between four pallets of materials, she eased herself into a niche with her yoke pressed against those supplies as flat as she could get it. Then she cast her gaze toward the ground and waited. The man approaching her suddenly stopped though, blocking her path to the left...and then she heard the scuff of a different boot, finding another fellow blocking her path to the right.

When she realized they'd paused, she chanced a sidelong glance at the reason. The fellow in that direction was staring at her with a snide grin upon his face. Vessia had just enough time to feel an icy shudder race up her spine before two sweaty long arms enveloped her torso and yanked her backward into darkness. The water skins immediately fell to the walkway with a firm 'splat' as the yoke was literally wrenched from her hands.

In that dimly lit space, Vessia struggled fiercely, but found herself severely overmatched by her assailant who handled her in a decidedly rough fashion and spun her about. Before her eyes could adjust to the darkness, the young woman felt strong hands on her body. She slapped at her antagonist and tried to scratch him, but a heavy blow to her delicate face rattled her badly and blurred her mind.

During those few litas of scrambled haze, she felt her simple dress brutally ripped from her figure in three hasty yanks before the stranger's fingers began dancing across her naked skin. She recoiled back against one of the barrels, but instantly found no more room to move, and then a moment later there was a man's stinking breath in her face. One hand pressed up against her bare breast while another searched out her nether area until she felt one of his fingers dive into her. That brought her senses sharply back around and she gulped air in to scream, but the grip on her breast rapidly switched to her mouth and stifled any outcry she might make. She squirmed again and attempted to bite and kick the man, but just as fast, he grabbed her backside and snatched her off her feet, slamming her down prone, atop her ruined dress.

Again, Vessia struggled, but the man was large and she was small, and in a blink, he was astride her slim figure and had her pinned in place without much effort. Another fellow then slipped up next to them and hastily shoved some disgusting cloth into her mouth. Afterward, that fellow tied her hands with a short length of rope. They'd apparently prepared well for the attack.

Vessia thought her mind would explode, so terror-stricken was she. Tears flowed from her gorgeous bluish-green eyes in rivers, and her heart raced faster than a hummingbird's wings. She screamed and screamed inside, pleading to the gods to get her back to her queen...to safety. But even as she prayed, she knew that help would not come. Her veil of secrecy was well made, and for that very reason no one she trusted had a clue as to where she was.

The man above her scuffled about in the dark for a few moments and she knew he was removing his trousers.

Then he forced her legs apart and dropped atop her.

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" she roared through the gag, trying to scream again, her throat ready to burst from the pressure of her efforts.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Was what she was bellowing inside her mind. "Oh Creator above! HELP ME!"

To an untold number of recipients of similar attacks across Erthania, their pleas had gone unheeded, their lives irreparably changed and their pride and even their sanity shattered. It was, unfortunately, a common occurrence in that harsh, unrefined land. However, at this one specific moment, for some unknown reason she would never comprehend, his reply came swiftly...and violently!

"Hoah!" shouted the third man, the one keeping lookout. "Stop there, frien..."

Instantly, there was a loud snapping sound...then a muffled scream of pain, like when a dog is kicked by its abusive owner. That utterance was so pathetic that anyone hearing it would have cringed at the sound, guessing the creature issuing it had been gravely injured, and a gut-twisting response of sorrow would have followed. However, the deliverer of that abuse was not moved in the slightest, and five more blows landed so fast they were difficult to count, each followed by wincing puffs of pain-racked coughs...and then there was a final crunching noise.

Immediately following that sickening sound, the second man who was crouching beside Vessia...grinning maniacally and keeping her hands pinned...vanished, like he'd been attached by a rope to a heavy weight that had just been tossed off a cliff. His surprised outcry faded away quickly too, as if he were suddenly flying to some far off place.

That was all so bizarre and unexpected that both Vessia and her primary attacker were frozen in shock, confused, and stunned. However, the next moment delivered something so outlandishly frightening that it would be branded in Vessia's brain until the day she died...as vividly as the attack would be...but with a wholly different feeling.

"GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" reverberated through the small space where she lay trapped. It was a deep, horrendously terrifying sound that cracked and popped distinctively...its very utterance dripping with absolute, guttural, primordial menace.

(To give that sound some kind of context would need a comparison, so: Vessia had visited a large, traveling circus near Heraitey once, and in it had been a great feline beast from a far off land. Its fur had been brown, black, and tan mottled, and it had paced back and forth inside a large cage brandishing long daggers for teeth at all the people looking on. One man who worked in the circus had dragged a large stick across the bars of the cat's cage and it had responded. That creature had crouched low, with its ears flattened against the sides of its skull, and it had uttered a sound that was teeming with vile loathing and utter hatred. That was the most petrifying, insidious growl she'd ever heard...that is, until this day.)

She instantly forgot her predicament as a new wave of fear shot through her body like a bolt of lightning. Her skin went cold as ice and her eyes locked onto that narrow opening with unblinking horror.

What stared back at her was no wild animal though...no greel, or voral, or panther. What glared into that space with eyes that glowed bright with detestation was something much, much worse. It was a huge man!

The cruel, lust-filled fellow astride Vessia's petite body also felt the icy needles of fear race through him and quickly abandoned his seedy desire in an attempt to retreat further into the darkness, but the outer wall of stone forbade his efforts as solidly as the barrels had stayed Vessia, and so he threw up his arms to shield himself. That of course was a clear plea for pity. However, to the enraged fellow glaring into the small, makeshift alcove, the man had offered none to his victim, so in turn, he received the same.

The intruder lunged forward so quickly that Vessia's attacker; Bolronin (the morning work-detail's overseer) barely flinched before he was snatched from his position and hurled outside against the inner wall of that upper roadway. It was four feet high and two feet thick...built from massive blocks of solid granite. He struck it at his right shoulder, and that appendage did not sustain the impact well.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" he screamed in a high-pitched wail of abject agony, but his assailant was not yet done. The stranger pounced on Bolronin like a tiger on a lamb, and in the following five litas broke six more bones in places that would leave him forever crippled and unable to even consider such an attack again.

Once Bolronin was reduced to a mere cowering, broken lump on the stone walkway, the intruder arose and swung back around to face the dark niche where Vessia still lay. She was trembling uncontrollably from fear, shock, panic, and a monumental rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. But just when she thought she was going to meet an even more horrible fate, this brutish creature in the form of a man held his hands up and to the sides of his impossibly broad shoulders, and then he spoke.

"I swear to you that I intend no harm," he said in a deep voice that was as smooth as silk and openly tinged with boundless compassion. "I am truly sorry I couldn't get to you sooner," he continued, "but I saw them take you from some distance."

Vessia still hadn't blinked once, her bright, tear-filled eyes absorbing her savior's appearance like tattooing a picture on her synapsis. He stood in the opening with the dim cloud-covered sky illuminating him well, at least in comparison to the dark space she lay in.

He was tall...not overly so...but easily more than a head taller than her. His bare shoulders were impressively rounded and his arms bulged with taught muscle. The empty hands he yet held up were large and, she guessed by what he'd just done to her attackers, extremely powerful. He wore a sleeveless shirt that wasn't much more than a small vest, and it did little to hide the wide, heavily muscled chest and abdomen beneath. His pants were made of some animal hide, as was his boots...giving him the appearance of a simple woodsman, or hunter. But even though he dressed the part, she instantaneously knew he was neither...and both. His face was one of perfect symmetry, with a jaw as solid as a stone block, and his eyes were totally mesmerizing. They were bright silver. Just gazing at him forced a rush of heat and ice to blast through her body at the same time. The aura he exuded was that of absolute confidence, unimpeachable honor, unflinching bravery, and even...she gulped at the realization of it...total savagery.

When she didn't respond to his assurances, the man slowly approached, crouching as he closed the gap until his head was inside the dark niche. When his eyes had adjusted, he saw her condition, so he quickly glanced about and jerked a tarp off a stack of straw bales a moment later.

With that cover in his hands, he drew closer.

Vessia watched him as if in a dream...him gliding up to her, and her frozen and silent.

"I'm going to take the gag from your mouth...all right?" he said softly.

Vessia didn't move.

His right hand dropped the tarp and slid to the side of his hip, returning to view with a long knife in it. For some unknown reason, she didn't flinch at all, her gaze still locked on his blazing eyes. He slipped the blade along her delicate cheek and the cloth parted neatly. Then, his hand pulled back slowly and he tugged the wad of wet material from between her teeth.

"Uuuuh!" she gasped, breathing freely for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Now, your hands," he whispered, still moving very slowly.

She held up her hands, already blue from the lack of blood flow, and again the knife slipped in to free her.

"Are you badly injured?" he asked, his voice heavily laced with concern.

She managed to vibrate her head to the negative.

"Then we must go."

Cutting her bonds was the last time he did anything slowly. In a blink she was wrapped soundly inside the tarp and the man then scooped her up like a loaf of bread, heading back the way he'd come. A moment later and she felt herself dropping swiftly, that sensation taking her breath away. He'd reached the nearest set of stairs and was practically flying down them.

Suddenly alarm horns began blaring away off to the west, and she felt him accelerate to a dead run.

"I have to answer that call," he told her, his voice steady and calm even as he ran headlong with her cradled in his arms. "There's some kind of trouble outside the wall."

Through the streets they raced, weaving along the narrow lanes in a blur, until he reached one of the staging areas for the female slave workers...not the one she'd reported to, but one very similar. When he barged inside, every woman dropped to their knees and bowed their head. A free man was amongst them.

"Please take care of her," he pleaded, lowering Vessia to her feet and turning about without a moment's hesitation.

The women all looked up at him in a confused manner. No one had ever said please to them.

"Of course, Master," the most senior woman... Ninatii...chirped out. "But her owner should be..."

"She is no slave," the man explained hastily, taking a single step to the side. He reached over to a nearby oil lamp and dipped his forefinger into it, immediately transferring that digit to Vessia's slave mark. It rubbed off instantly.

"You see?"

In another blink, he was striding through the doorway.

Vessia broke from her shock-entrenched, dazed stupor finally and chased after him, the tarp grasped tightly about her.

"But wait!" she cried just as his broad shoulders brushed the open portal to the street. He halted there, his right hand gripping the heavy wooden support and his head turned only enough so that he might hear her words more clearly. "Who, may I ask, is it that saved me from my attackers? What name might I speak tonight when I thank the gods for their deliverance?"

All within the large room could tell that the man was in a grave hurry. His body language bespoke his haste as clearly as if he'd stated the fact. But nonetheless he remained another moment, as if contemplating the need to give an answer, and then those huge round shoulders swung about as he half-turned, his eyes locking with hers again. They stood barely a foot apart.

Vessia felt his gaze upon her like a physical thing...like it enveloped her in an unbreakable cocoon of heat...and she felt her body temperature spike sharply in the fire of that moment.

What she didn't...couldn't...know was that when he caught her gaze, he felt exactly the same way. It was a reaction he hadn't felt in years, and had wondered if he ever could again...but there it was. He absorbed every fine detail of the tantalizing beauty before him. Her mane of bouncing chocolate curls, the gentle cleft of her delicate chin, and the slight hint of dimples upon her rosy, flushed cheeks were all entrancing and alluring to the point that he felt completely disarmed of even the most basic attempts at secrecy or guile. And her eyes! They were huge teal-colored gems with gold flecks radiating from their pupils, and were framed in the longest lashes he'd ever seen on a woman. His chest felt tight and he didn't even breathe. Her lips were deep red, no doubt flushed from the recent events, but he guessed that they would be extremely soft and incredibly delicious.

He spoke softly, his entire focus only on her.

"My name is Ron--."

At that very instant, the blast repeated, drowning out his answer...and then he was gone.

### Chapter Twenty-one

### The Truth Always Comes Out

No one spoke for the next full bort while every pair of eyes stared at the empty space of the doorway.

Vessia stood there, frozen in place...her chest heaving and her whole body shaking.

"What did he say?" her mind questioned...obviously stumbling and uncertain of itself after all she'd just been through. "Ron--?"

Ninatii finally broke the spell.

"Well!" she huffed out. "That's something you don't see every day!"

Vessia and the six other women slowly turned her way, their heads nodding absentmindedly in agreement.

During her "undercover" outings, Vessia had made friends with many of the other women doing similar duties. Her charming personality was welcomed and inviting, so when she gazed about, it was easy to find some familiar faces in the room. Three in fact. They rushed to her quickly.

Are you injured, Mistress?" one of them asked.

"No, Mylanii. Not really."

"You weren't...he didn't...violate you, Miss?"

Vessia shook her head vehemently. "No-no-no...not him! No...he _saved_ me from three others who most definitely would have."

Her mind raced back over the last five borts, reliving the harrowing ordeal in a flashing moment that made her shut her eyes and her whole body quiver and quake.

"If not for that man...I don't know what all would have happened."

The slave women quickly began to organize themselves from there, jumping into action to get Vessia cleaned up and dressed. After all, a free woman could not be allowed to return to her home through the streets without proper coverings...although they begged her forgiveness in the meager attire they could scrounge.

"Mistress," Mylanii finally said, when Vessia was clothed again, "we have all been wondering...why is it that you disguised yourself and have been volunteering to do work that slaves normally do? You had to know that it put you in danger of just this kind of attention."

Vessia nodded slowly.

"Yes. That is true. But I thought if I was careful enough, I could get away with it."

The clutch of women didn't move. She hadn't answered the question.

Vessia hesitated, biting her lip as she glanced from one onlooker to the next.

"I was trying to get some information."

"About what, Mistress?" the older woman; Ninatii, asked. "What could be so important?"

Vessia decided to go for broke. She couldn't return to her duties after the attack anyway, so what harm could come of speaking the truth? She was, after all, very close to the queen and thereby feared no repercussion from any Nevari law.

"About what happened four years ago...the stranger...the man sent down from the gods!"

Everyone backed away from her immediately, like she was suddenly tainted with a deadly disease.

Ninatii, hurried to the doorway and glanced about hastily, uttering, "Sh-sh-sh-sh!"

The others fell to their knees and bowed their heads.

"That is forbidden!" Mylanii whispered in a harsh tone. She was clearly terrified, as were all the others.

"Then it is true?" Vessia remarked, a bit shocked that such a wild tale was confirmed for the third time.

Ninatii returned to Vessia and knelt at her feet. "By the Lord's decree, it is death to utter a single word about that."

Vessia was terribly confused. "The Governor ordered this?"

"No-no-no," Ninatii replied. "He was away in Gosmere on some business. The leader of the army handled the entire matter. He wanted the entire subject wiped clean!"

"What leader?"

They all paused a moment and then everyone shook their heads.

"We don't know, but word spread quickly, and at least a dozen people were executed for discussing it."

"But why?"

The women all shook their heads again and remained silent. It was not a slave's place to ask why.

Vessia saw that they were adamant, but she wished to put one more opportunity out to them.

"I want you all to know that I have direct contact with Queen Arethnii and she will protect anyone with information about that event and grant any slave their freedom for such information, plus twenty silver pince with which to start a new life."

The women all snapped their heads up in unison, totally amazed at that statement.

"But let me caution you, it must be firsthand knowledge...not hearsay or wild speculation derived from stories overheard from others. She has already heard enough of that. And this offer must remain as quiet as possible! Do not speak of it to your masters. The queen has long suspected a cover-up of the incident involving the elite citizens of Nevari, and to open the city up to her suspicions could well be inviting an assassination attempt. Do you all understand?"

They nodded.

"I would never wish to threaten any of you...truly I wouldn't...but this is something vastly important to her. So...just to be clear...if word gets out about this little discussion, it will certainly be tracked back to you all...and endangering the queen is no small crime. And I now know each and every person in this group."

They nodded again.

"Now, if anyone is willing to come forward, the person who arranged it will be rewarded ten silver pince, so it may be worth your effort, and the risk.

Their eyes widened at that.

"To claim your fee, you need only to go to the 'Auspicious Market' on Fanellin Street at the end of the day and put in a request for melosian stew meat at the butcher's shop; 'The Prime Cut'. They will summon me straight away.

"Now, I thank you all for your help...sincerely...and wish you only good fortune."

Vessia then took her leave of the slave coordination center.

Instead of reporting in to Queen Arethnii however, she went straight to her rented room beside the market and began her vigil. It lasted only two days. She was brimming with excitement when she met with the person, and even more so after interviewing her. Vessia then arranged for the informant to meet the queen the following day.

While she packed her things to return to Arethnii's circle of safety, she mentally rebuked herself for overlooking what she should have known at the beginning; to truly see the inner workings of a village or city, you need look no further than the most invisible part of them...the servants. She didn't need to impersonate one. She just needed to talk to them. Many people regarded slaves as totally insignificant...part of the background...and didn't even think to hide things from them. After all, to besmirch or betray one's master was to ask for a horrible death. Luckily, in this instance, no such treachery was necessary.

That next afternoon Vessia returned to the royal apartment with a treasure trove of information...but unfortunately much of it was exactly what Arethnii had feared.

"There does seem to be great angst in the minds of the people, my queen," she reported. "And I'm not talking about the obvious...the impending danger of attack out on the plains. No, these feelings were there before the call-to-arms.

"Apparently, wealthy foreigners wearing unknown sigils visit often in your brother's city, and it makes the regular folks nervous. After all, this city is really nothing more than a fortress, so how could it be generating so much outside interest? There are rumors of every devious sort, of course...foreign allegiances...plots of a power-grab...or even open war within Erthania. I could find no tangible facts to give them credence, but the citizens are very keyed up."

Arethnii had picked up none of that from her brother. Their relationship was as easy as when they were kids. There had been a time when she'd feared he might become jealous when the prince had chosen her as his bride ten years past, but he'd never even hinted at such feelings. And he was her older brother who'd taught her so many things when they were young, like any brother would. He'd always looked after her and protected her from the world outside the walls of their plush home. And she adored him.

Arethnii sat calmly on her bed as she and Vessia discussed the news like they were having a slumber party, but her mind was sailing along at breakneck speed. She finally diverted her thoughts for a new subject though.

"And what about the other matter?" she asked.

"That's the best news of all!" Vessia replied.

Arethnii's eyes alit with fire.

"Tell me!"

"Better than that," she hissed with excitement. "I have brought someone here to tell you herself."

Vessia then leaped from the massive bed and raced over to a narrow door the servants used to enter and exit when cleaning the room or completing their other duties. There was a young girl of barely fourteen years waiting outside with wide eyes and a nervous expression on her face.

"Come in," Vessia said excitedly. "Come in!"

She then practically dragged the startled girl over to the edge of the queen's bed.

The girl immediately dropped to her knees when she saw the person sitting upon the opulent divan.

"My queen!" she chirped with her head down.

"This is Miralinii," Vessia said. "She was actually there! She saw the whole thing!"

Arethnii sat where she was, totally stunned, her mouth agape.

"Is this true?" she asked.

Miralinii was so scared that all she could do was nod in a trembling, vibrating manner.

"Come on then, Vessia," Arethnii urged, her hands practically flapping as she beckoned them toward her. "Get her up here!"

Miralinii had been washed and dressed in the finery of the queen's personal servants so that she wouldn't draw attention when summoned to her personal chamber, but she wasn't ready to be hauled onto the bed of the queen of the most powerful kingdom and the most heralded city in the entire known world. And in the first few moments of the experience, she really thought she'd faint. However, Arethnii was prepared for sleep and so wasn't wrapped in the normal regal attire, so that helped quell her anxiety a bit. And when she practically begged the girl to begin...not ordering her to, but more like a friend would plead...Miralinii began to relax.

Miralinii then went on to tell her queen the entire story of what had occurred outside the walls of Nevari four years ago when the giant egg fell from the sky...and it was even more exciting than what the carrion collector had said.

Miralinii had been in preparatory training in the fields that day, getting ready to assume the duties of a typical slave girl assigned to the farming section of the city.

When the sky darkened as Ron's pod sailed over her head, she'd turned to see...and she couldn't remember blinking for the rest of the day after that.

She described the distinct thud of the heavy ball and the huge cloud of dust that it cast into the air, how the parachutes had gently slid to the ground in absolute silence and then evaporated, and how the egg had suddenly burst open to deliver its cargo. She'd even raced across the field after the fantastic warrior when he'd headed off to find Lasinii, and had stood less than fifty kez from each of the skirmishes as Ron fought his way to the forest, and freedom.

Arethnii and Vessia both noticed that Miralinii was very bright and spoke well, with unexpected clarity and a smooth delivery of exquisite detail in her storytelling. The only disappointing part of the narrative was the lack of a real conclusive description of the man himself. His hair had been long and shaggy, and in the sun, his eyes had been blacked out as with all Erthanian men, and a thick, wiry beard had obscured the details of his face.

Vessia got up, deep in thought, and strode across the large room to refill her drink cup, but tossed a question back at Miralinii.

"I don't suppose you caught his name?" she asked, recalling how she'd nearly forgotten to do that with her own savior.

"Oh! Yes! My apologies, my queen," she said, turning to Arethnii. "I must confess that I didn't actually hear him say it, but the other women called him Ronin Also--"

'CRASH!' Resounded throughout the room as Vessia lost her grip on the cup she carried and it, in turn, upset the tray of wine and other spirits on the dresser, sending the entire array of metal tankards and goblets smashing to the stone floor.

At first, she couldn't even react to the deafening clatter...her mind had completely locked up with the mention of that name. But then she snapped back into motion and realized what a disaster she'd made.

"I'm so sorry, my queen!" she called out, dropping to the floor to begin gathering up the mess. Two guards standing watch outside the queen's bedchamber heard the clamor and burst through the doorway to see what might be the matter.

"Forgive me, Queen Arethnii," they shouted in unison. "Are you alright?"

"Yes-yes...thank you men. It was just a little mishap. We're all fine."

The men quickly withdrew from their queen's boudoir.

Arethnii and Miralinii then both went around the huge bed and hurried to Vessia.

"Vessia, are you injured?"

Vessia was shaking and terribly embarrassed, but gathered herself.

"No, my queen...not at all. It's just my clumsy nature. I lost my grip, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry!"

Three servants rushed in from the other side of the room and began cleaning the spilled drink and gathering the dishes.

Vessia had not shared her near-rape experience with Arethnii for her own privacy and to keep her friend from demanding a constant guard be posted to accompany her. She really did not want to live like that. But hearing that name had shocked her thoroughly because as she heard the sound of it, she saw her savior's lips framing those exact words.

The mess was cleared very quickly and more drink was brought in, so it wasn't long before their little chat session continued...although Vessia's mind was reeling in the background of her thoughts.

"You were telling us the man's name," Arethnii recalled. "Ronin...was it?"

"Yes. Ronin Alsone is what they said he'd told them."

Vessia felt a tingling chill race through her once more, yet she said nothing.

Miralinii then continued her story. She hadn't seen what had transpired inside the fortress when Ron came back for the other women, but she was a helper in the triage teams when the subsequent attempt at capturing him resulted in a great number of soldiers being grievously wounded or killed.

"The line of stretchers streaming from the great woods made an unbroken trail all the way to the city's gates," she told them.

The three women stayed intensely quiet after her story concluded, each solidly entrenched in their own thoughts. It dragged on for several borts without notice. Then...suddenly...

"Would you like to become part of my house?" Arethnii asked of the girl, and then recalled Vessia's original proposition to the slave women. "You are freed of course! It would be a paying job."

Miralinii was dumbstruck and just stared back at the queen for a few moments.

"Wh-bu-YES!" she finally blurted. "Yes, my queen...of course! But why? You have so many servants already."

Arethnii simply wanted her around so she could ask her again about the demigod who'd fallen from the sky, but she was also a mother and had a sweet disposition, and wanted to help the girl...to give her a chance at a better life. Being part of the queen's retinue was about as good as any woman could hope for...free or slave.

"It would be nice to have someone from my home around," Arethnii told her. "I miss the Nevari accent. My hand-maiden, Narshia, will give you the reward Vessia promised and get someone to train you in your duties. And if you are willing, make ready to travel, for we leave for Heraitey in the morning."

"Thank you, my queen! Thank you!" Miralinii repeated a dozen times as she eased out of the bed and Vessia walked her back to the servant's door.

"But Miralinii," Queen Arethnii called after her. "Please do not repeat your story to anyone...understand?"

"Yes-yes, my queen. I would not anyway...except to you of course. There is a standing decree from Lord Byronin that if anyone speaks of those events, it is treason and they will be publicly executed."

She then disappeared through the doorway.

Arethnii was left sitting on her giant bed alone with her thoughts until Vessia had secured the door once more and returned. Then they began to discuss all that they'd learned.

"This is not good," Arethnii said solemnly. "My own brother is going to vast lengths to hide Ronin's arrival from me."

"Oh, no, my queen," Vessia spoke up. "From what I could find out, your brother was away when all these events took place. In fact, he may not even know now. I think it was this military leader who buried the truth, declaring that the order came from Lord Byronin...but I don't know why. And if everyone is too frightened to even ask your brother, he may have no knowledge of it at all."

"That's plausible, I guess...if it's true, of course. This high-ranking person could possibly pull off such a scheme, if he were connected well enough. But again...who would...and why? Surely they would have known that I could have overlooked the fact that the army's leader had attacked the stranger out of ignorance, sensing a threat to the city perhaps. And then to hide the failures of his military may have explained part of the cover-up, but I've sent numerous queries across the kingdom requesting information about just that sort of person and have received nothing but lies from my home to hide the true facts. He's even ordered people's death to keep his secret. I could never condone such reasoning.

"But why would he...or they...do it?" she finally asked Vessia.

The younger woman shook her head slowly, side to side. "Obviously he...or they...are determined to keep everyone outside their control as ignorant as we are...and they are willing to go to extraordinary lengths to keep it that way."

Thoughts of an extremely dire sort were pressing their way into her mind again, forcing her to recall the various reprehensible plots and schemes she and Arethnii had imagined might be in the planning...but she didn't even dare speak them.

"This adds weight to the warnings the collector had made."

That was the first time Vessia had heard her mention any warnings.

"Why? What did he say?"

Arethnii then explained the cautions the fellow from Nevari had given her that day two years past, and so Vessia became emboldened.

"This must be what he meant. Someone here...possibly this unknown military leader...is secretly arranging a coup. But with the power he has already displayed...circumventing your brother's authority...he must be aiming higher than just ruling Nevari. Perhaps he even wishes to dethrone you...to take Heraitey for himself."

"But how? It seems impossible. If this mysterious _they_ tried to gather an army to march on Heraitey, we'd see them coming a santari in advance! And any high ranking military man would already know that our fortress is impenetrable!"

Vessia's face quickly drew back in surprise...and horror. "The wedding!"

Arethnii's lovely countenance suddenly went blank, her mind blitzing along. She hadn't given that a single thought.

"That would give him the opportunity to bring as large a force as he wished right up to the city gates with no suspicion whatsoever," the queen said softly, her thoughts racing. "And if he's somehow developed allies inside our own military, he'd be inside the walls before anyone could have a chance at defending me."

"He'd execute you at your wedding for the entire kingdom's rulers to witness," Vessia added, following her line of reasoning. "After that, he'd have every king or Regent Governor swear allegiance to him or have them executed as well. No one would even have a chance to challenge him."

"It's brilliant!" Arethnii whispered.

"But is it true?" Vessia pressed. "After all, our entire theory hinges on pure conjecture and wild speculation!"

"You're right, of course," the queen agreed. "I mean, Byronin hasn't shown a single sign of any ill will toward me...not ever. He's been calm, composed, and relaxed this entire visit. I'd think that if he were planning my death, he'd be a bit more...I don't know...terse, snide, or snippy."

Vessia nodded. "Yes, I agree. But again, as I've said, he may know nothing of this whatsoever. We'll have to gather more information. Do we have to leave tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid so. I've already put off General Arlinger longer than I should have. He wanted us to head back a week ago, when they first got word of the plainsmen approaching. You know how he gets."

"He's just looking out for you, Arethnii...keeping you safe."

"Yes-yes-yes, but sometimes it's annoying having everyone coddling you all the time. I'd like to experience a _little_ excitement every once in a while...you know?"

Vessia instantly recalled her own recent _excitement_ , and so couldn't quite agree with her queen.

"I truly hate to do this, dear Vessia," Arethnii said then, "but I think you should remain here for a while longer and see how the conflict goes."

Vessia's eyes opened wide at that, for she was trying to find a valid reason to stay already. She wanted to be there when the troops returned...to try and find her valiant rescuer.

Arethnii saw her expression of surprise and assumed it was fear, so she reacted by taking her hand and squeezing it.

"You should be completely safe, my friend," she told Vessia. "I am assured that there is no way the horsemen will breach the wall. And Byronin will see you safely home when he travels to Heraitey for the wedding, so you needn't worry."

"No, of course...I was just...that is to say...I was going to suggest that very thing...that I might stay to tally any losses we incur so that we can accurately replenish resources and men to maintain this stronghold...for the safety of the entire realm."

"Oh, good. I didn't want you to think I was running away and abandoning you here."

"No-no...of course not! I would never think that!"

Arethnii then pulled her close and hugged her tightly. "I will miss you terribly though," she told the younger woman.

"And I, you."

They separated and smiled at one another, each with eyes glistening a bit at the thought of their separation.

"And while I'm here," Vessia interjected, breaking that train of sorrowful thought, "you never know. Maybe I will overhear some useful news about that other matter."

They sat for a while longer, trying to come up with various plans that could yield the facts that they needed, but each was fraught with pitfalls they couldn't account for. Finally, in the early billots of the following day, Vessia called an end to their scheming.

"You must get some rest, my queen," she urged, slipping from the bed and heading out another door that led to adjacent rooms...the ones that held the queen's staff's accommodations.

As she walked alone down the darkened hallways however, Vessia's mind was anything but sleepy. With everything that they'd been speculating about constantly swirling around in her thoughts, another matter kept rising above it all...she couldn't stop thinking of her chivalrous champion. She could see his mouth forming the words as clearly as she saw the hallway.

"My name is Ronin Alsone, m'lady," he'd said.

"It couldn't be the same man...could it?"

### Chapter Twenty-two

### How Did I Get Here

Ron felt unexpectedly drawn to the pretty little woman he'd just saved from the clutches of those three crass fiends, and so he wanted badly to stay with her and personally see her safely home, but his chance to finalize his sole reason for being in Nevari had just materialized, so he was forced to make haste.

As he sped along through the streets however, his thoughts yet lingered on that comely maiden and suddenly he realized he'd made a clumsy error.

"You jackass!" he scolded himself. "You didn't even ask 'her' name!"

It seemed an immature, even childish oversight, but stating his own had surprised him so much that it had slipped his mind entirely, and he was three hundred kez away before he caught his mistake. By then he was within sight of the high wall and it was too late to turn back.

The first wave of soldiers was already trotting through the big gate.

He made three fast turns in the narrow streets until he reached a small storage room behind a local tavern called; "Three Fists of Ale". There he stripped completely, donned different clothes, recovered his weapons, and then sprinted out again.

The archers were filing through the massive portal by then and so Ron dropped in line with them. He'd 'borrowed' an archer's uniform a few weeks back, and had been anxiously waiting to use it because the man he was searching for...Captain (he'd been demoted) Brossin Negalli...was stationed somewhere out there, beyond the huge stone barrier. Rumors had it that Brossin had been placed in that precarious duty-post as punishment for his mishandling of some unspecified ordeal four years ago, but that was as much information as he'd been able to glean.

Ron kept his eyes sharp for signs of his charade being exposed, but the other bowmen were so keyed up that they didn't even notice he was unfamiliar.

As soon as they cleared the high arch of the northern gate he noted that the steamy fog that had obscured the morning was beginning to burn off. Patches of blue sky could be seen above them to the north, and also to the east.

Birds that normally foraged for insects among the planted crop rows took to flight by the hundreds along the path of the trotting army, frightened away by the strong vibrations of so many sandaled feet.

Out across the expansive farmland their tight formation moved at a modest pace designed to be maintained for up to a billot if need be...and that's about how long they held it. And while they ran, Ron used his time to scour the undulating ground for his quarry.

It was nearly two hoz before he saw the first signs of what he sought...the military forward command stations. There were eight in all, spanning the breadth of the wide-spread borders of tilled soil. They weren't much to look at...just tents set up on the prairie.

"Finally," he thought. "I'm getting close."

The advanced scouts had signaled that the plainsmen were within sight of their lookout towers, massing much too close to the outer fringes of the fields, and it was clear to all that the bountiful crops were in dire jeopardy.

Such a precarious situation was one with a long, harrowing history...one that Ron had only recently learned.

The city of Nevari lay at a very crucial point in the topography of Erthania's southern hemisphere. There was a narrow gap between two mountain ranges, barely a hoz wide. Pierci's Mountains lay to the west, where Ron had first escaped, and the Polaris Mountains carried on to the east. At that particular narrow location...close to the city...the terrain was decidedly different and unimposing...completely opposite of the great mountains on both sides. What had formed that drastic 'non-conformity' was impossible to decipher in that primitive land with almost no knowledge of geology. Was it the result of enormous glaciers plowing through a weak spot in the burgeoning mountain chain a million years ago? Had thousands...or possibly millions...of years allowed the weathering debris from the highlands to work its way downward from hundreds of hoz around and settle there to form the relatively flat plains that now were the plowed farmland that fed the city? It was anyone's guess.

Whatever the reason, at the edges of that rich, fruitful land, gargantuan, imposing peaks jutted upward magnificently in grandiose fashion, as if they were a colossal fence built by the Gods. They were sharp, jagged, rocky shards of granite that performed one very important purpose to the people of Nevari...and everyone who lived south of that city. They prevented the wild, fearsome, warlike horsemen of the grasslands from being able to ride their mounts any farther south, except through that bottleneck. That was where the Nevarians had constructed their wall.

According to historical documents, hundreds of years in the past, the area Nevari presently occupied was an unbarred conduit for raiders from the open plains to attack the more 'civilized' peoples to the south. When they decided to wage a campaign of conquest, they poured through the narrow gap by the thousands, ransacking, burning, raping and kidnapping women, and no one could defend against the speed and power of their mounted armies.

Such raids would take place every ten or fifteen years, and often lasted for santaris. The barbarians typically delved hundreds of hoz from their sprawling grasslands in search of adventure and the spoils they hunted for, so none in all of Erthania really felt safe.

A popular legend claimed that during the last such crusade...over five hundred years in the past...Pierci himself was sent down from the heavens to rescue the Erthanians from those unstoppable hordes, and that he and a group of five other 'Gods' drove them back to the plains with magical weapons of great and terrible power.

Afterward, the first wall had been built across the narrow gap while the six supreme warriors held the horsemen at bay. It took fifteen-hundred men two years to construct that stone and mortar barrier, and the first version was twenty feet high with no portal through it at all. They saw no need for a passage at that time since anyone who'd ever even tried to negotiate with the horsemen had been sent back without their heads.

Of course, any manmade barrier can be destroyed by men as well, so it was decided that the pass would have to be guarded. Rows of barracks were constructed to house a thousand soldiers...two hundred from each of the five kindgoms, and from that day forward, there was always a military presence at the wall.

At first it was manned by the finest archers the southern cities could train, with the single duty of keeping the raiders from damaging or climbing the barrier. That held for a full generation, but as with any form of defense, new methods and tactics grew out of necessity, and so did their countermeasures. As time went by, the fort dubbed; Nevari..."blockade" in the commoners' tongue...became a proving ground for many military leaders, strategies, and weapons. It was dangerous, unpleasant duty, and to live there was difficult, especially in winter when the cold wind would tear through the gap with fierce intensity. However, to command there for a few years would guarantee nearly any position a man could ask for when they returned to their homelands, and so it eventually became a more prestigious post...and with anything, more prestige meant more prosperity.

After fifty years, the fort became a village, and then at a hundred it was a town, until finally...five hundred years later...a great city. But it was also very far from every other city, and therefore isolated in many respects...namely water and food supplies. In its humble beginning years there was no natural river within ten hoz of the fort, and so they relied heavily on snow melt run-off from the mountains in the spring...but that lasted only through early-to-mid summer. By late summer, those sources dried up and left the inhabitants to haul water up deep, conventionally dug wells. That method was extremely arduous and time consuming, and stifled any further growth. But then, at the end of the first century of habitation, the first real plans for a better future began to develop.

Early in Nevari's second century, a twelve-hoz-long aqueduct was completed, carrying a pure, endless supply of water from the eastern mountains' largest river...the Keskasho...to the city. That solved one monumental necessity, but even then, there was still another great limitation.

Since much of the ground south of Nevari...just past where Ron had landed...was mostly poor, rocky land for many hoz, crops could be grown only sparsely in the vicinity near the city proper, which made the budding metropolis prone to hardship through nearly constant food rationing...a condition that further deterred expansion and development.

The best minds of the five kingdoms worked on that problem for many decades, but after water was no longer an issue and irrigation channels were dug...which gave them almost twenty percent more yield...that seemed to be the end of it. Nothing they tried could significantly increase the area of ground they could use in that nutrition deprived soil. That led to growth stagnation yet again.

Desperation and an epiphany by one of their agro-strategists turned their eyes north. The plains right there beyond the barrier appeared to be easily tillable, fertile lands that could provide a great opportunity for growing crops. And since the horsemen had all but given up on breaching the wall generations ago, it emboldened the leaders of those early days to attempt a daring plan.

Over a five year period, the Nevari soldiers and citizens used long ladders to scale the wall, and slave labor to till up the nearby grassland. They also sent scouts far out into the enemy's territory to provide early warning of any threat. The gamble paid off hugely. The fields they planted were productive indeed and yielded more food than they'd ever imagined.

Following that success, the city-dwellers began deconstructing the original wall at one point to make way for a large set of doors. Expansion after expansion finally brought the tilled farmland to the current size...six square hoz out onto the rolling meadow.

That was a wondrous idea for Nevari, but a nightmare for her army to defend. They cautiously, and surreptitiously, set up a network of signals to warn them of the movements of the plainsmen. It took almost fifty years before the first clash, when one of the young horsemen warriors grew too curious about the ancient tales told around their campfires...of conquest and exploration in the south. When his clan's migratory pattern brought them close enough, he broke free of the horde with a handful of his fellows one summer morning and road south. They wanted to see if the 'mighty barrier' was truly real. Those adventurous young men brought back their own stories...ones about hoz after hoz of ripe fruit and grain ready for the taking...and a large force was immediately dispatched.

Since then, every three to four years, when the nomadic plainsmen returned to the area, the temptation of raiding the Nevarian crops prove too much for them to ignore, and skirmishes ensue. This year appeared to be no exception.

The archers that Ron fell in with rapidly fanned out at the fringe of Nevari-occupied ground and prepared for battle. They took up positions behind the army's infantry, and each of those men carried a tall shield which was currently resting upright, with its lower edge on the ground. They also each carried a long lance and their personal sword and knives. Some even had war-clubs.

Ron stood behind his own shield-bearer and patiently awaited the next phase. That, unfortunately, didn't come until three full days later. The Nevari soldiers stayed encamped and ran drills at their stations, trying to stay as prepared as they could, all the while hearing fragments of reports and speculating their meanings. Most were about enemy movements, which ranged from merely overwhelming numbers to completely unrealistic. None of it surprised Ron. He'd seen it before. That was the way soldiers dealt with boredom at the front lines.

At last though, horns once more sounded across the prairie, and that got everyone back into ready position.

At first, some of the men thought it was just another drill, but Ron was watching the commanders, and the signalmen, and he could tell the time for boredom was rapidly drawing to a close.

He was almost dead center of the arc that faced the rolling grass, and so he swung his head left to right slowly, his eyes prowling the hills of grass. A billot eased by, and then two. But just when everyone began to relax again, feeling it was indeed a false alarm, they received the signal. It was in the form of a tall pole on a distant hill, and it told them from which direction their enemy came with a bright yellow banner standing out straight in the breeze.

"EAST!" a voice suddenly bellowed.

As one, Ron saw every head turn to face east, and murmuring immediately ramped up.

"How many?" they all wanted to know. And, "Will they fight?"

Every pair of eyes strained to make out the next signal...the count of horsemen.

A black flag suddenly unfurled beneath the yellow one.

"A thousand!" called several soldiers. "We can take care of those quick enough. We have five times that many."

But just as soon as he said that, Ron caught movement off to the north. It was another pole and another yellow banner.

"NORTH!" called out along the line.

The men drew quiet once more, again straining to see the full message. In that direction two black banners followed the yellow.

Ron flicked his eyes back to the east and gritted his teeth. There were three black banners flapping in the breeze now.

"They never mass in groups that big!" several soldiers were saying. "We have to fall back to the wall!"

A captain came strolling by just then, barking orders.

"Stand fast men! We don't know their intentions yet. Maybe they just want a look at us!"

"Look!" cried one of the frontline soldiers. He was pointing to the west...toward the blinding sun hanging halfway to the horizon.

Yet another pole flew a yellow banner, and as they stared in shock, three more black banners were added to it.

"Eight thousand horsemen," Ron mused to himself. "If they're anything like the ancient Mongolian plainsmen on Earth, this could get real bad, real fast!"

"We have to get out of here!" began to sound up and down the lines. "We're too exposed out here! They need to call for retreat!"

It wasn't another bort before all three poles began to wave side to side.

"They're attacking!"

Now it was time to see if Ron's precautions would earn their merit. He stood there calmly, confident that they would.

While he waited, his thoughts couldn't help but recall how he'd ended up in that very spot...on the front lines...defending an army that had tried to kill him less than four years ago. A wry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Nine santaris previous, Ron had left the little farming community south of Turtle Bend. He headed northward on foot for the better part of a week, crossing paths with a few dozen other people...although they never even knew he was watching them pass because he did so from the safety of the forest. They usually traveled in groups of five or more, for safety he assumed. Then, out of the blue, he ran into something much more substantial heading south...a huge caravan.

It caught his attention one morning as he was strolling swiftly along through a lush section of woodland. He heard it coming two billots before the lead scouts caught up with him, so he moved off to the side and climbed into a large tree to get a better look. He was incredibly curious about the entire concept of how large quantities of goods were transported across the wild, open spaces between major cities. This wagon train of commerce did not disappoint.

There were five scouts in all, and each one took his turn diving into the nearby woods to see if any dangers might be lying in wait out of eyesight. They came back within a few borts to report their findings to the primary leader of the group. Then they would send another fellow in half a hoz further along.

It seemed particularly hazardous duty to Ron, but he figured they would rather sacrifice a single man than risk being ambushed by a large band of brigands.

There were no threats around that particular section of the route however, so they passed beneath him uninterrupted.

Within the long line were easily twenty large wagons with another six smaller ones intermixed, as well as two dozen carts hauling personal belongings and families. Ron guessed those folks were aligned with the larger group for protection on the road as well. Also, he could make out at least a hundred armored warriors scattered along the length of the caravan. The soldiers wore insignias upon their persons...a stag with purple antlers...to identify the ruling kingdom that sponsored them, but Ron was unfamiliar with Erthanian hierarchy and so did not recognize the markings. A hundred men formed a defense that was plenty of a deterrent to most raiders' forces, but of course couldn't withstand the attack of a true, coordinated and trained army. However, if the individual kingdoms were going to survive, they needed commerce with their neighbors, so that necessity kept any one ruler from waging such a large-scale campaign. Therefore, mutual reciprocation was commonly adhered to.

The larger wagons were being hauled by teams of four huge beasts that looked similar to cape buffalo, Ron said, but were wider, with thicker legs. They were called drovarrs. Since nearly all of the escorts were on foot, the pace the caravan set was a slow one, so it took more than a billot for it to pass. Ron used the time to have his lunch.

Another full week passed...as well as two more caravans...before Ron was forced to make a choice...and it came (as usual) out of the blue.

At one of the smaller intersecting roads...one that led off to the west...Ron detected a curious sound as he walked past. It was broken and distant, maybe fifty kez away, but it was clearly the sound of voices. For some unknown reason, the hairs on his neck suddenly stood on end, so he continued on for another quarter hoz before looping around and heading back to investigate. What he found was a group of eight men huddled in a circle about a fire. Knowing the main road was nearby, Ron suspected these men weren't camping there by accident, so he crept close enough to catch their conversation.

"Just like we've done before, fellas," one man...apparently the leader...was saying. "When the carts break away from the caravan, we fall back about half a hoz and wait until the troops are out of earshot. Then we make our move."

"Not much of a challenge, Deil," commented one of the bandits. "What are we gonna get out of it?"

"Relax, Jovis!" Deil retorted. "I have an informant that told me the entire town's gold is coming down the road at this very billot. It's the combined payday from this year's harvest. They're hiding it in a simple farmer's cart to keep any would-be highwaymen from taking a second look at it. Heh-heh-heh. From what I've been told, they've been running it like this for twenty years!"

"And so how'd you find out about it?"

"Would you believe it? My old man wanted me to take over guarding the shipment!"

They all broke out in a rough round of laughter at that.

"We can split the haul and get the hell out of this back-woods dung-heap. I'll be able to have a big spread and a few fine slaves to keep me warm at night!"

That sparked a round-robin discussion about what each would do with their share.

Ron thought about how desperately his recent farmer friends had relied on the money from a back-breaking year's work and couldn't idly stand by and see an entire village being completely wiped out by a few cutthroats, so he decided right then that he would keep an eye on those bandits.

Along mid-afternoon, the caravan they'd been discussing swept through the area and three of the smaller carts broke away and headed down the road the villains had staked out. Two were clearly individual families that were just returning home from some long trip, and the third was driven by a lone figure...a man...who trailed them at a short distance.

Ron noted that his wagon was riding very lightly, so his attention shifted quickly to the others. It was the first cart's wheels that bit deeply into the hard roadway. The two behind...purposely or not...helped mask that fact. That lead rig was driven by a man as well, with a woman next to him and two children riding in the back...a boy and a girl. The boy was around ten and the girl was possibly twelve. They played and laughed as they rode along. It was a good ruse, all things considered.

Ron waited until the last cart went by before he slunk out of the woods and raced after it.

In a single smooth motion, Ron dove into the back of the empty cart and slid forward as far as he could, lying on his back with his weapons at the ready.

The driver felt the added load immediately and turned his head...but then he restored his attention forward once more as if he'd seen nothing. A sharp jab of metal was pressing against his lower back. It was one of Ron's arrows.

"Face forward and remain calm," Ron ordered to the man in a terse whisper.

"As you wish," the fellow whispered back. "But you are robbing the wrong man. I have nothing worth taking."

"Unless I miss my guess," Ron said softly, feeling the rocking and pitching of the cart's harsh, solid suspension, "you're guarding the money shipment in the lead wagon."

The man went rigid for an instant, but then tried to hide it.

"You're crazy!" he hissed back.

"Yeah, maybe," he replied, "but if you allow me, I'll help you out when the time comes."

"What? When? What are you...?"

"You're about to be attacked by a group of at least eight men...just over the next rise."

"And what? You're some sainted soldier who's going to help us out just because you were in the right place at the right time?"

Ron had to smile at the audacity of it.

"Yeah. Something like that. Are your weapons at the ready?"

"Always," came the response.

"Good. Eyes sharp!"

Ron felt the cart crest the small ridge and head downward again. He removed the arrow from the man's back and waited with it still nocked in his left hand. His long katana was naked beside him in the late-day air.

Ron focused on the sounds of the forest for another two borts before the snapping of a dried, fallen branch reached his ears.

"Down!" Ron ordered, and the driver instantly dropped to the floorboard of his station. Two arrows struck home in the back of the seat he'd just vacated.

"Shart!" hissed one of the highwaymen from off to the right.

Ron sprang up and fired before the bandit even saw him. The thug fell backward without ever knowing what happened. His left eye had an arrow shaft buried in it.

Before that man hit the leaf-strewn ground, Ron had tracked down the other sniper by following the second arrow's shaft backward to its point of origin. That man was reloading his crossbow. He never hefted the weapon to his shoulder though.

The driver of the wagon Ron now kneeled in had an immediate decision to make...who to trust and who to fight. His heart was racing but he popped his head up just in time to see the second highwayman fall, so he assumed the stranger behind him was not with them. He got himself into a crouched position behind the front edge of the driver's perch and pulled out his own weapon...also a crossbow...and it was already loaded.

As his bow came out, he leaped from the cart and raced forward on foot. "Get down...get down...get down!" he shouted to the others in the small caravan.

Ron instantly liked that fellow running straight into danger and so he followed him, staying to the side about ten feet, his head on a swivel. Four men suddenly burst from the woods and rushed in at the forward two carts. Ron decided to slow them down. Never pausing, three missiles were away and three men fell flat. The driver/guard slid to a stop and took aim, downing the fourth bandit before he could reach his goal...the front wagon...but that moment of stillness cost him. From off to the left, an arrow struck him in the shoulder and spun him around.

Instead of firing at the sniper who was mostly hidden behind a large tree, Ron bolted to the fellow's side before the next arrow could find a more deadly point to strike. He gripped the man by his light coat and literally tossed him into the back of the middle wagon, and then he dove under it and scrambled to the far side.

A new attack was underway at the front by then.

The man who'd spoken to Deil at the meeting was at the side of the money cart and he grabbed the woman there and dragged her from her perch. Her husband was hunched over as if dead.

A different fellow hauled the wounded husband out of the way where he fell limply to the roadway and didn't move. Then he took control of the reins and snapped them hard, demanding the team hasten forward as one more outlaw burst from the woods and raced after it.

"Slow them down and I'll give you each an extra share!" that man ordered as he leaped into the seat next to the new driver.

The bowman at the fringe of the forest took another shot at Ron, but he rolled out of the way in time, setting up with the wagon's axle and carriage between him and the shooter.

The standing fellow spun to face Ron and the rest of the wrecked caravan, and immediately snatched the woman up and started shuffling toward the tree line.

"Stand down, or she dies!"

Ron sprang to his feet and faced the brigand who held the woman in front of him, using her as a shield. He was at full draw on his bow, but the bandit had a knife to her throat. Blood had already begun oozing down her chest and into her cleavage.

Another arrow whistled toward Ron, making him duck for cover. It had been fired from the same bowman off to his left. An instant later the retaliatory shot took that fellow dead center of his neck.

In another blink, Ron was back facing the knife-wielding man.

"That was impressive...I'll give you that, friend, but I wouldn't take this shot if I were you!" the guy said snidely. Barely a third of his face could be seen behind the lady's head, and he was backing his way toward the far side of the road where he saw his only opportunity to escape.

"Flit!" went the steel-shod bolt.

"I'm not you!" Ron hissed.

The arrow penetrated Jovis's right wrist, then his throat, and then lodged itself in his spine. The feather fletching of the arrow was resting snuggly against the woman's neck. Both the bandit and his knife fell harmlessly to the ground, and the woman went right after them...but she was unharmed. She'd simply feinted.

The two children in the bed of the lead cart were screaming and crying, terrified as they watched their parents get attacked.

"JUMP!" roared Ron at them, and as well-disciplined children normally do, they obeyed instantly.

They fell roughly and rolled to the edge of the roadway, but were not seriously hurt. They were up and running back to their parents straightaway.

Ron then turned his attention to the woods, a new arrow already set. He panned the entire area for more men in that thick foliage. Nothing moved anywhere that he could see. He then immediately spun about and took aim at the money cart trundling down the roadway, but it was easily three hundred kez away and dipping out of sight over the next rise.

The thorat that pulled the cart was much slower than a horse, but still faster than a man...especially on a short race...so Ron knew he was at a distinct disadvantage. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to let the thieves triumph.

He whirled around to the people in the second wagon. They'd jumped into the back and huddled down hoping to avoid the battle, and were as yet unscathed.

"Get up!" Ron shouted at them over the side.

The man shielded his wife and sat up, his eyes spread wider than goose eggs.

"Does this road connect with others?"

"Y-y-yes, sir!" the man replied. "A hoz up, around a northerly bend. There's a three way fork at the bridge."

"Bridge?"

"Yeah," said the soldier/driver Ron had saved. He was struggling to his knees while cradling his wounded arm. "And I'll bet that's where they're headed. If they have a boat waiting, they'll be gone in borts."

"Can I cut through the woods and beat them to the bridge?" Ron asked anxiously.

The two men both shook their heads.

"No. Not a chance."

"What about the river? Could I out-pace them by heading southwest...through there?"

They both looked at Ron like he was crazy.

"Yeah," the driver answered, "if you were a dragen antelope!"

"Which way?"

The man pointed straight into the dense verdure.

"Right through there...but that brush is wild, friend. We don't hunt there unless we have a group of five or more. It's rugged as hell and thick with greels and panthers."

"Thanks," Ron said as he set out at a sprinter's pace, forgetting about them completely.

There wasn't much more he could have done for those folks anyway, and felt they all undoubtedly knew one another so they'd ban together to make it the rest of the way.

Two hoz of frantic running through heavy brush brought him to the edge of the river, but not without a few frightful moments. One was when he nearly ran headlong off a thirty foot drop. The other was when he sped down a wide game trail that led to an area where a female greel was nursing one of her cubs. He was moving so fast though that she barely had the chance to snarl at him before he was gone.

The river was of good size, nearly a hundred kez across, and was running fast. Some recent rains in the higher elevations had undoubtedly occurred because it was muddy and full to its banks, and white-caps were prevalent.

Ron stood panting hard for a few moments on the edge of a high knoll that gave him a good view of both directions, and when he saw nothing coming from the north, he quickly pivoted to search south.

There were no boats within sight either way.

Ron then began to count in his head, ticking away the litas as accurately as he could remember. By that method he waited there for five long borts before he would even consider that he'd missed them. But then, after another five drifted by agonizingly slowly, the lack of a sighting proved badly disheartening. He recalculated his expectations of their speed, factoring in the river's flow rate and soon realized they would most likely have beaten him to that point if they'd been expedient. His only hope was that they may have waited for some of the other members of their group.

Five borts more however, convinced him that he'd failed, so he dejectedly turned to retrace his path back to the road, although with one exception...he'd definitely have to swing wide of where the greels had been.

Suddenly though, he heard the splash of water that clumsy use of a large paddle makes, and so he spun back around.

He hurriedly returned to his vantage point and watched through straining eyes as a boat cleared the bend in the river and grew closer. Three men were in it and it was riding low, as if carrying much more weight than just them.

At first Ron thought it was possibly a different group since all nine of the thugs couldn't have fit into that little skiff, but then he realized that they no doubt had positioned multiple crafts waiting for their getaway. A single boat large enough for the entire party would no doubt have been too difficult to maneuver in that fast-flowing current.

When they drew closer, Ron easily identified the men operating the paddles as two who he'd seen in the planning circle. The third fellow was sitting in the front of the boat and facing aft, no doubt watching for any pursuit.

Ron shrugged off his pack and dropped it next to a thicket, setting his bow gently atop it, all the while watching the approaching watercraft. When it had glided into position, he burst from his hidden perch and dove out into the water.

He struck the river's surface barely fifty feet ahead of the craft and surfaced immediately.

There was some shouting from the paddlers, but before the man in the front could even turn to see what they were yelling about, Ron's fingers had a grip on the bow.

With a huge spray of water, Ron wrenched his body out of the cold fluid and into the vessel, right on top of the lookout.

The man screamed as if he'd just been attacked by a shark, but quickly found out that his assailant was far worse. Ron pinned the man beneath his body, punched him in the gut hard enough to break three ribs, and then spun about and let fly with two knives.

Each of the paddlers were pulling swords and readying for a clash, but those sailing blades ended their protest...permanently.

The fellow left alive was the one who'd bragged about his father wanting him to take up the tradition of keeping the village's money safe; Deil. The gold was in ten sacks resting at the bottom of the canoe.

Ron tied up the wheezing bandit and threw the other two overboard. Then he took one of the paddles and turned the boat about. He retrieved his belongings first, and then headed north.

It was hard work paddling that size canoe upstream through that current, but Ron stayed close to the bank where the flow was weakest and slowly made his way back to the bridge.

When he got there, the area was empty of people. However, he did spot two more boats just inside the forest' greenery, drawn up onto the banks and well concealed from the direction of the road. After disembarking, Ron took a quick look around and found fresh tracks in the hard dirt, continuing west. He recognized them as being from the two other wagons.

"I guess they figured there was no point in waiting," he surmised.

Two billots later, Ron strolled into the tiny town. He was met with confused and intrigued stares, much whispering and conjecture, and finally an ecstatic cheer. The cheer came from the woman he'd saved from the bandit's knife.

"Praise the Creator! It's him!" she cried, rushing forward to greet Ron.

The rest of the villagers had been so shocked and sickened by the harrowing story they'd just heard that they stood their ground, puzzling at the sight. Then they saw the heavy sacks of gold dangling from Ron's...and his prisoner's...necks, and they moved forward.

Ron dropped the sacks on the ground and shoved the thief ahead of him.

"Here is the mastermind behind the theft of your money," he announced.

Of course everyone there knew Deil and soon he was being led away, smartly beaten, and incessantly spat upon as he went.

Ron was thanked a thousand times and offered a reward, but he just settled on a huge hot meal and then headed out of town, back to his own mission.

The villagers had asked him repeatedly for his name, wanting to be able to thank the Gods for sending him their way, but Ron just told them; "I'm just a guy who was in the right place at the right time."

Once more, he heard the name; Dan Kor tossed around the streets in whispers and quiet conversations, and he found it odd that they would come up with the same title as the farmers, but he didn't know what it meant.

Before he made it past the town's border however, a small, slender boy ran up hurriedly and caught him. It was the young fellow who'd been in the cart with his sister.

"Sir!" he shouted at Ron's back as he approached.

Ron saw who it was and paused a moment.

"Sir...if you please. Would you allow us to know your name?"

Ron thought about all the stories he'd heard since arriving on Caron, and so he smiled.

He gave a quick glance at the small village and then looked at the boy.

"Tell them 'Ronin was here'," he told the youngster. Then he just walked off.

### Chapter Twenty-three

### Nevari

The very next day, Ron offered his skills as a hunter to a new caravan passing along...after he found out that it was headed to Nevari. So when they arrived a week later, he already had a reputation he could market toward a job in the city.

He spent the next few weeks acclimating to the region, to the city, and to the people of Nevari. He found them to be pretty much the same as almost every other city dwellers. They worked their jobs, ran their businesses, raised their children, and had the same worries that people on Earth had...saving money, eating enough proper food, preparing for a long, cold winter, and fearing injury and health issues.

Winter set in soon afterward, stifling his efforts to search the city for Brossin simply because people didn't mingle with strangers as openly as other times of year. He managed to locate a few places where soldiers frequented, but found those men extremely wary to even the slightest questions. So, for the next four and a half santaris he had to do many jobs to fill the time, and his pockets, to afford to live there.

Ron bartered out his services as a huntsman, a carpenter, a laborer on the wall, and finally...when spring arrived and the snows receded...as a prairie scout...which was so hazardous a duty that it was not restricted to the military, but available to civilians as well. In fact, they would take anyone...and the pay was very good, if you could survive to receive it. The grasslands were widely known to be teaming with dangers beyond just the barbarian horsemen. Wolves, lions, and poisonous snakes were out there as well, and since the patrols were all done on foot, it was not a trade for the timid.

Once in that roll, however, Ron really excelled, and he soon got a much better feel for why the Nevarians were so fearful of the plainsmen, and why their military was so jumpy. The undulating grasslands were wide open like he'd never imagined, and expansive...so the enemy could be literally anywhere at any time...five hoz out, or five hundred.

Spring turned into summer, which cut down on many of the volunteers simply because of the brutal intensity of the sun. Few men could take the long days exposed to the baking heat, especially with the thermals making any visual sighting of man or beast nearly impossible. Men on horseback, or positioned on high points in the terrain, could spot them far easier than the reverse...making such expeditions feel more like gambling with their lives than scouting.

Ron however, knew well how to move across the land without exposing himself to the plainsmen, and was extremely good at staying away from the prowling beasts. The relentless heat took some getting accustomed to, but after studying how the horsemen dealt with it, he found it tolerable.

After dozens of sorties out onto the open plains to prove himself to the military adjutant in charge of such things, Ron became one of their favorite scouts. He always returned with extremely detailed reports of the horsemen's movements, their numbers, their positions, and such. Mostly they grouped together in clutches of less than two hundred, grazed their animals for a couple of weeks on a patch of grass, and then moved on.

At the turn of summer to fall, the time that Nevari feared the most...and also when it was hardest to get men to go out for fear of running into a real army of horsemen...he volunteered for some of the deeper probes.

"Are you sure about this, Itsu?" Revinin Oliver asked him. Revinin was the man who tracked all the scouts' movements, their assigned areas, and duration of their sorties. He would get the report from the scout and then relay it to his commander...Wiltrin Rosse.

Ron had been trying to get into some position where he would be able to interact with the military commanders, and he felt firsthand information of an enemy's location or their habits just might make that happen. He was still hoping to have a private word with Brossin, who he'd finally found out was one of the officers of the army's outer-fringe regiments...men most likely to want such information. As of yet though, he'd been stone-walled on any attempt to pin down the former general's exact location. In fact, much derision followed any query into the subject. He guessed such information was strictly off limits to civilians.

"Yes sir," Ron replied eagerly. "I've been itching to have a look at what's over the northern hills. They say you can see clear past the horizon!"

Revinin smiled and shook his head. "You know that plateau is more than a hundred hoz into hostile territory, right?"

"Yes, sir. That's what I've heard."

"Okay then. It's your life. Just be careful and don't waste it!"

"I'll try not to."

"You can leave first thing in the morning."

Ron took his leave from the coordination station and immediately stuffed his largest pack. He left at sundown instead, preferring to travel at night. From what he'd witnessed and been told, the horsemen didn't roam in the dark, so he felt it would be easier to cross the open land then. The winds calmed down considerably with the setting sun too, allowing him to track the calls of predators more accurately...those that prowled the nights. And furthermore, the temperature dropped as well, keeping him from battling the effects of the cruel Erthanian star with no cover.

It was true that few ventured out into the darkness, but the heavens were bright with stars that night and Dersa rose three-quarters full around midnight giving him plenty of light to navigate by.

On the third morning of his expedition, about halfway to the high plateau, Ron took refuge in a stand of trees that had somehow managed to take hold amidst the seemingly endless hoz of prairie grass. While there, he watched a scouting party of the plainsmen riding along on their ponies at a steady cantor. They were lazily moving toward the west when suddenly they burst apart and set their steeds blasting across the tall sward. The men astride those galloping animals instantly raised themselves up off the backs of the beasts into a crouching stance. From that position they guided the horses by some unseen method, drew their bows, swept around some creature that was racing across the plain, and shot it dead, all as smoothly as if they were kids merely playing a game of make-believe chase.

The animal turned out to be a wild bartcha, nearly as large as one of their horses, but with much shorter legs. Those animals were notoriously dangerous...being both aggressive and vicious...and there weren't many Nevari men who even dared hunt them.

Those horsemen however had seen an opportunity and seized it without so much as a moment's hesitation. They were undoubtedly brave, highly skilled, and well-coordinated in their attacks.

Ron would have liked to have studied their tactics closer, but just took it for granted that they were comparable to the great plainsmen of Earth's ancient history. That meant they were likely firing a bow by the time they could walk, and riding before that...at least their warriors. Those weapons would be powerful too, with arrows that had been expertly crafted. If they chose to attack a similar group (or even one three times their number) of Nevari foot-soldiers, he guessed it would be a one-sided massacre of the city-dwellers.

Ron was cautious, took his time, and reached his goal two weeks later. It was an elevated mesa setting two-hundred feet above the lower plain. He carefully located a well-concealed niche in the rocks of a north-facing bluff and settled in for as long as his rations would hold out.

The very next morning, as the sun broke free of the planet's surface under a perfectly clear sky, it lit up the open ground for fifty hoz in every direction, and he couldn't help but smile. It was truly a marvelous, breath-taking sight to behold.

He planned to stay there for at least another week, but on the fifth day, he abruptly decided that would be a bad idea. Around mid-morning, off to the northeast, Ron made out a faint blur at the very edge of his visual range. He kept a close check on it, while also scanning the west and north as well, and by late afternoon, he'd deduced what it was. It was the rising dust caused by thousands of horses' hooves, as well as an entire nation of families and their herd animals...mostly goats...that traveled with the nomadic horde. The horsemen were headed south!

Ron set out at dusk and pushed himself as hard as he dared.

When he got back from his assignment and delivered his report, he watched the blood run out of Revinin's face.

"They're still north of the plateau, do you think?" he asked nervously.

It had taken Ron just two nights and half a morning to make it back. He was exhausted, but still standing.

"Yes, sir. They don't seem to be in a hurry."

"No, I suppose not.

"What about their numbers?"

"It would be impossible to judge that for certain, Sir, but by the size of the rising dust...the width and depth of it...I'd have to guess at several thousand."

"But you can't be sure of that?"

"No, I'm afraid not. If I had stayed there even one more day, to be able to be certain, their advance scouts would have passed my location and I doubt I could have made it through them. I counted at least a hundred of those, and they were very thorough."

"Yes-yes-yes...I understand, Itsu...truly. I wasn't insinuating any fault on your part, I assure you."

He paced to the right a few steps, and then returned, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Just like before, they'll set up their families about ten hoz out and attack from there."

Ron said nothing.

"That gives us about ten to twelve days."

"Can we harvest the crops now?" Revinin's aide asked nervously.

His boss just shook his head.

"No, we wouldn't get anything edible. We need those weeks...and better yet, another santari...and I'm sure they know that."

"Then we'll lose the entire crop," the young fellow said despondently. "That's half of our food supply! We'll have to start rationing immediately to make it through the winter."

"Yes, and we'll be lucky even at that."

"Is there no defense that you've been able to devise to stop the raiders?" Ron asked.

Again Revinin shook his head.

"We've dug trenches, built barricades, built fences...all manner of impediments. They fill them in or tear them down, or burn them faster than we can put them up. And we always lose hundreds of soldiers. They're too fast on those animals, and too hard to stop. The last few times, we've simply let them raid and struggled to survive afterward. It's only our good fortune that they don't come two years in a row."

"What if they did?"

"We'd be seriously under-provisioned...and begging for food from the five kingdoms. The Regent Governor would not like that at all. The queen might find his leadership at fault."

They all fell quiet for a long few moments before Revenin broke the silence.

"Well, I need to go and report this. My thanks, Itsu. Fantastic work. Now go get some rest."

Ron nodded and headed out into the street. But just then, an image of something he'd read about as a teenager leaped into his mind, so instead of heading to his rented room, he detoured over to the nearest blacksmith's shop. So as not to waste any more time than was absolutely necessary, he interrupted the man's work with a flash of coin and questioned him about fabricating a small item. He then drew the fellow a diagram and asked him to make a few, and to time how long it took to do it. Then he strolled to the nearest bathhouse and soaked his weary, trail-worn body in a hot tub of scented water. By the time he'd cleaned up, shaved, and eaten, he headed back to check on the smithy's progress. The fellow had made four.

"Is this what you're looking for?"

Ron smiled grandly and nodded.

"How long?"

"If I had someone making the raw stock ahead of time, I could make ten a billot."

"Great!" Ron said enthusiastically. "Thanks!"

He handed the great hulking smithy a silver pince and walked out with the items in a sack, headed back to the coordination center.

"What the shart are you doing back here already?" Reverin asked when he strolled in.

Ron stepped up quickly and dumped the four small devices he'd had made onto the adjutant's desk.

Reverin stared at the things for a bit, and then looked up at Ron questioningly.

"Am I missing something here, Itsu? What are they?"

"These," Ron said, snatching up one and holding it out to the fellow, "are how you stop horses!"

"I...don't...understand."

"Observe."

Ron put it back with the others and then swept them all off the table where they fell and bounced and settled. The devices were made of four simple steel rods, forge-welded together at sharp angles with the ends roughly sharpened.

Reverin noticed something immediately and kicked them about for a few borts to verify his theory. No matter how they landed, one of the legs stuck straight up.

"If we had enough of these," Ron told him, "we could spread them along the outer perimeter of the fields. Horses' feet have a thick, hard hoof around the edges, but the center is just fleshy padding. I've seen these items in action. Their animals could never get across...or at least not many. If we position our soldiers inside that perimeter, we'll only have to engage the plainsmen who _might_ get through! And behind our infantry, we set up our archers to keep any enemy warriors who stay back away from that perimeter from being able to pick off our men."

Reverin was following along and nodding...his eyes shifting back and forth quickly. Clearly he was checking the plan for possible faults, and possible advantages. After a bit, he snapped his head up and smiled broadly.

"I like it! I'm going to go tell the general! Come with me, Itsu."

General Alvonin Bedford was on duty just then and listened to the plan, and he too became excited about the prospects of it.

"The problem here, though, is how we can make enough of these in the given timeframe."

Ron interjected his thoughts again.

"Honestly, General. We'd have to get every smith in the city working on it...right now. Just explain what's at stake. It's this, or starve."

By the next morning, a city-wide decree had been issued and all metal-workers and their apprentices were hard at it. They took every bit of metal they could find or was donated, melted it down, and made raw stock for the new weapons.

Nine days later, the plainsmen were just where Reverin had said they'd be.

The flagmen had placed themselves on the closest hillocks outside the encroaching army's reach, so when they gave their final signals, they turned about and raced for the Nevari line.

Behind them, the first wave of mounted plainsmen crested a hill to the northeast a moment later, but almost simultaneously the northern group burst into view as well. Then the soldiers toward the west rounded a knoll and could be seen also.

It was a desperate situation on the Nevari side of the perimeter, and Ron saw more than one man soil himself as the thundering sound of the horses' hooves grew to where they could feel it in their boots.

The Nevari soldiers were mostly young men, and many had never seen battle as of yet, so while Ron took in the charging horde from the relatively calm perspective of a seasoned warrior, it was a totally different feeling to those men.

When the attacking army was two hundred kez out, Ron picked up on the fast, panicked glances the soldiers were giving over their shoulders. They were desperately waiting for the 'retreat' signal to sound and didn't understand why it hadn't.

It was simple to those frightened troopers. Nevari would just have to accept the loss of their harvest. No army of foot-soldiers could withstand a charging cavalry twice its size.

They had been briefed about the new defense their leaders had come up with and had boasted that they were supremely confident of, but to stand there and face what was coming was a wholly different matter than predicting it will work.

Ron could see their panic rising fast...could feel it in everyone around him...but every citizen of the city needed their defenders to focus! And those troopers needed their minds to be ready for what was inevitable.

Ron looked left and then right, but did not see their commander, so he took control.

"PREPARE YOURSELVES, MEN!" he bellowed...his voice shocking the nearby soldiers back to their duties. "REMEMBER YOUR TRAINING! THOSE INVADERS ARE COMING TO TAKE OUR LIVES! AND BY THE CREATOR, I SAY WE MAKE THEM EARN IT!"

Then he began a rhythmic, chanting cadence, pounding his bow against his breast plate between each roar. It was something he'd seen Caronians do at other battles...something that had made his heart pound and his adrenaline spike.

"WHOO," BLAM! "WHOO," BLAM! "WHOO," BLAM!

Soon the chant had taken hold and was carried down the line in a powerful wave. It brought focus back to the task before them, and the smashing of sword and spear against their armor helped release some of the mounting tension that had been unnerving them. Also, it carried across the waving grass to the oncoming army, and...at the very least...it showed their attackers they were ready for a fight.

The plainsmen didn't slow their charge. They too were ready...or so they thought.

When the lead horses were fifty kez out, arrows began raining into the foot soldiers, but that was anticipated and well-prepared for. The Nevari men had planted their large, heavy shields firmly into the ground at the outer perimeter, each with a stanchion bracing it, and those devices did their jobs marvelously, taking the brunt of the incoming missiles. And then Ron and his fellow archers got to work.

From behind the relative safety of the shields, they fired high into the onrushing cavalry, and men and horses immediately began to die.

Ron was a blur of motion and sent twelve plainsmen to meet the Creator before the first horse ever hit the new barrier. But when they did, the entire scene instantaneously turned into chaos.

Every horse that contacted one of the spikes fell immediately, and that act took out easily three others. In less than ten litas, a thousand horses dropped, and they fouled three thousand others. Twenty percent of the men astride those steeds died simply from the physical damage they received from the fall. Fifty percent of those that rose were drilled by the archers standing barely twenty feet away. Another thirty percent died from close-quarter clashes with Nevari's foot-soldiers. It was grisly work, but prisoners were not taken.

The first five borts of the battle was a complete slaughter of the plainsmen...and then a number of long, shrill blasts cut through the air and they broke into retreat, riding hard to distance themselves from the deadly skirmish line.

Half a billot later, when the last sounds of conflict died off, a new noise took over along the front lines...that of celebration.

It built and built, like a wave sweeping over the land, and each Nevari soldier caught that wave and added to it...that is, all save a single fellow dressed in the regalia of an archer. The men all about him were screaming their heads off and dancing around like they'd just won a gold medal in the Olympics (a series of physical tests from Ron's homeworld). But Ronin Alsone...Itsu to those around him...stood his ground in silence, straining to see what the horsemen were up to.

After a few moments went by, the soldiers nearby noticed that he was not reveling in the victory, and so they stopped their own merriment and followed his gaze.

"What is it, master bowman?" asked a young lad of about sixteen. This was his first campaign.

Ron didn't turn to face him, but said; "You see that one horse that's limping back to them?"

It was one of dozens hobbling around the open field, but it was right next to an observing group of mounted warriors.

"Yes. I see it."

The animal was quickly captured and escorted over to the larger band of warriors. The way they acted, one of those fellows was their leader. Six men leaped down to inspect the creature's hoof. One of them strode calmly, like a king, and he cast several glances toward the Nevari lines. They examined the feet of the animal for several borts, speaking with much gesturing and pointing at the enemy.

"They'll figure out what we've done in short order and have a new plan of attack worked out by morning."

Every soldier within earshot of that statement clenched their teeth down hard. At least three thousand enemy warriors lay dead on the plain before them, yet twice that many were still out there beyond their reach...and they would be extremely motivated at the next clash.

The remainder of that day, the plainsmen continuously harassed the Nevari troops by riding along the skirmish line (outside the invisible barrier where the spikes lay) at high gallop and firing arrows into the foot-soldiers' ranks. That drew a great deal of return fire from the Nevari archers, but they were not trained to hit targets moving at those speeds, so most of their arrows were wasted.

Ron saw the enemy strategy immediately, as did the Nevari commanders, who sent word down both left and right lines to get his bowmen to stop taking the bait, but many could not restrain themselves and hundreds of arrows were lost.

However, one particular area showed a remarkable shift to that trend. Ron was wielding the bow he'd made himself and had grown accustomed to over the last three years. It wasn't the phenomenal, perfectly balanced device the Raulden computer had crafted for him, but it was as good as he could hope for given the materials he had to work with. At any rate, he was deadly at any range the horsemen could return fire.

The first time a rider entered his region and launched a missile at Ron's group of fighters, Ron tracked him like a hawk tracking a mouse. The plainsman had his mount in a remarkably steady gait, the best platform for him to be able to fire from, but also to be fired upon. The horse was seventy kez out, but when Ron loosed his bolt, the guy might as well have been twenty. That metal-tipped shaft of wood struck the man in the neck, right above his armored shoulder-pad.

"Holy Creator above!" cried three of Ron's allies.

The rider flopped to the ground instantly and his steed kept running, finally looping around to head back to where it had come from...over the rolling hills.

"That was phenomenal!" the sixteen-year-old told him.

Ron wasn't listening though.

Another followed the first, and, having seen his comrade die fifty kez ahead of him, he was bent on a quick act of revenge, so he targeted Ron specifically. The man was a fine marksman and his arrow was well placed, but Ron had waged similar warfare far too many times to allow him such easy success. He merely took a half step to the left and as the incoming bolt slipped neatly past his right elbow, Ron sent his reply. The fellow was already reloaded and ready to make another attempt, but something slammed into his jaw just then and his shot flew short and horribly off target as his body fell not more than ten feet from his friend.

"What the...?" said the foot-soldiers again. Now more than a dozen men were watching intently.

A good deal of murmuring erupted with that shot, and soon the news was spreading like wild fire. By the time a third rider sped past, no less than a hundred Nevari soldiers were transfixed on Ron and his miraculous bow.

That fellow stayed a bit further out, about thirty more kez, but the plainsmen's bows weren't meant for long range shooting. They were very powerful, but had shorter limbs that were designed for tight, mounted, horse-to-horse warfare or horse-to-man at close quarters...under fifty kez. Firing from his present distance was really of no use against an experienced warrior. And Ron was very experienced.

That time Ron didn't even make a move...and 'his' bow had plenty of range!

The rider took the arrow in his left eye.

Five more plainsmen risked their lives to avenge their fallen brethren, and five more followed them to the grave.

Finally, one of the riders that was watching from a quarter hoz away, clustered into an assemblage of about sixty, put a horn to his lips and blew out a long set of blasts. And when that signal at last died off, every plainsman, and even the horses that were rider-less, headed away from the Nevari soldiers as fast as they could.

Many congratulations and much praise then began to pour in to the small clutch of warriors where Ron stood with his weapon still at the ready. The current threat was gone by then, so he let himself take a breath and gave accepting nods to his excited fans. Before long he even took some time to discuss his technique with several other bowmen.

That all quickly faded away a short while later however, when the count of their own wounded and dead began to circulate. The men all fell silent and immediately began to worry about their friends, or brothers, or fathers, or sons who were stationed out there in some other position.

Ron said nothing. It was always the same, no matter what war you were in. Those who were experiencing for the first time the full weight of what was at stake, often times were physically sick. It was no different there either. As the adrenaline subsided, many vomited, some feinted, and others got the shakes so bad they literally fell to their knees.

Some of the more senior men chided the newbies pretty hard about it, but Ron saw no need for any of that. He just slapped them on the shoulder and told them to get some water...that they'd be fine in time.

The evening billots drifted slowly by and the plainsmen once more sent riders pacing back and forth across the hoz and a half skirmish line...at a safe distance, of course...and then the sun set.

The Nevari leaders had come down the line and assigned men watches so that some might sleep a few billots during the night. Ron's duty wasn't to start until after midnight, but he didn't leave the shield wall just yet, his eyes taking in the specks on the hilltops...scouts for the horsemen.

Ron stopped one of the captains of the foot-soldiers when he meandered by near sundown.

"Captain Morss," he said to get the man's attention, "might I have a word."

Morss was a broad-chested, extremely stern, seasoned fellow of about thirty years, and stopped only because he was surprised by a bowman's boldness. After all, who was this paltry soldier to call him aside?

"I'm Itsu Dangarth," Ron said, introducing himself.

When he heard that name, Dainin Morss's demeanor shifted a bit. He'd been told about the incredible marksmanship of the fellow before him.

"Humph?" Morss grunted. He took a moment to scan Ron up and down while he awaited the question.

"Sir, I was wondering why we haven't scorched the field."

He stared at Ron hard, reading him...gauging him.

"You're not from here, bowman?"

"No sir. I just arrived from down south...near Borshes Riverland, and this is my first tour in Nevari."

Morss nodded his understanding.

"Well, that would be a prudent strategy...however, even though the summer has just passed, this area that we farm gets heavy dew almost every night and has seen a patch of recent rain, so while the grass might look dry, it won't take the flame."

Ron nodded his understanding, and then shifted his line of thought.

"They'll be coming in the night, Sir," he added frankly.

Morss nodded, still staring hard into Ron's eyes. "Bet on it!"

### Chapter Twenty-four

### Round Two

Captain Morss continued his rounds, and the blazing white star slipped further over the horizon.

Ron then took the time to get off his feet and eat a meal, and his comrades copied his actions quickly afterward. Rest and eat when you can. That was the way of life for a soldier on the front lines.

Ron dozed against his pack as dusk became twilight, but when the night was fully engaged, he arose and headed back to the perimeter.

Numerous guards were posted all along the Nevari side of the conflict, but Ron eased on up beside the nearest fellow and joined him in his vigil. With the absence of the sun, the air temperature had dropped dramatically, and that forced a haze of condensing moisture to develop about twenty feet above the grass, dropping dew heavily across the plain. It also blocked off nearly all the starlight, deepening the night and obscuring everyone's vision beyond about fifty kez. The heavens were moonless as well...which played into the hands of the plainsmen.

Ron felt himself grow tense, but then forced the anxiety away by sheer will power. Burning energy for nothing was not helping matters. He mentally ordered his body to relax...yet his mind stayed alert.

It was barely two billots later that Ron's sweeping gaze suddenly stopped. He hadn't seen anything he could actually identify, but there was something...

Ron moved forward, right to the edge of the shield barricade, and just stared. In the dark, the input of light...or the lack there of...fools the brain. So instead of concentrating on the area directly before him, he shifted his mind's focus to the peripheral zones. It took barely a handful of litas to confirm his suspicions. The tall grass beyond the shields was waving in the gentle, never-ending breeze that blew across the wide open space, but when it struck an obstruction...such as a large body moving through it...it broke its natural swaying rhythm ever so slightly.

Ron had been certain the plainsmen would send men forward to investigate the ground where the horses had run into difficulty...and to get a closer look at the Nevari troops. That was simply prudent military strategy. But what he didn't expect was what his senses told him. Soon he could detect the rhythmic break everywhere!

In the off-chance that the enemy could see him, Ron casually shook his head as if he was chastising himself for being overly jumpy, and turned slowly around. He took a few steps forward and then crouched down, like he was returning to his sleeping mat.

What he actually did though, was to hurry down the line waking the soldiers as quietly as he could.

"Make ready!" he whispered. "They're coming!"

He went a hundred kez one way and then a hundred the other, telling the neighboring soldiers to pass the word. Then he returned to his position.

When he was in place, he checked his stockpile of weapons.

During the lull in the evening, Ron had ventured out and retrieved as many arrows as he could...even taking them out of dead men if they were still unbroken. He scooped up a dozen lances as well. Now two hundred arrows were set beside him, standing up inside three separate baskets and at the ready. He'd also kept three of the long lances and distributed the others along the line.

He knew it wouldn't be much longer, so Ron slipped three arrows between his fingers and nocked one on his bow. Then he crept forward to peer through one of the narrow gaps in the shields.

A bort went by...and then two...and then...

With a shrieking howl to bolster their courage, the plainsmen leaped from their crawling positions and raced forward at the barricade of shields.

They hurled spears over the wall, just in the hope that they'd surprised the Nevari men and would catch them rising from their slumbers to be skewered, but that plan fell flat. Every soldier was hunched down and well protected.

The instant those spears passed overhead, Ron leaped up with one of the huge lances in his right hand. It was twelve feet long, its shaft a good two and a half inches in diameter, and it had a three-bladed steel tip fourteen inches in length. It was designed to stop a charging horse by planting the butt end into the ground and guiding the blade to the target. It was a very sturdy, yet hefty weapon, and many times two soldiers would work together to utilize it properly.

Ron hefted it like it was a common spear.

Without hesitation, he launched that ghastly missile into the densest group of the enemy, and the results were horrible and tremendous. The weapon passed completely through the first man's chest, tore through the fellow's shoulder behind him, and stopped six inches into the third man's brain.

The effect on the charging army was dramatic, sending a shockwave down their line. At least ten men pulled up short when they saw that single throw, their eyes filled with awe, and horror, and disbelief. But then the man they'd so recently heard stories about...stories that absolutely couldn't be true...further amazed and terrified them. He let fly with four arrows in the following two litas, and each found the eye-holes of the charging warriors helmets. In the time it took the roaring warriors to make three steps, all four men were down...all from a single bowman. And when their surprise sorte` was suddenly met with a full-scale, well-readied counter attack, the plainsmen's insurgence faltered badly.

Nevari poured arrows into their midst in a thick barrage that left only a few dozen men able to reach the shield barrier, but those fellows were swiftly dispatched like waves crashing on a rocky shoreline.

In a mere handful of borts, the charging army was in full retreat yet again, and it appeared that the Nevari emplacements were unbreachable. Once more, the men broke out in wild cheers of victory. However, Ron was not as confident as they were.

The young man who'd been so impressed by him earlier in the day, saw his stern demeanor yet again and slipped up next to him once more.

"Itsu," he said in a low voice. "You are still troubled?"

Ron was staring hard out into the night. He'd seen something in that retreating horde that concerned him greatly. It appeared that the withdrawal held many more men than did the attack, and of those, a great number seemed to be carrying water-skins, not weapons. But with the dark clothing they wore and visibility so limited, he really couldn't be sure about what he'd seen.

He finally shrugged his round shoulders and turned to regard the youngster. "Perhaps I'm just being pessimistic. It was a fine defense. You should be proud!"

Two more attacks came that night, but each was less aggressive than the last, and none of the Nevari positions failed. It seemed to be a worthless strategy, other than to harass the Nevarians, which it succeeded nicely in doing. Nearly no-one on the defending side got more than a couple billots of sleep.

Even that small measure of rest, in the midst of such a stressful environment, might seem impossible to a typical man, but after each attack ended and the adrenaline rush receded, the men fell into slumber quickly, and in droves.

Dawn eventually came quietly, and that drew Ron's attention even more, all by itself.

"Why haven't they attacked again?" he pondered silently. Then he answered his own question. "Because if they attack now, on foot, we'll see them coming for half a hoz! They won't stand a chance." But then he saw no reason to have staged such weak encounters throughout the night, if not to wear down the enemy's state of readiness.

That discrepancy in the plainsmen's tactic nagged at Ron for more than a billot...until a trio of Nevari officers strolled by discussing that very thing.

"No-no-no, Fresin," one captain was saying. "They won't withdraw. They came for our crops and they will not give it up. Even if they lose a third of their men...or half...they will keep fighting. It's more of a statement of determination for them...and their young warriors are taught to be absolutely fearless. If they have to die in an insane charge simply to wither our resources, or just to give their more experienced men a better chance, they'll line up for the duty! I've seen it before!"

Right then, Ron got a chilling thought, and a more spine-tingling picture flashed across his mind!

"OH, NO!" he huffed, and then he sprinted for the line of shields.

The captains caught his movement and so they all stopped and stared.

Ron grabbed one of the shields that was jammed into the ground, ripped it free, and then tossed it aside before he headed through the gap at a dead run.

"Bowman!" shouted Fresin, thinking the man had gone mad and was deserting. "What are you doing? Return to your station IMMEDIATELY!"

Ron just ignored him though, dashing out to where he knew the spike perimeter had been the day before. In a frantic manner, he dropped to his hands and knees and swept the grass side to side, staring at the turf.

"NO-NO-NO-NO!" he growled as he crawled in a circle a good twenty kez wide.

Finally, he looked up at the men who were by then approaching him. Before they could say another word, Ron spoke.

"They're gone!" he told them...his eyes filled with dread.

At that instant, horns began to blare. The sound came from out in the rolling, undulating meadow. Ron popped his head up to see the entire plain from left to right was once more adorned with mounted riders.

"Itsu!" called the young man who'd stood at his side the last two days, and who'd followed him out into the killing field. "What is it?"

Everyone immediately raced back to the barrier wall and one of the infantrymen restored the shield. They were met by Ron's squad's captain...Coranin, who'd just arrived to find his men in disarray. The other two officers understood exactly what Ron meant the instant he'd said it and had sped off to return to their own posts.

"Why have you just..." growled Coranin. It was clear that he was livid. He had not authorized any of his men to break ranks.

Ron was in no mood to listen to a lecture however, so he met the fellow with a blazing gaze.

"The attacks last night weren't real!"

"What?" Coranin asked, now more confused than angry.

"It was all an act!"

"Nonsense!" he hissed. "You can't..."

"It was a diversion for their actual plan!"

"Diversion? What..."

"The spikes are all gone! They had men crawling through the grass, gathering them up behind the masquerade of the fighting!"

Ron then saw understanding begin to emerge on his commander's face.

"There's nothing to stop their horses now!" he added dejectedly while he scanned the thin, widely spaced Nevari army. Then he checked the fields where hundreds of slaves and more than twice that many free folk were hastily trying to gather up what they could of the harvest. It was a task of ultimate desperation for the city and was only attempted because the spikes had worked so effectively. Now, if the army couldn't hold the enemy in check, every one of them would either die or be captured and hauled away to the marauders' camp.

Coranin looked from Ron's worried face to the attacking plainsmen, and then at his own clutch of a hundred brave souls.

"RUNNER!" he cried back over his shoulder, commanding a young fellow to his side in an instant.

"No time for a written message!" he instructed the boy of about thirteen. "Get to the next station and tell them the new barrier is gone...removed during the night raids! Prepare for a full attack! Hurry, now. Go!"

The youngster instantly broke into a run to the next command station. It was only two hundred feet away to the west.

"Good work, Itsu," Coranin offered to Ron. "Now we'll see if Pierci will grant us favor!"

He then hurried off to make preparations.

Ron watched the reactions of the commander where the runner had gone. His face went white for a moment before he sent more orders down the western line. The young boy then bolted for the station off to the east. Soon every commander within earshot was shouting to their men to make ready for a full attack.

The horsemen were riding their mounts at a steady cantor, their numbers easy for the Nevarians to see as wave after wave of them crested the nearest hills and headed their way.

Even with the past day and night's depletion, their numbers were at least equal to the foot soldiers' who stood in defense.

Ron had to admit that the scene looked incredibly dire for the Nevarians, but there was nothing they could do but prepare.

When the advance group was a quarter hoz out, they broke into an easy gallop, reserving their animals' strength for the upcoming battle. They appeared calm and loose, not yet whipped up into battle frenzy.

On they came like a low tidal wave of bodies, and the closer they got, the faster the horses went. Then, at a hundred kez, the air erupted with the hellacious war-cries of their people, and arrows began to fly from the Nevarians.

Many horses went down again, as well as men, but this time it wasn't nearly as dramatic as the last. The marauders were ready for that type of defense, and merely pressed forward all the harder.

At seventy-five kez, they were up on their knees, their bows at the ready. And at sixty, arrows leaped forward into the Nevari emplacements, showering the soldiers with incoming missiles that fell like rain.

Many Nevari men recoiled from wounds caused by those deadly bolts, but they were still mostly protected by the large, broad shields out front.

Twenty kez from the Nevari front shield-line, the advancing plainsmen were at full gallop, their bows stowed and their war-clubs, spears, and crude tomahawks at the ready. From the Nevari perspective it appeared that they would be overwhelmed in mere litas, even with the lance-wielding soldiers standing behind it. However, at one certain location the mounted attackers found that the area which had plagued them the day before repeated its feat yet again.

Arrows from that same amazing fellow destroyed the attack in a semicircle a hundred kez around him. Missiles flew at such a rate...and with such deadly precision...that only four of the first thirty horsemen even reached the wall of shields, and they were swiftly dispatched by spear and lance. And very quickly their corpses and the flailing bodies of wounded men and horses alike fouled the attack of the warriors behind them.

At other places along the skirmish line, the fight was much more in the favor of the attackers...the Nevari soldiers being not quite as confident, nor as skilled as the men they faced. But it quickly became clear that those directing the onslaught had a particular objective in mind...the area Ron was protecting. Apparently they were taking great offense at being stymied...their will being so overtly challenged...so the incoming surge in that exact spot had twice the men as the rest, yet it still did not yield the results they'd hoped.

Ron was not alone with his bow, not by any means, as there were fully twenty other bowmen within the hundred feet to his left and right, but they drew their strategy and courage straight from him...and he was phenomenal. Forty arrows from his quiver were gone and forty men lay upon the ground because of them. They weren't all dead, but they could no longer wage war. And that successful countermeasure bolstered everyone around him to fight to the very limits of their ability.

Far off in the distance, hanging back a good half hoz, six men sat atop their steeds in a close-quarter group, and watched. They were the leaders of the attacking horde...a group of elders who had negotiated a rare truce among six competing clans to make this joint venture possible. The spoils were to be distributed evenly among the nomadic peoples. However, as they took in the battle, one of them grew more and more disturbed at the loss of so many of his tribe's men. He had been assigned the section that Itsu...Ronin Alsone...was defending.

Ron saw them during a momentary lull in the fighting, and he immediately deduced who they were, but there was no time for contemplating those men just then. The bloodshed was too close.

The plainsmen's armor was good...well made out of scale-like layers of thick animal hide and cloth that overlapped one another nicely. It had been perfected over much time and many battles...but as with every man-made thing, there were weaknesses that could be exploited. The neck was one of those, and also the area around the armpit when a weapon was raised. The eye holes of their helmets were as well, and even their feet, which were protected only by leather sandals. It was a difficult target to hit, but a man cannot fight effectively, even on horseback, if an arrowhead is lodged in his ankle.

Every time Ron took advantage of some tiny flaw, the other archers copied his strategy. They were all well-practiced marksmen and even though they could not match his speed, or the power of his device, they could hit their targets at that close distance.

The downside to Ron's success was that it increased the enemy's desire to press him harder, and so they just kept coming. Soon fifty arrows were gone, and then a hundred. Ron kept up a pace that was unbelievable, but those around him became weary and the incoming fire grew in intensity.

Many of his companion bowmen fell in the following half billot to the influx of plainsmen fire, but even though more than two dozen bolts were sent his way, Ron managed to twist and duck and sidestep most of them.

He didn't get through unscathed of course, his upper body sliced in numerous places by the sharpened tips, but he was still standing...and still killing.

What finally tipped the scales was when the plainsmen penetrated the Nevari lines on both sides of Ron's group and began to press in from the flanks.

Ron was tracking the clashes all around him and finally had to drop to his knee and whirl about. Twenty more arrows flew from his bow, saving equally as many Nevari troopers, but then those attacking from the front finally forced a whole new mode of battle.

The shield barricade buckled ten feet from Ron, and over that wall swarmed the ferocious plainsmen, all of them whipped up into the wide-eyed, maniacal blood-lust of primitive men waging barbaric warfare.

That was okay with Ron though, because as his bow dropped to the grass and the two Samurai blades sprang from their sheaths, he joined those barbarians in that frenzied melee` of ghastly butchery.

Every nearby Nevari soldier still standing was falling back to try and regroup, and they passed Ron as he charged forward...deep rumbling growls issuing from his throat. He crossed blades with six men in the first five litas of the clash, and they were utterly obliterated. Ron kept advancing as well, until he was completely surrounded, but then he simply ratcheted up his swordplay another couple of notches.

The power behind his dripping Katanas crushed his opponents' defenses and cut through armor mercilessly, but that was nothing compared with the devastation he wrought on the fighting spirit of his enemies. The savageness of his warfare, the growls, roars, and snarls he uttered during battle were so vicious, so animalistic, and so inhuman, that it began to unhinge his attackers. Too, his movements were a literal blur, even in the daylight. To those who pressed him, he appeared to be simply waving his hand about in the air, but those men on the receiving end of that wave would have told a totally different story.

His crimson-coated swords cleaved heads from shoulders like they were held on by rice paper. Arms dropped to the ground with the clubs or axes still gripped in their fingers. Legs suddenly vanished from their owners, and often those men fell with confusion on their faces instead of pain.

In a twenty-foot-wide circle, it was a complete massacre. And then, when a break somehow emerged in all the horrible destruction, Ron cut loose with his infamous battle cry...that of the giant ice beast; the saldare, and of the Aredanz Mountain Folk...further unnerving those who thought to face him.

Suddenly a blasting set of signals rang out from the plains, all down the Nevarian skirmish lines. The horsemen were being called back to regroup.

To the Nevarians who'd just witnessed that unnatural wail of utter savagery however, it appeared that he'd actually frightened the enemy into retreat.

Many of the soldiers close by were staring at him with open awe. The aura of absolute ferocity he exuded was tangible. It appeared as if he were challenging the entire horde to mortal conflict...single-handedly!

To Ron though, it was a totally different sensation.

At first, he couldn't understand why they'd pulled back, but he quickly took notice how many of the marauders no longer shot arrows.

"They're out of ammunition!" he quickly realized.

And where they were forced to fight man-to-man against the Nevarians, they were taking heavy losses, their weapons being of far inferior material and too unwieldy against the more refined swords of the city-dwellers. If they meant to survive and succeed, they needed to keep the fighting at a distance...and for that they needed to resupply badly.

In the following ten borts, all of the plainsmen were across the skirmish lines, hauling as many of their wounded as they could. Hundreds of horses lay dead or dying across the expansive field of battle, and many of the surviving mounts were limping or injured in some serious way. Dozens of others that had lost their saddles were being led away by men on foot.

The Nevari troops took a well-needed breather before they began to collect themselves as best they could...but it was bad. After a billot of desperate checking, they found their casualty count was in the high forty percent bracket, and most of the ones that would survive could not fight further.

Ron was beginning to get nervous by then. It seemed obvious to him that they needed to fall back. The men were exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry...and the longer they stayed out there, the weaker they would get. It was quickly becoming a hopeless scenario in his mind.

Finally, after another half billot, retreat was ordered on the Nevari side. They'd managed to collect almost a third of the crops. The rest would have to be sacrificed! It was all they could do.

The soldiers took with them as much weaponry and protection as they could, but in so doing, it slowed their retreat badly, and Ron could see no reason that the horsemen would allow them enough time to escape. They'd simply lost too many men to accept that scenario.

It started out well...a layered, orderly affair, where two thirds of the forces would fall back half a hoz and set up a new protective line, and then the last third would join them...collapsing their defensive spread as they went, but in less than a billot, when the plainsmen appeared once more cresting the hillsides, it quickly turned into an all-out, mad-capped sprint for the wall. However, that safety barrier stood three hoz away over rolling ground of tilled earth.

The men not on some of the established pathways had to cross the soft, broken soil which was much like running in sand, and that made them panic all the more.

Ron was loping along easily, casting a look behind him every few moments to keep his eyes on the horsemen, when he saw them break into a charge again. And in that moment he knew the Nevari troops were never going to reach the wall.

The foot-soldiers were running on pure adrenaline, and that spurred their efforts, but the horsemen were barely a hoz away, and the speed of a horse was easily four times that of a man on foot.

When Ron crested the next rise and dropped into a shallow valley, he caught one of the signalmen that normally passed orders along the lines. He grabbed the man by the shirt collar and held him fast.

"We need to set up a skirmish line!" he told the fellow.

"Are you mad?" the signalman screamed back. "We'll be massacred!"

"Look, you fool!" he growled, towing the man back to the peak of the rise and pointing to his fellow soldiers. "They'll never make it!"

The signalman saw the truth in his words, but in his mind he was too panicked.

"We have to slow the plainsmen down!"

"I-I-I-I can't!"

Ron ripped the long staff from the man, and the satchel as well, tearing it open and searching for the right banner. In a moment it was affixed and he was waving it for all he was worth.

Out of every legion (one thousand men), there were five colors assigned...one hundred soldiers and one hundred archers were assigned a color, and they would act in concert to their directed orders. Out of the five thousand men on the front line, one thousand had the same color as Ron. He was calling for those men to stop their retreat and stand firm. The other banner-men were trained to always be on the lookout for changes in orders, so they caught the signal right away and immediately relayed that directive, assuming it had come from their general.

Since Ron had been basically in the forward third of those five thousand, most of his similarly colored brethren pulled up and looked about. Even the captains did likewise.

Ron saw the change and so he gave new orders to the signalman.

"Continue another two hundred kez and set up another wave! Go!"

Ron had roughly handled the fellow, even physically throwing him to the ground, so that had forced him to focus. The young man nodded emphatically and set off again...anything to put more space between him and the attacking horde.

Ron then turned his back on the fleeing troops, each of those men vying for the safety of Nevari's stone wall. He scanned the closing throng and prepared.

The average bowman packed fifty arrows when setting out on a mission such as theirs. They were bundled in long, tubular, covered baskets to protect them from breakage. Each container separated at the upper third with a leather hinge, and each also had a slim spike protruding from its base so that the archer could jam it into the ground so it could serve as an arrow stand.

The ground between the front line and the wall had been pre-stationed with reserve arrows for the very scenario they were in, so at that time, Ron was next to two.

One of the army captains soon approached and took up a position close to Ron. He'd seen Ron fight, seen him unleash that horrendous challenge to the overwhelming enemy, and seen the commanding way Ron had organized the men. And even though he himself was of much greater rank, he felt that impressive show of calm and confidence from the unassailable warrior reinforced his own. With that, he gathered his remaining men about them and prepared for the onslaught.

The other soldiers who'd answered the call to duty all down the front lines, took up their stances in positions similar to Ron's...shallow depressions in the undulating ground. It wasn't as good as it could have been...custom-dug trenches would have been better...but most of them were only exposed from the waist up, so it was better than nothing. They propped their shields up into the best attitude they could to protect them against the incoming missiles from the horsemen, and then they hustled to secure their lances as well. If they were to have any significant impact against the impending charge, they desperately needed those long weapons set solidly in the finest angle they could get.

The wide arc the Nevarian army had initially displayed had shrunk to a third the original size, simply due to the natural order of things, and so when Ron saw the front wave of intruders break his range limit, he pulled back and let fly knowing the others would see and follow suit.

"Loose!" bellowed the captain beside him. "Loose-loose-loose!"

The Nevari archers...no matter what kingdom the hailed from...had been trained since they were children to fire their longbows, and they were immensely good at it. It wasn't so much a test of marksmanship in that situation as it was a test of speed...and each man was required to be able to send two arrows per lita from their weapons to pass inspection. They proved it then and there. To conserve ammunition, every bowman released five arrows into the advancing line of horsemen, and then paused to see the results.

Those tiny missiles arched up and up, and then they fell into the ranks of the plainsmen with remarkable impact. Two hundred men lost their seats because of arrows penetrating their bodies, and a hundred horses stumbled and fell, pitching their riders to the ground roughly in the middle of a heavy charge, thus ensuing further injuries. Another hundred warriors were wounded enough to prevent them from using their bows, and flesh wounds of varying degrees peppered fifty more. And that was just the first volley.

The results of so much damage was made clear instantly. The plainsmen were hardy, brave men, and unafraid of death, but even the finest warriors could not ride where horses' bodies and men were strewn across the ground. That forced a sharp change in their attack pattern, one that gave the retreating Nevarians a bit more time to regroup and get closer to the wall.

They were close enough by then for Ron to target individuals, and ten more arrows were gone from his stores so fast he barely realized it. He was just tall enough to see over the rise in the land, and every bolt he let fly struck home. Bodies began to pile up fast once more.

Those men were not fools though, and they quickly adjusted their tactics. The flow of the horsemen swung wide around the initial impediment, yet still Ron fired, tracking that ebb in the enemy's charge like a cloak of death. The range and accuracy of his heavy weapon was baffling to the plainsmen, but the other Nevari archers had no such advantage, so that's where the riders headed.

It took another few litas before the diverting horsemen were within range with their own arsenal, and then the return fire rained in. All down the front line of Nevari's defense, the soldiers and archers alike took cover, and the tall, heavy shields the infantrymen held did a fine job of stopping or deflecting those missiles yet again. But hiding from that hail of aerial assault allowed the horsemen to get much closer, and standing men against a charging horse was never a good match-up for the men.

Ron kept up his own attack, sending more of the slim missiles to his friends' defense. Soon twenty-five arrows were gone, and then forty...and then a horse leaped right at them, its rider firing point blank at Ron's infantryman protector.

The soldier took the arrow in the ribs, but managed to get his lance up and into the underside of the rider's mount with horrible results. The thick shaft of the lance somehow held up against the incredible assault as it was built to, which allowed the eighteen inch metal spearhead to blast through the horse and through its rider as well.

The Nevari captain was thrown from his feet by the impact and his shield flew to the side, but through it all Ron continued firing.

"Get out of here!" Ron roared at his soldier partner. "Fall back!"

The officer refused however and leaped to his feet, standing his ground with his sword held at the ready...the arrow in his side completely ignored.

Ten more plainsmen fell, and then twenty, each brave soul impaled by those tiny shafts of wood and steel, but even Ron couldn't get them all. However, those that did break through found out that the young soldier beside him was quite as good with a sword as he was with a lance. Ron felt proud to stand next to the fellow as he still refused to retreat to a safer position. He accounted himself extremely well, resolute against an overwhelming enemy.

Bodies of men and horses fell so thick around Ron and his partner that before much longer they were temporarily hidden from the charging army. During a brief lull in the clash, Ron realized that he'd heard nothing from his comrade for the past several borts of intense fighting, so he spun about at that time to check. He found the young man right at his feet with one of the plainsmen sprawled across his prone form. A sword tip protruded from the horseman's back. Ron hauled the enemy warrior off his companion in a one-handed, swift heave, still holding his bow at the ready, but it was to no avail. Five arrows pierced the young man's body, along with that rider's knife which was completely through his neck.

Ron growled at that, but kept his head, giving his surroundings a fast scan. He then scooped up his remaining arrows on the fly and raced away, running between the surging horses that had already passed his position. His bow hung across his back as he ran, but his hands were filled with his edged weapons, and he wreaked havoc to those close enough to reach.

Ron sliced his way along for nearly ten borts before the next wave of retreating Nevari archers cut loose with their arsenal, and he quickly found he was within their range. He narrowly escaped that incoming hail of 'friendly' arrows by diving to the ground against the body of a wounded horse. It took six missiles that would surely have skewered him.

"Shit!" he cursed his luck. "Now that I'm amongst the enemy, my own support is likely to kill me if they don't!"

Ron suddenly spied an out. A rider-less horse was prancing around ten kez away, confused by the loss of its owner.

When it spun about and was facing northward, Ron bolted for it and leaped atop its back before it could shy away.

### Chapter Twenty-five

### Kill me if you Can

The rigging of the saddle was strange to Ron, but he'd seen how the foreigners had positioned their bodies, so he tried to mimic that. It was the reins that were the real oddity though. They didn't use a bit in the creature's mouth. It was more like a muzzle. The plainsmen's mounts were trained to obey the subtle commands of the riders' knees against their necks more than the reins' inputs. And to add to the difficulties, Ron had to defend himself against other riders while he learned.

Ron took an arrow in each thigh and one glanced off his ribs before he was proficient enough to gain some moderate control of his animal, but he never slowed his fighting, taking out three charging marauders with his long sword.

He contributed his uncanny fortune of still being alive to his terribly erratic movements aboard his steed, but however he managed it, and before anyone could get a clean shot at him, Ron was hell-bent on the heels of the closest plainsmen still charging forward into the Nevarians. And once he found himself somewhat in control of his mount's direction, he brought out his bow once again.

Ron found that if he crouched in the saddle and balanced his body on his knees, he could both direct his pony and dampen the undulations beneath him enough to fire cleanly. In another few borts, all the Nevarian ammunition he carried was depleted, but the horsemen were archers as well, and he found another fifty arrows strapped to the side of the beast he rode.

The battle raged on and drew ever closer to the Nevari wall, pressing extremely hard on the besieged soldiers, but then Ron saw a new strategy that he thought might work, so he leaned hard to the right. He rammed and punched and hacked his way through a thick wave of the mounted horde to reach one of their own signalmen, and then he attacked that fellow with a diving maneuver that wrenched the startled fellow clean out of his saddle. They both hit the turf hard but sprang up instantly with knives at the ready. Unfortunately for the signalman, he had absolutely no chance against the blazing quickness of Ronin Alsone. It was over in barely two litas.

In the next moment, Ron snatched the horn from around the man's neck and immediately assumed his duties. With a quick inhalation, he blasted out several notes in rapid succession...the same set of signals he'd heard earlier...the ones calling for the plainsmen to regroup. That unexpected change in commands instantly sent a wave of confusion through their ranks, and drew enough attention to quell their overwhelming charge dramatically.

Ron saw the still surviving Nevarians leap to their feet and race away again...and he smiled.

He then took that pause as the blessing that it was and hopped back aboard his stolen horse, whirling it about to point south...and then he sunk his heels in. In a single heartbeat Ron was racing for the Nevari wall as well...but not toward the heavily guarded gate that welcomed the men on foot. No, that was off to the west of his current position and there were a thousand horsemen between him and that sanctuary. He felt his best chance was a closer route, so he pointed his beast due south and goaded it to make for the ragged cliff face at the eastern end of the wall.

He only made it halfway there, however, before his horse was brought down, but by sheer ferocity and determination (luck, Ronin told me, but I knew better), Ron managed to fight his way back amongst his own men by dusk while the battle raged all about.

On it went; a harrowing ordeal of carnage, brutality, and viciousness...and many thousands of men perished on both sides...but the plainsmen simply would not relent.

By the time it was completely dark, they were fighting by torchlight, and bodies were once again everywhere, most notably; completely surrounding Ronin "the madman from Nevari". In fact, they were stacked five feet high.

At some point, that gruesome fact forced the plainsmen bent on Ron's destruction to halt their push and develop a totally new strategy. Circumstances as they were, they found themselves first having to remove their own dead so they might gain an avenue to attack that unassailable foe. Unfortunately, they also realized that if they only had one way in, none of them would survive. Therefore, one of their commanders broke a cluster of twelve of them into three groups of four and ordered them to get to work.

Ron was unrecognizable by then, so thoroughly covered in blood and gore that it actually steamed from his overheated body, and that dim, ghastly vision in the dark further imbued his already imposing presence with supernatural characteristics.

The horsemen were incredibly valiant warriors, and had faced enemies far and wide across their sprawling domain, but this newest adversary...the man before them who they would eventually find out was Ronin Alsone...was something none of them had ever encountered. His killing abilities were absolutely astounding! It was as if they battled an apparition who could not be caught...did not feel pain...and could not die: a phantom...a necromancer! And to anyone who might question that terrifying assessment at that moment, it was easy to point out.

Literally dozens of their friends and relatives lay slaughtered around him, and they'd seen fifty arrows at least shot at him from close range...and could not have missed...yet he fought as if he was completely oblivious to it all.

And beyond the obvious damage this fiend was doing to their personnel, the plainsmen leaders were quickly realizing that if he weren't stopped soon it would become virtually impossible to send men at him...their deep-seeded superstitious beliefs were rising too fast. They feared the men would presently begin retaliating against their orders, and no threat of reprisal would be able to spur them on. He had to be dealt with, and fast!

Ron was bone-weary and badly dehydrated by then, gasping great gulps of air in the momentary respite, so he didn't waste time caring why they held back, but rather took the opportunity to have a look around.

The Nevari lines had been broken at several locations and most of the soldiers had fallen back to the third or fourth staging point. Fortunately for them, it put them very close to the wall where fresh archers could cover them from that tall, stone bastion.

He turned from that view to sweep his gaze across the open fields that were now swallowed up by the darkness, searching for any signs of trapped Nevarians. Here and there were sporadic areas of torches out in the grass, but they were moving slowly and methodically and so Ron presumed that the horsemen were searching for any missed or wounded city folk. Where they were found, they were executed on the spot.

It was time to go.

As the first of the bodies were pulled from around him, Ron snatched up his bow and hurdled the mound with a roaring battle cry, headed in the direction of Nevari, but as he did so, movement to the east caught his eye. He destroyed the four plainsmen that met him when he landed and then looked again to where his attention had been drawn.

"Son of a b...!" he cursed out loud.

Standing in the glare of a torch was Brossin's aide; Maitrin Poseri. His sword was held high and he was readying for a clash. Also, there were three other men with him that Ron could not make out...one of whom he surmised must be the general...correction; the captain...and they were cut off from any retreat. All the hoz he'd traveled, all the santaris of planning, all the sacrifices he'd made had led to that moment. And all the answers Ron had come to Nevari to find were there in front of him...right there...but the captain had to live to give them!

Ron bolted forward with his longest katana in his right hand and the powerful bow in his left.

Using his superior agility, speed, and swordsmanship, Ron cut his way through the various men that vied to stop him, and when he came across a downed Nevari bowman, he scooped up that man's arsenal and put his long-range weapon back in action.

Maitrin suddenly dropped to one knee, having been struck a solid blow to the helmet by an enemy's club, and he was clearly dazed. It had been a long, tough fight in the gloom of the torchlight and so his opponent drew in a deep breath to give him the strength to finish the job, but before he could swing the crushing blow, a slim shafted missile slammed into his hip, right at the joint of his armor. He jerked markedly at the blazing fire of the wound, and then spun to face the direction it had come from. He never really saw his attacker though as another arrow instantly found his left eye.

Ron was blocked just then by six new fighters, so his focus shifted. They met him in a well-coordinated attack that had two of them wielding heavy shields they'd stolen from dead Nevari soldiers and the others using spears to stop his advancement.

Since more of the plainsmen were everywhere, Ron knew he had to keep moving, so he hacked the end off of one spear, grabbed the other, and then kicked one of the men holding a shield. That fellow had seen Ron in action so he was holding the heavy barrier with both hands and praying to his gods to give him strength. That only kept him from having his arm dislocated though, and instead of that, the shield smashed into his body so hard that he somersaulted fifteen feet backward and wound up with a broken nose and a concussion. He didn't wake up until sometime the following day.

The three remaining men jolted backward to an upright posture as their buddy flew past, and then fell into a defensive attitude. Their eyes flicked over to one another as if each was wondering how their partner might wish to respond, but before they came to a consensus, Ron was already racing away. They both breathed a sigh of relief and headed off in another direction, more than happy to leave that sprinting menace to whomever he came across next.

Ron was only thirty kez away from Maitrin when three horses suddenly whinnied loudly off to the north and galloped away. They were out in the deep grass, almost invisible in the dark. One appeared to have something large draped across its back and two were trailing long ropes. At the end of those was the man Ron was after, his wrists tied out in front of him. An instant later Maitrin Poseri was jerked from his feet and stretched out prone, dragged away by the fleeing horsemen.

Ron stowed the slim sword and nocked an arrow, but the horses were swift and the night was pitch black. He took his best guess at the shot and let it fly, but didn't see any sign that he'd struck his target.

"Shit!" he barked after them.

Ron then dashed over to check the other men that had been in the group. None were Brossin Negalli. His eyes returned to those two horsemen speeding away and he never even glanced back, immediately giving chase at the best speed he could muster.

Out into enemy territory he sped, following his prey by the only means he could...the sound of the animals' hooves. Luckily they weren't at full gallop, no doubt attempting to draw out the sadistic abuse of their roped prisoner. A half hoz from the skirmish and the torches, Ron's eyes had adjusted to the inky blackness of the night as much as they were going to, and he could just make out the silhouette of the group he pursued, so he kept to it. At a hoz, the fellow on the left suddenly slowed dramatically, and then his animal dropped to a cantor and began a tight circle.

Ron was huffing hard, trying to maintain his near sprinting pace, but he smiled when he saw the odd maneuvering from the beast. It was the sure sign that the rider was pulling hard on one side of the animal's reins, as if he was slowly sliding off his saddle. A few more short moments passed and then the rider fell to the turf. Ron dug deeper and sped onward...three hundred kez separated them.

The other plainsman forced his mount to pull up when his friend slowed, and he too circled back, guiding the third horse...the one with the body draped across it...on its own tether. Ron could hear the man questioning his buddy, but he was sucking air in too loudly to make out the dialogue. When the fallen horseman did not respond to his calls, Ron watched the second fellow leap down and run to him. That allowed another hundred kez closure. Upon examination, it was obvious as to why the warrior lay there. An arrow stuck straight up out of his back. It had penetrated his lung and nicked his pulmonary artery, filling his chest cavity with blood. After receiving no response, the second man stepped over to his friend's mount and retrieved its reins, tying them to his saddle with the trailing horse's so that he might continue.

Ron sped onward...one hundred and fifty kez to go.

The surviving plainsman appeared to be in no particular hurry until he'd regained his saddle. That's when he ventured a look behind, cursing the brutal battle that had just taken his friend from him. When he did, his heart nearly stopped.

That's the moment he realized they'd been followed.

A sharp set of whistles and a hard kick sent the horses moving again, but it was too late. Ron had slammed to a stop and let fly. He buried an arrow in the rider's spine, right at the base of his skull.

Ron rushed forward again immediately, determined to follow the plainsman, should he somehow live, but when the horse felt its master drop to the turf, it had no more compunction to continue, especially since it felt the resistance of the one dragging the weight of the Nevari soldier.

Ron caught up soon afterward, hurrying to the rider's side. The plainsman was flat on his back, eyes wide and staring up into the dark, starless sky. Ron looked down on him with a drawn sword, but the fellow was no threat. His fingertips quivered, still trying to answer the call from his brain to fight, but unable to comply.

Ron had seen death in so many forms that he hardly noticed anything beyond the man's inability to rise, so he turned about and went to Maitrin's limp form.

A quick flick of his knife and the bindings parted off the man's wrists. Then he rolled the soldier over and checked him for signs of life. He really expected to find none after the cruel treatment he'd just suffered, but surprisingly, the fellow was breathing. Ron tried to rouse him, but could not. Then he heard the sounds of more horses heading his way.

"Son of a...!" he growled, but jumped into action.

He hefted Maitrin onto his shoulder and hurried over to one of the rider-less horses, which had wandered off a few kez to the end of its tether.

Ron slung the unconscious man across the back of the horse and hastily strapped him down with the rope that now dragged behind it. Then he checked the third beast...the one with another fellow similarly secured...but only had time to make certain the man was alive before he headed to the unburdened steed. That animal tried to shy away, but Ron grabbed a fist full of mane hair and leaped upon it in one smooth action.

Once in the saddle, Ron tried to recall the exact set of whistles the plainsman had used to guide the beast, and after a couple of misses, he hit it and they were off.

The group of riders behind him was quite close by then, and he felt his chances of escape with the wounded men were slim, but a new wrinkle broke onto the scene that really changed the dynamics of the situation.

A pride of plains lions had heard the commotion of the night's conflict between Ron and the horsemen and had headed toward the scent of blood that was currently thick in the air. Just when Ron got his horse moving, he caught the sound of one of the cats' high-pitched bark about thirty kez to the north, and he felt the animal beneath him suddenly tense, coaxing it to run at its maximum speed from the onset.

But before the creature was at full gallop, Ron heard another spine-tingling sound; the answering coughs of four other cats, further away...directly in the path of the incoming horses. Ron smiled in the gloomy night and crouched down low in the saddle.

"Good luck with that, fellas," he said to the approaching warriors.

It was one thing to be brave and fearsome out in the bright of day, as he already had seen the plainsmen were, but it was a wholly different affair at night. The men were practically blind whereas he knew the lions could see nearly as well as ever.

A few moments into his flight, Ron heard the loud, sharp whinnying of terrified horses, and then the deafening roars of hungry cats tore across the plain.

### Chapter Twenty-six

### Brossin Negalli

Ron stayed on the move the entire rest of the night, slowing after the first few hoz to a quick cantor to conserve the animals' energy, and walking the beasts when he felt they needed rest. Thereby he gained a good twenty hoz' distance from the clash by dawn.

At the first sign of a burgeoning sun, he spied a thick stand of trees growing along the banks of a small stream about three hoz to the southeast and headed for it. He needed a place he could hide out for an undetermined amount of time...whatever it might take for his original quarry...Maitrin...to recover. And too, he didn't want to be seen out on the open ground.

Ron was extremely cautious as he approached the wooded area, concerned about who might be watching him, both from the safety of the trees and from the wide open hilltops all around. It was a very tense half billot.

Once he felt the shade of the woods envelop him however, he returned to the mindset of the hunter, scouring the air for sounds of beasts or men who might be about.

He heard no call or cry that would denote a large animal, nor did he sense the presence of man, but when he returned to his entry point to check for pursuit, he spotted a group of five riders cresting a hill, off to the northeast. His chest clenched tight for several borts as he watched them intently with his quarry still draped over the back of the stolen horse. If they spotted his trail, which he saw no way that they wouldn't, he wanted to be ready to move.

Over the next half billot, Ron followed the movements of those riders with growing curiosity. They weren't going anywhere. They rode slowly to the east for a while...but not out of eyesight...weaving left for no apparent reason, and then right.

The men upon the mounts did not have weapons out, so they weren't hunting, and they went right across his obvious trail without even glancing at it, so they weren't a tracking party. Suddenly they turned northwest and galloped fast. After a couple of hoz they dropped their speed sharply and turned again, heading back. It was almost like they were taking riding lessons. Then an idea hit Ron.

"They're training the horses!"

He could see it then, and when they grew closer, he could hear it. Each time the rider would make a change to the direction or speed of the horse, he would give out a certain set of whistles or clicks with his mouth.

Each of the men took turns at being the first in the group to begin a maneuver so that the beasts wouldn't get used to a certain order, and they repeated the sounds time after time while making the adjustments. They also varied the tempo and urgency of their commands so the animal could get a better reading on its rider's intent. And they stayed tightly grouped together the whole time. That way, one man's signal wasn't interpreted to mean anything to the next fellow's mount.

"Very clever!" Ron conceded. He knew then and there that even in the heat of battle, the animals' acute hearing would pick up the sounds and obey only _its_ riders' wishes, freeing his hands to do battle.

Once they rode over his tracks for the third time, Ron allowed himself to relax and eased deeper into the grove.

He found a nice place for a camp a couple hundred kez in, away from the stream and therefore away from most any chance of being spotted. It had a small spring that was little more than a mud hole from where animals had trampled the ground regularly, but he was able to scoop out enough of the softened earth to allow the water to pond up deep enough to let him fill his water skin.

He laid Maitrin down and stripped him, searching for any serious injury. The man was in poor shape and his torn clothing was stuck to his haggard body at nearly every inch by a mixture of dirt and his own blood, so it took a good length of time to make a thorough examination.

Ron found the man's left arm was broken above the elbow. It wasn't compound though, so that was good. His right leg had two arrows snapped off in it but no large artery had been hit. One of his ribs was showing from being dragged across the ground, and his skin was abraded nearly everywhere and bruised more than that. If he ever awakened, he would without a doubt be extremely uncomfortable.

Ron took the opportunity of the fellow's comatose state to remove the arrow shafts, splint his arm, and patch him up as best he could, but then he knew it would turn into a perilous waiting game. If the man could stave off infection, he might recover. Otherwise, that was it for the battered fellow. And he had no idea if he would ever speak.

Then he turned to the other man, the one he thought dead by the way he hung motionless and quiet all through the morning. He cut the fellow loose and placed him next to Maitrin, but that soldier was obviously in a much graver state, although he did still live. Once Ron removed his armor, he found an arrow sunken deeply in the fellow's hip joint, bad bruising across five ribs...three that were surely broken...and saw that he suffered from a horrible gash across his stomach that left his intestines clearly visible. And he was covered in so much blood, his head and face drenched in it from hanging across the horse, that it took Ron another twenty borts to clean him enough to recognize him.

It was Brossin Negalli.

Just as with Maitrin, Ron did what he could to patch the fellow back together, but he had limited resources, and so about all he could really accomplish was try to make him as comfortable as he could. The former general would certainly not survive.

The men were both non-responsive when he finished, so Ron turned to the next task of importance, his own injuries. Once more, he'd not escaped such a hellish clash unscathed, and so he began doctoring himself. Six arrowheads, three stitched gashes, and a bruise that had turned his entire right thigh deep purple were the worst of it, but he would live. However, with the dissipation of adrenaline, his body began tightening up severely, making every movement a painful reminder of his predicament, yet he still had work to do, so he merely fought through it and pressed on.

Before sundown, Ron constructed a sturdy lean-to out of the nearby vegetation to get the unconscious men out of the elements as much as he could. That turned out to be a very wise action when a thunderstorm sprang up in the middle of the night and pounded the landscape with rain and marble-sized hail. It was a tense time out there in the pitch black of night in that foreign, enemy land, but when it blew past, Ron smiled slyly. There would be no further chance of anyone tracking them following that deluge.

Ron kept the broken soldiers hydrated by drizzling water in between their cracked and torn lips every billot, but that was about all he could manage for them. That, and watch them twitch, moan, and writhe in their separate deliriums.

For the next two full days, Ron kept careful watch, scouted the area as well as he dared, and hunted some small animals to feed on. He stayed close by his patients and didn't once venture outside the tiny wooded island amidst the sea of grass. To feed the horses, Ron fashioned a long, homemade rope from vines growing in the woods and let the animals graze at the length of it.

Time went by with unending anxiety, and thus agonizingly slowly.

On the third morning, while Ron was trying to get some water down Brossin's throat, the commander looked up at him with the unfocused, glazed eyes of a doomed man. At first there was no reaction, but he quickly fought his way back to semi-coherence to regard the fellow kneeling beside him, and he immediately cried out and reached for his sword. It, however, was not there...not that it would have mattered.

Maitrin was shoulder to shoulder with Brossin and so was roused by the sound. He instantly sought out his commander, whereupon he too fumbled around for his sword. His instincts to defend himself and his leader were paramount...even more so than to the agony his body reported.

His movements quickly stopped though when the tip of Ron's sword lay against his unprotected throat.

"Not another twitch!" Ron growled.

The man froze where he was, staring into the steel-gray eyes of his apparent captor.

"Now relax."

Maitrin's torn and abraded arm instantly fell back to the rocky ground, but Ron kept his blade against the man's neck all the same as he returned his gaze to Brossin.

At first there was no real recognition in the former general's expression...his only seeming thought being defense...and then his foggy mind made out the uniform of his countrymen and he laid his head back down again. But when Ron crouched low, to within a foot of the general, a spark ignited in Brossin's brain and it all came back to him.

"You!" he said in a harsh, rasping voice.

Ron just stared at him. He knew the man was dying...and soon.

Brossin immediately lurched and coughed, his face twisting with the terrible pain of that act.

"It was you down there...wasn't it?" he asked. "We heard your battle cry. It was you who stopped the panic and organized the men?"

Ron nodded.

"And it was also you who signaled the horsemen to regroup, wasn't it?" Maitrin inquired, still feeling the cold steel at his throat.

Ron nodded again and then removed and stowed the weapon.

"We saw it all from barely seventy kez away! That was the bravest, most daring thing I've ever witnessed!"

"But why?" Brossin managed to ask. "Why have you come back here...and why would you help us?"

"I wasn't out to help your men. I was looking for you!" Ron told him in a stern voice. "All that...down there...was just to keep myself alive until I could find you."

"Me? But why?"

"To take the bounty off my head. It nearly cost some innocent, hardworking farmers their lives, and more unnecessary suffering will likely occur if it stays."

"It wasn't..." Brossin suddenly grimaced with pain and coughed a number of times. Blood spewed from his lips. "Wasn't me!" he finished.

A deep rumbling sound erupted from Ron's chest at the denial.

"Is that so?" he growled through gritted teeth. "Then what about the women who helped me? They were tortured and killed simply for being kind to a stranger! I saw the insignia on their guards' uniforms. Those were _your_ men standing watch over them!"

Brossin tried to reply, but his words wouldn't come out...just gurgling sounds and red spittle.

"We know, Ronin," Maitrin said instead. "We know."

Ron turned away from Brossin and nodded for the man to speak.

"What you say is true, yes...to the general's great chagrin...but it was not his doing. It was punishment for failing our commanders. You see, you did a great deal of damage to our military leaders' pride by showing them that their best soldiers were no match for a single stranger. It shook them to the core...even more than it startled us who actually crossed your path. And believe me, that's saying something!"

Ron stared at the man carefully, judging his words for sincerity. He saw no hint of deception.

"So they wanted it all to go away," the fellow continued, "and thereby took brutal steps to get that done. We in the military were ordered to comply with the edicts from our rulers. We had no other choice...other than to join the women in Justice Square."

"Justice Square," Ron hissed. "How ironic!"

"Yes...I understand how you feel...truly, I do...and so does the general. It is a horrible humiliation to have to commit such acts. We are soldiers, not butchers."

"Well these prideful men must have really lost their patience when I came back and stole the last of their sacrificial lambs from them," he said aloud.

"Yes. Once they found out that was you as well, their wish to eradicate you grew profoundly, and every step after that was carefully orchestrated. The egg you arrived in was hauled away and dumped into a deep lake; the Vistalen...over a hundred hoz away...so that no one would ever have proof of your miraculous delivery. Your name became a scourge and was never to be mentioned...your entire existence crushed from thought!

"General Brossin and I had our ranks severely diminished and we were removed from our positions. If it hadn't been for his longtime standing with the governor, we assuredly would have been killed. As it was, we were ordered to never state a single word about what had truly happened...and we were closely watched.

"And the prolonged chase the army gave?" Ron inquired further.

"That was a junior commander trying to make a name for himself," Maitrin replied. "By crushing those brash invaders...which was the new story they pushed...he sought to gain favor. We tried to discourage him, but he would not listen. His eventual failure cost him his command and his citizenship. Three hundred men had perished either from the enemy or the weather, and he had returned with nothing. The military council's leader...General Diverin Lashare ordered him to be banished from Nevari. I heard he turned to hunting men for bounty."

That made Ron's ears perk up. "It couldn't be!" he thought quickly. Then he asked Maitrin, "What was his name?"

"Mocco Nile."

Ron grinned. "Really?"

Brossin caught the look and understood.

"I wanted..." the general said slowly, "to go in search...of you myself," he told Ron in ragged, whispering words.

"Why?"

Brossin tried to continue but his lungs wouldn't inflate enough to give his words sound. Maitrin held him again as his body shuddered through another wave of pain. When he was quiet once more, the reply was given.

"To make amends," Maitrin answered for his commander. "You see, we found out the truth about that first day during the questioning phase of the slave women's trial. Since each of them gave incredibly similar responses to the judges' queries, it quickly became clear that they were not lying. Some of the men in that initial group of soldiers finally admitted it when they, themselves, were dragged before the panel.

"They of course were all condemned to death to cover up the truth. Lashare was adamant about that. He then decreed that anyone even mentioning the name; Ronin Alsone would be slain.

"To assist with purging Nevari's lands of your memory, he ordered Brossin and me to give descriptions of you to the artists and had dozens of posters distributed around the kingdom, hoping they would either run you off or get you assassinated. And when the carrion driver confirmed your picture was the man he'd seen as well, his fate was sealed.

"The general and I were ordered to slay the poor fellow ourselves, as penance...proof of our loyalty to our commanders...but instead, we took him out into the countryside and simply told him to never be seen in Nevari again."

"The queen," Brossin hissed softly.

"Yes, sir," Maitrin nodded. "Another reason we wanted to search you out was because Queen Arethnii has been looking for you as well...not to capture or kill you...but to speak with you. Her messengers have been all over the five kingdoms claiming such. We think she knows how important your arrival is...that it is the precursor to some great event."

Ron pinched his brows together in thought.

More coughing shook the general's failing body, but he motioned for Ron to approach. Ron knelt beside him and leaned in close to try and hear the message a little better.

"I don't have...much more...time," he said, squeezing his ruined abdomen. "They're planning...to kill...the queen!" Brossin forced out.

"Who is?"

"There are whispers of someone called Toboyo," Maitrin replied. "We don't know who he is though."

"When is this supposed to happen?"

"We don't know for sure, but soon. We think the most likely time will be during her wedding celebration...about three santaris from now. There will be a great deal of strangers in Heraitey, and therefore plenty of opportunity for confusion and chaos."

"Why?"

"It's a power play," he explained. "If the Queen dies before her son is old enough to take the throne, their blood-line's reign will be terminated because someone will have to take over and rule now. And from that day on, 'their' family will be in succession to the throne."

Ron understood the rationale of that, but since he already knew the child; Renni would one day be the king, he saw no real reason to concern himself."

"Why would I care? I know nothing of your culture, and I know nothing of your queen."

"Why else were you sent here, Ronin...to Nevari, I mean?" Maitrin asked. "If you are the one that the prophets have foretold for the last five hundred years, then it seems clear."

"Again with this prophecy of my arrival," Ron thought, recalling the tale Pierci had told him.

He said nothing though. His mind was blazing along too fast. He'd wondered why he was delivered at that particular moment in Caron's history...decades before any involvement with the legendary war. Right then these men's theory appeared to make some kind of sense.

"You...must...stop it...Ronin!" Brossin whispered emphatically, and then he passed away in Maitrin's arms.

Maitrin laid his leader's head down with reverence and struggled to his feet to stand next to Ron. It was a monumentally painful act, one that showed Ron just how important it was for him to finish the general's last wishes...to get Ronin's help.

"The queen will have left by now, Ronin...no doubt due to the threat out here on the plains."

"Left? The queen was here?" Ron asked, baffled that he had heard nothing of it.

"In the city, yes," the fellow replied.

"How could I not have known?"

Maitrin just shook his head.

Ron then remembered that he had been greatly isolated over the past two santaris, consorting mostly with men of occupations that required nearly total separation from normal life...hunters, scouts, and soldiers...and so focused on proving himself (so that he could work his way closer to where Brossin was reported to be) that he must have missed all the typical happenings and gossip of urban life.

"How might I find her?" he asked, still not convinced he should even get involved.

"There are three routes from Nevari back to Heraitey. One to the east that sweeps around through Vassar and Leaness lands. One goes almost due south, straight back to Heraitey, but that one is narrow and poorly maintained, with only minor cities and villages along it...and one heads west, in a round-about course through Balcor's capital of Raak.

"She will travel in a large caravan, accompanied by five-hundred Heraitey soldiers, but they do not wear the queen's crest...to avoid broadcasting who they guard."

"But every caravan has armed escorts. How can I be sure I get the right one?"

The aide merely shook his head. "When on the road, she disguises her wagons to appear like any other, so as not to acknowledge the worth of the cargo. It is a wise precaution, of course, but hinders our current efforts. And I have no idea which route she would take. That is decided by the head of her military accompaniment."

"Can you provide a description of her at least?"

The man smiled ruefully.

"She is said to be lovely, with dark, straight hair, black eyes, and tiny, feminine features. Of course, that's not very specific, and fits many women in our culture." He looked down at his former commander dejectedly. "The general could have helped you with that. He has known her all her adult life, even before she was queen. But I have never met her."

Ron nodded.

"Also," Maitrin added, a bit sheepishly, "and unfortunately for us just now, she is known to employ decoys...look-alikes...to further thwart harassment."

Ron rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, that's just great!" he thought.

"It might seem a cruel and insensitive ploy to those who play the role...being used basically as bait for any assassins...but they are, at least, well compensated. However, in the past, one entire family has regrettably died in so doing."

That did seem extreme, but Ron saw the wisdom in the act, understanding the gravity of the queen's position. She was the primary pillar of stability in a primitive region encompassing hundreds of thousands of people.

"And if I miss her on the road?" Ron asked.

"Then go to the city. If she survives the trip back, she will be there, or will meet you there eventually. But too, identify yourself with caution, for there are many mercenaries and bounty-hunters spread out across all of Erthania, hoping to become rich by slaying you!"

Ron smirked at that, his gaze turning as hard as the steel in his swords.

"I won't make it easy for them."

Maitrin smiled back grimly, vividly recalling the prowess Ron had demonstrated. "No doubt."

"Save her, Ronin Alsone!" he told Ron with all the seriousness he could in his horrid condition. "Save the empire from decades of all-out war!"

"But what about you? I can hardly leave..."

'Ziiiiiiiiiiiiiit!'

Ron felt the sting of something slicing through the skin of his right arm, just before an arrow slammed into Maitrin's chest. In the blink of an eye, Ron spun and let fly with one of his knives. He caught the horseman in the neck and the fellow dropped straight down, clawing at the handle of the blade.

Ron looked back at Maitrin and saw that he'd taken the bolt in the heart. He was already stone dead.

Ron then rushed to the man he'd killed and retrieved his knife, but in the few moments it took to check for life, he realized that he was being stalked on three sides by multiple men.

How they'd found him was a moot point just then, so he set his sights forward. With both his charges dead, his primary duty there was done, so he spun on his heels and dashed away, scooping up his weapons as he flashed past his little encampment, headed for one of the steeds he'd tied off.

In one quick move, Ron cut a rope he'd secured to a tree and leaped upon the back of that tethered horse. Two more arrows hissed by his head before he had the mount up to full speed...and then it was a pure race.

Ron had thoroughly scouted out the surrounding terrain while waiting for Brossin and Maitrin to recover, and he'd devised a few different plans of escape should he be discovered. He'd then carefully positioned the three horses to best accomplish that goal.

"First rule of making camp in enemy territory," his grandfather had instructed a young Kaskle (a lesson Ron recalled clearly, and always employed), "is to plan for at least two escape routes...three if possible."

The plainsmen had attacked Ron and his charges from the north, in a fan pattern that suggested they had a fair amount of men in their group, so that left only one direction...south. The mountains there were steep, jagged, and treacherous looking, but with a good deal of experience he'd accumulated over the years, he was convinced he could scale them...and he hoped his pursuers could not. That seemed a good strategy too, because he felt it highly unlikely that a society completely devoted to the wide open expanses of the prairie would have many of its citizens nurturing an affinity for mountain climbing.

Twenty mounted horsemen came galloping around the sides of Ron's little hideout, just as he sped off, and Ron cursed his luck. He had only ten arrows in his quiver. That left him no options, setting his mind firmly to the task. The only thing he could do was outrun them.

He desperately hoped that the rest his steed had had over the past two days would provide it enough advantage to give him a chance, but he knew his heavy-worlder frame was a substantial detriment to that, so all he could do was see what happened.

The mountainside he steered toward was five or six hoz off, which he guessed would push his pony well beyond its normal sprinting limit, but he had little choice.

At first, it looked like he'd gambled well...his horse eking out a half-hoz lead over the first four hoz...but then the poor beast began to feel the effects of hauling such a daunting load, and it started to fade.

The valiant pony managed to make the distance in the end, but there was barely a quarter hoz between Ron and his pursuers by then.

Ron steered over to the steepest face of the soaring cliffs and guided his horse right up to it, leaping straight from the saddle onto the rock. He then scrambled as fast as he could, throwing caution to the wind in a mad-cap series of jumps, shifts, and lunges that got him a good seventy feet up the wall before the plainsmen could fire at him.

One of their arrows landed between his fingers, showering his face with rock, but that didn't even slow him down. A few more shots ricocheted next to him, but then he reached a shelf where he could get behind an outcropping of granite, and so he slipped in there for a short rest.

For a moment he considered a little retribution for them killing Maitrin right next to him. But he was heading into totally unknown territory...providing he lived so long...and he would need his arsenal, so he pushed those thoughts aside.

He scanned the way ahead as fast as he could, and when he'd caught his breath, he took off once more. The horsemen made a pitiful show of following him, but when one of their men fell forty feet to the ground and broke both his legs and an arm, they decided it wasn't worth it.

Ron ratcheted back his haste at that point and set about taking much more care concerning his climb.

He still moved at a good clip though and worked his way up and over the first rugged peak by mid-evening, camping that night deep in the rocky, crag-strewn bosom of the higher elevations. Fall was well along by that time though, so the frigid nighttime temperatures forced him not to dawdle, and kept his attention focused on hastening southward to the lower levels beyond the hills.

It took another four days to cross just ten short hoz of that jagged, treacherous landscape, but he managed at last to reach the southern flatlands virtually unscathed.

Once in the wooded slopes again, he sped up considerably, always pointed south.

### Chapter Twenty-seven

### The Ambush

Queen Arethnii Marialous Saline Erapson Deaton swayed back and forth inside her plush wagon, reading reports from the most recent messengers. It was all very routine, and even a little boring, but it helped her pass the time during the long, wearisome trip home. They were heading straight back, their circuitous tour finally behind her, but she was anxious, so the reading material helped distract and console her. Her anxiety was caused by several fronts.

First was the failure of her primary mission, to finally get some solid information about where the mysterious super-soldier she'd been counseled about might be, and contacting him. She reassured herself though that at least she'd learned that he was real...and that he'd been in the vicinity of Nevari. Perhaps wherever he'd gone, he would eventually get her message and choose to meet.

The second was the foreboding rumors that abounded in Nevari. What was going on there? Why the brutal cover-up? Was her life truly in danger, or was it her children...specifically the heir to the throne; Renni?

The third was the possibility that...no matter how remote...her own brother might actually wish her harm. She knew what Vessia had said about the matter, that he'd been away and may not have had anything to do with the whitewash, but she saw no way that he could be kept so out of touch with the affairs going on within his own city.

And the fourth reason for her to wish a delay to her homecoming was what...or more precisely; 'who'...awaited her upon her return.

The marriage Vessia had briefly mentioned had been arranged like many in primitive societies, by careful selection of several key aspects of her future mate...none of which had anything to do with affection or love. She knew of no other way, as nearly everyone she'd ever known had submitted to similar processes...at least those in power or from affluent families.

There simply wasn't much chance that she could actually meet anyone organically...especially now. Everyone knew her as the queen, so how could she possibly ever trust what they may profess to her anyway. While she was openly considered to be intelligent, compassionate, and wise...as well as beautiful...her authority and position were simply too attractive to avaricious men. At any rate, she couldn't help but wonder...and worry...about what all that might lead to. She'd been truly fortunate with her first husband. He had been a wonderful man and had treated her with warmth, respect, and even love...something too many aristocratic women dreamed of but could not claim.

Her present intended husband; Chancellor Normen Gesse Worsham, was a fine man by all accounts she could read about, and they had gotten along well during the few times they'd met face to face during some party or other, but those had been very short periods, and everyone was always extremely gracious to her.

Their union would bind Heraitey with Balcor bloodlines, solidifying the bond of commerce of two major houses and taking at least one potential rival kingdom off the board, but she wanted more than just a truce out of the deal. No matter the social norm, women on any planet were emotional creatures and their hearts longed for ties with another's.

Her future was coming at her fast now...barely more than two and a half santaris away...and she was decidedly uneasy about that fact.

Arethnii shook her head to break her train of thought and gazed at the only real future she wished to consider, the one with her daughter and son.

Her children were playing about ten feet from her at the forward end of the long, wooden box that both shielded them all and provided them comfort. It was the ancient variant of a motorhome (a moving house on Earth) with the 'motor' being four massive brocors (hornless draft animals) plodding along down a hard-packed dirt road.

The windows were open to allow light in, as well as a nice breeze, and all seemed tranquil and quiet...or at least as quiet as it could be inside the creaking, groaning, bouncing, and rattling cabin. Those sounds were multiplied several times over too, due to the fact that her coach was only one of two dozen wagons in a long procession that made up the entire caravan. And on top of those noises, surrounding the wagons was half a legion of soldiers, spread out to form an impressive barrier to any aggression. So the clink of armor, the slap and creak of leather, the rattle of arrows in quivers, and the thump of foot on turf was a nonstop barrage. It was also a sound that gave her a great deal of peace of mind. She and her babies were safe.

That being said, one last thing that gave her a twist of disquiet when she should be at peace was the fact that Vessia was not with her retinue. Arethnii badly missed the young woman's company, and the children absolutely adored her. She was very serene, yet playful with the young ones...a natural nanny, Arethnii thought...and a wonderful friend.

The queen returned her attention to the written correspondence and finished up her royal duties. Then she called Renni and Isla over for their lessons. The one thing she really enjoyed during those long trips was the chance to spend more time alone with her children, so their actual nanny was riding in one of the other coaches, enjoying a little break. Arethnii was tutoring them herself.

They were only sixteen days out of Nevari and still had another entire santari's travel to get to Heraitey, so it was a bit of a surprise when the caravan suddenly pulled to an abrupt stop.

Arethnii didn't panic at the delay, and really wasn't worried much at all. The roads were rough and difficult to maintain in the long spans between cities, so stops to clear or repair the route were not completely uncommon. She just kept to her lesson and waited for someone to relay the reason for the delay. It came a few borts later.

"My Queen!" called one of the captains of the military contingent, standing right outside her open window.

Arethnii stood and gazed out that portal in the direction of the hail. The area they were in cut through a section of dense forest, and even though the roadway was wide and clear, the ground to the east and west rose abruptly, placing them in a shallow, narrow valley. It was pretty countryside however, so that gave her no apprehension either.

"Yes, Captain Murro," she replied.

"A tree has fallen across the roadway. It will take a few sars to clear it."

"Very well, Captain. Thank you."

The officer left and many of the nearby soldiers moved forward to give their assistance. They hurriedly unpacked a dozen axes from a supply cart and began their work.

Arethnii finished up the task her daughter was working on and then asked them both: "Since we're stuck here at the moment, would you like to go outside for a while?"

"Sure," her daughter squealed, and Renni leaped up as well.

The moment she opened the door however, she heard a loud call from just inside the fringe of the surrounding woods.

"IT'S HER!" rang out clear and crisp in the morning air.

The next moment, a series of deep, bellowing blasts from some kind of horns erupted.

Instantly, the peaceful countryside exploded with howls and screams and roars.

Arrows immediately flew from both sides of the roadway until the air seemed saturated with them.

Arethnii reacted just as quickly, recoiling back into the wagon and knocking her children from their feet. Her eyes flew wide as she watched no less than ten of those wooden missiles slam into her coach. Some were right beside the doorway and several others vibrated in the inner wall across from that portal.

Adrenaline blasted into her system in a sudden rush, so she kicked the door shut and triggered a heavy timber to fall across it. The following lita saw her whipping around and pinning her little ones to the floor.

"Stay down!" she barked, scaring them both into a frozen state as they clutched at one another, their eyes wide and full of fear.

Then she scrambled across the length of the padded box on her hands and knees, dropped each window shutter into position, and latched everything down tight with more security beams. They were built for that very scenario and so were thick, heavy, multi-layered wooden barricades strapped with metal reinforcements. The queen felt much better afterward, but the horrifying noises outside gave her growing cause for alarm. Many men screamed in pain while others roared with battle-lust and revelry, and it was a terrifying waiting period that followed.

Arethnii gathered her crying children to her and tried to keep them as calm as she could, but her own heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she felt the entire world could hear it.

"We have five hundred of our best soldiers defending us," she kept reassuring herself, but listening to the horrendous melee` outside rapidly chipped away at any confidence she tried to corral.

The battle waging all about them didn't last long...barely half a billot...and then the screaming and occasional clang of metal on metal died off as well. Next came the occasional pleas for mercy, which ended abruptly in silence. The wounded were being executed.

She knew that was a bad sign. Her protective escort would not be killing those who might shed light into the reason for the attack, and they most assuredly would have told her a status report by then had they been victorious.

Soon, several heavy footsteps could be heard approaching.

"Do not make a sound!" she whispered to Isla and Renni. She carefully placed one hand over each of their mouths...and then clamped her own shut tightly.

"BOOM!" echoed through the voluminous compartment.

Each of the royal family jumped violently at that, and the children would have screamed had they not been muzzled. The little ones began crying anew, clutching their mother desperately and shaking hard.

"BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!"

Axes were being used on the door. That barrier too had been specially designed to give them the maximum protection their technology could provide, but Arethnii knew it was merely a matter of time.

The queen had to force herself to focus through the blinding wish to scream and panic. She thought quickly and recalled her training. Such situations were part of the broad scope of being head of a powerful kingdom, so she had recurrent drills to deal with them. She pressed her babies' ears close to her mouth and explained what they had to do. They too had been part of the preparatory lessons, and so were familiar with what was required, but that didn't make it any easier to release hold of their mother. Next, Arethnii got the children into two small, virtually invisible compartments that were made into the walls of the coach.

"You must hide, my dearest," she told each of them. "I will let you out as soon as I can."

They wanted to fight being locked in such confinement, but even at their tender ages, they were well aware of the risks of being part of the royal family, and the necessary steps it took to survive.

Just then, the door splintered inward in earnest and six inches of a heavy broad-axe showed through, so Arethnii dashed to the far end of the wagon and unlatched a secret escape trap-door, and then she hid herself in a different narrow place...one made especially for her.

It was extremely snug in her compartment, and her heart was racing madly as she listened to the sounds outside her hiding place. Beads of sweat quickly began streaming down her body as she lay there praying that her children would not be discovered.

The door gave way to the intruders' efforts soon afterward, and a rowdy bit of cheering erupted. Next came a good bit of clomping around...obviously several men were inside the wagon. She heard things being thrown about and men grunting in frustration.

"They're not in here!" someone said. Clearly he was agitated.

"Here!" shouted another. "Look here!"

She had to hold her breath not to cry out simply because she didn't know if her son or daughter had been found.

"There's a secret door to the underside of the wagon!"

"Check it!" ordered an angry voice.

More clomping and scrambling about brought another round of angry shouting.

"They're nowhere around!"

"Did anyone see them come out of the coach?" shouted a man. He was hanging out one of the newly opened windows.

All around the wagon, men were asked if they'd seen anyone leave the huge coach. None had, but they confessed that they were too busy with the fight to really be sure.

"Search the woods!" ordered the same angry voice.

Time seemed to slow down then as the attacking horde could be heard breaking saplings and sticks and bushes in a mad search. They of course found nothing.

Another half billot drifted by agonizingly slowly, but by then the queen had begun to have some hope again as that time clicked away. She'd almost stop shaking when she heard the next words.

"Fire the coach!" bellowed a man.

"Oh no!" she screamed in her mind.

Soon afterward, another sound made it to Arethnii's ears; the distinct pop and crackle of fire inside the custom-built wagon.

Arethnii really began to panic then. She could not let her babies burn to death! She opened her compartment and rushed to do the same for them, hauling them to her. They were both crying, but the sound of the growing fire eclipsed their soft sobs as she attempted to console them.

She edged them close to the escape hole and waited as long as she dared...until the cloud of smoke billowing out every opening was too thick to stand and her clothing was singed from the flames, and then they all dropped out below the coach.

She'd hoped the attackers had gone, but they had not. They knew exactly how the game was played.

Rough hands suddenly plunged into the black smoke and grabbed the little family, and then dragged them out into an open area between two of the ten burning wagons.

The royal family members were all coughing harshly from inhaling the smoke, and didn't fight their assailants at all, even when they were dragged across several impedances that caused them to trip and stumble.

That particular section of the route the caravan had been utilizing had been dug out of the hillside to make the grade less steep, which accounted for the sharp elevation change on either side. The 'fallen tree' was a hundred kez south of their current position, but it was apparent that it had been pulled over in order to corral the queen's soldiers into a tight killing zone that they had not escaped. Four hundred archers had been lying in wait, plus another three hundred swordsmen.

The three men who gripped Arethnii and her children threw them harshly to the packed surface of the road at a distance that was clear of the fire.

Arethnii peered through burning, watering eyes at a scene which was heart-breaking to say the least. Thick, lingering smoke belched and ebbed from a multitude of wagons ablaze up and down the roadway, but she could see beneath its opaque haze. That's when she understood what she'd been stumbling over. Bodies were strewn about at every turn. Some were the attackers, but most were her brave protectors, having been ambushed so exquisitely that they had little chance at all. She even saw several of her servants, those who'd made her life so filled with comfort and ease. They'd been stabbed or shot, or had their throats slit. One of them, barely fifteen feet away, was the young girl who'd brought her the news about Ronin Alsone.

Arethnii was mortified, instantly heart-broken at trying to help the girl by taking her into her retinue. How cruel that twist of fate had been.

The air was almost completely still by then, and so she could hear the cries of wounded men from many directions. They were out of sight, but her mind's eye filled in the scenes as if she were watching it all. It made her stomach turn.

Her actual current field of view was confined to only about sixty kez due to the same smoke, but it was clear enough to see a band of nearly thirty men encircling her and her children. They were bloodied from the fight and were still amped up with the rush of mortal combat. Their eyes were wild with it and none showed any sympathy at all for her.

From off to her left, one man stepped forward from a clutch of three and moved in very close to take a good look at her.

"Stand up!" he barked.

Arethnii saw no reason to obey, so she remained huddled with her children, gathering them close behind her for what meager protection she could offer. The fellow was not a patient man however so he reached down and grabbed the neckline of her clothing and snatched her to her feet, ripping it partly away.

He examined her intently, and soon she saw obvious recognition in his gaze.

"Hello, Queen Arethnii, ruler of Heraitey," he said with a thick layer of disdain in his voice.

He flicked his eyes to the tear in her dress.

"I don't see any further need for this," he declared before he grasped the cloth again...this time with both hands...and yanked hard.

She was almost thrown to the ground with that act, but as she struggled to remain standing, every piece of her clothing was torn from her body by the man and his nearest ally while her daughter screamed for them to stop. The terrified girl could never have imagined that someone could treat her mother like that. In Heraitey's law, it was a sentence of death to anyone who dare accost the queen, and her eight-year-old brain simply couldn't take her mother being so abused.

The men took a moment to enjoy their work before tossing her clothes into the flames. The first fellow who'd attacked her smiled broadly.

"Now, that's better, isn't it?"

She stood before him with scorn and disdain clear on her face.

The fellow turned to the others just then.

"What do you think, men? Is she worthy of her title?"

There was a low round of chuckling across the clearing...but most were simply staring with feelings much stronger than mirth on their minds. For even with her hair partially singed and matted with sweat, and soot and dirt prominent upon her face and legs, she was underneath it all, a young, healthy, beautiful woman.

"You will all die like the jackals you are for this insult!" she proclaimed. "Mark my words!"

The man turned back to her with utter contempt in his eyes.

"You ever see what a pack of jackals does with a stray _bitch_?" he growled at her.

She met his glare with all the defiance she could muster, but inside she was writhing in knots over what those ruffians were contemplating. And it was even more disturbing knowing that her little ones would have to witness such a brutal assault. She thought she would certainly vomit, and so fought valiantly against the urge. It would show weakness...and she simply would not allow it.

As it was though, that was not to take place. The leader of the outlaws...one of the men that had stood in the trio off to her left...removed that threat from her future straightaway. There was no ceremony...no long explanation of why...and absolutely no remorse in his eyes. There was just a single order spoken by him; the man who'd led a masterfully planned, and perfectly executed attack.

"Kill them!"

The third individual of the three-man group...the one standing directly beside the leader...strode quickly forward. The soldiers who'd stripped Arethnii immediately fell away to the side. They snorted and grunted; frustrated that they would not enjoy a little fun, but obedience was not a choice for them...it was a command.

As he approached, the grisly fellow slowly pulled his sword; one which had a Nevari pommel. She wondered about that as he closed. The fighter was a large man, well-muscled and powerfully built. He moved toward her without hesitation...like a butcher approaching a chosen beast. And when he was within reach of her, his body coiled quickly. The sword pulled back like a professional baseball player about to take a homerun swing (Ron's analogy), and she could hear the creak of his fingers against the leather wrapping of his weapon.

Adrenaline raced through her body so thoroughly that it was as if the entire scene was happening at a hundredth normal speed. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn't, so she just stared at the man. She was too horrified to believe that this was how her story would end...that this was the last day of her life, and that her beloved children would have to see such carnage before their young lives were snuffed out as well.

She locked her gaze on the returning one from her executioner, and she saw a sly smile.

"He's actually enjoying this!" her mind recognized. That made the situation even more unbelievable. "What kind of sick barbarian could do such a thing and like it?" she asked herself.

By then he'd completed his back swing and the muscles in his shoulders snapped taught.

"Half a lita and it will all be over," her mind told her somewhere deep inside her brain, but it was disconnected, like a dream.

Arethnii's eyes were locked on his as firmly as her arms were glued to her children, so when his face suddenly changed from confident and cruel to shocked and confused, she didn't understand it at all. She kept staring for another two full litas before a new wrinkle developed to add to the oddity. Some kind of thick red fluid was running heavily down the man's side from his armpit to his waist.

### Chapter Twenty-eight

### Out of the Jaws of Death

"What _is_ that?" Arethnii's brain queried at itself.

Then several other actions broke her fixation.

Four of the enemy soldiers...the ones closest to her...wilted to the ground like they'd just fallen asleep. But as her gaze flitted from one to the next in quick succession, she could clearly see that they were not sleeping. An arrow protruded from each of them in ghastly places. All were head-shots. The metal helmets they wore had done nothing to thwart the extreme accuracy of the incoming missiles. Eye slits or ear holes...or the small seam at their neck...it didn't matter. Whatever was available seemed to suit the sniper well enough.

As Arethnii's hasty inspection returned to her would-be executioner, she finally understood what had happened to him because she could just make out the fletching of an arrow beneath the matte of his underarm hair. He was frozen there still, his body too surprised by the heinous intrusion to even collapse yet, but she could see that his brain grasped the situation by the frantic, terrified expression on his face.

At that instant, the rest of the attacking band realized it as well, and they sprang into motion. Weapons leaped from their sheaths and the men broke for cover, each trying to make it to the trees. Unfortunately for them, the enemy was unbelievably quick, and insanely precise. Out of the large group who had surrounded Arethnii's carriage, only nine reached their goal.

The leader of the men...the one who'd given the order to kill the royal family...was one of those still alive. He stood beside a large tree with his sword in one hand and a shield in the other, his eyes scanning the surrounding foliage.

Arethnii and her children did not move much, just kind of settled to their knees to crouch and cower in the middle of the road. She was too afraid to do anything more for fear of running into some of the cutthroats that had attacked her. Renni clutched at her and was crying wildly, as was Isla, so she concentrated on trying to calm them...which actually helped her as well.

"Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh!" she told them, squeezing them together in their little huddle while smoke continued to blow about, and men screamed and writhed. "The Guardian will protect us."

Of course, she'd seen far too much misery and hardship across the kingdom in her lifetime to have any real confidence that would happen...but then a sight caught her eye that erased any notion that the Guardian...the Creator of heaven and earth...could possibly be involved. What had her captivated to the point of blink-less gawking, sent waves of icy dread tearing through her figure, even more so than when she was staring at the executioner. A man emerged from the forest...or a demon that somehow looked similar to a man...for that spectral image was literally covered in the cerise life-fluid of innumerous foes!

She stared open-mouthed at it as it strode into the roadway as smoothly as if it were gliding across the hard ground on a cushion of air.

When it was out in the open, it came to a stop and swept its crimson brow across the land.

Arethnii noted that if it were a man, its shoulders were impressively wide and rounded, and it had a chest that was layered in thick muscle. The flat, undulating expanse of its stomach looked like a master mason had built it out of his best marble, and its arms were corded strands of living granite.

The blood-soaked specter held a strange-looking pair of swords, which added to its appearance of uniqueness. One was long and slim and silver...although it too was coated in the blood of many dead men at the moment. The other was shorter but otherwise a twin, and it dripped the thick red liquid as well.

"Your archers cannot help you!" the newcomer bellowed to those he knew were watching. "Come out and face me like men...if you dare, you cowardly swine!"

The nine bandits slowly eased back into the roadway after that, their eyes glancing about nervously for more enemy soldiers. They couldn't believe that a single man had done so much damage to their armed force...and so quickly.

"Fear not, hunters of women and children!" the demon growled at the men in a voice filled with contempt and loathing. "I am alone."

When all of them had returned to the open ground, the demon took in a deep breath, and then expelled it in an ear-piercing wail that shattered every nerve and forced every soul within its reach to quake.

Arethnii thought she would literally perish from horror at the mere sound of that creature's terrifying cry, and she crushed her children down even further as terror blazed through her mind, fearing an even more horrible death was soon to come.

The staunch group of warriors...the core squad of the army who'd decimated the queen's retinue just a billot earlier...fell back a step or two as that sound dug deeply into their emotions, prodding at their superstitious fears of specters and monsters and otherworldly beings.

When that bestial, shrieking roar had rolled down the countryside and the echoes died off, the men all glanced at one another tentatively, and then at their leader. He gritted his teeth, fought off the urge to release a powerful shiver, and gathered himself.

"This is not your concern!" he said in a stern voice, weakly trying to disguise his obvious trepidation.

The blood-covered intruder then slid one of the rapiers across the spine of the other one causing a shrill singing of hardened metal that bit at the air.

"It is now!" he replied in what could only be described as a spoken growl.

Arethnii couldn't keep her curiosity completely buried by fear, and so she peered out of her little huddle.

"Who are you that you meddle in another's affairs?" questioned the leader.

"To you," the creature said in a tone overflowing with detestation, pointing at the fellow with one dripping blade, "I am the keeper of the gate."

The leader furrowed his brow heavily. He glanced at a few of his men who'd drawn in closer and then swept his gaze around the area.

"What gate?"

"The gate to the after-life."

The leader clenched his jaws down hard and gripped his sword and shield tighter.

Then he motioned for his men all to engage their new opponent.

Three knives instantly flashed forward, each perfectly aimed at the blood-soaked being. None found their targets. As if merely swatting away a nuisance fly, the wraith struck each of the incoming blades with his swords, causing them to ricochet harmlessly and disappear into the forest.

Wide eyes followed that little maneuver, but the bandits pressed forward all the same.

When they were ten feet from the phantom though, it broke into movement with such unbelievable speed that Arethnii flinched.

"No mortal man is that fast!" she told herself as her entire body trembled violently.

But it...this creature in the form of a man...was far more than just swift...it was gifted with seemingly super-natural viciousness!

Its two blades were nothing but a blur, and within the first three litas of battle, four men were dispatched in horrible, grisly ways. As if by magic, large pieces of them suddenly separated from their bodies. Shoulders, entire legs, a head, and entrails all hit the ground virtually simultaneously. Blood flew in fountains and washed the dirt road like a cloudburst had suddenly opened up in that twenty-foot-wide battlefield.

A spear streaked in at the man-beast, being thrust by a huge fellow with arms as big as most men's legs, and it should have skewered the smaller combatant with ease...yet it did not. It didn't even scratch him. The crimson fiend caught the incoming edge of the spear's tip with his short blade and nudged it aside as if by will alone, so that it passed safely along to hit nothing at all. However, the retaliatory strike was far more accurate. Ten inches of the interloper's long sword burst out the huge soldier's back and its hand-guard slapped home against the fellow's chest with such violence that everyone still standing heard his breastbone snap.

The giant fighter froze where he was, his entire momentum stopped by that impossibly powerful blow. And before his corpse could even fall, the foreign maniac was already three steps from him, grasping his would-be assailant's spear in the hand the sword had been in. (That blade still protruded from the giant.) With a lightning-quick cast, the spear launched, impaling two more of the highwaymen who he'd lined up with that blazing maneuver, and then the newcomer pivoted back around to snatch his sword from the collapsing dead man before his corpse could even fall.

His movements were so smooth and impeccably timed that an Earth man would have thought it was a scene from a block-buster movie (like a play) that had been extensively and meticulously choreographed over a span of weeks. But the raw, spontaneous reality of it was so much better. It showed everyone within visual range just how high someone could push the skill level of up-close, bloody warfare. It was like watching a professional dancer at the very height of his career float across a stage in perfect rhythm with the music...but this was a wholly different kind of stage. This was a stage of savage carnage and appalling death.

It was so surreal that Arethnii would relive the battle for days afterward, still not truly comprehending the swiftness, the strength, and the ferocity of that being.

As the tip of that razor-edged weapon cleared the corpse, the intruder made a half turn and...following a sharp downward snap of his bulging arm...let that thirty-inch-long blade fly. Like a guided missile it soared straight at the fellow standing to the left of the leader...the one who had ripped Arethnii's dress from her body. That man held his shield at the ready and braced himself firmly when he saw the throw, but it was to no avail. That custom made length of hardened steel penetrated the thin protection he clung to like it was a straw basket...and then his chest plate...and then his chest...and then his heart.

The newcomer then faced off with the leader, the shorter sword gripped in his right hand.

"You would murder a defenseless woman like slaughtering a bartcha?" he said, his words sodden with derision once again. The dispatching of those nine fighters appeared merely an already forgotten nuisance.

The sole remaining warrior of the highwaymen had weathered decades of battle. He'd seen thousands of men fall all around him during one war or another, and he'd always survived, so even though his face was blanched white as a virgin's trousseau, he stood his ground.

"You should have passed on this job," the wraith seethed at him.

He smiled.

"A man has to make a living," he shot back.

"'A living', you say," was the response, still laced with disgust, "That's a bit ironic, don't you think?"

The leader began to circle the interloping warrior, watching his response. The crimson specter just stood tall and stared back. He wasn't even breathing hard. The leader furrowed his brow again, this time in a questioning way.

"Ironic?"

"Well, it's just that one has to be _alive_ to make a living."

The leader snarled.

This demon before him was just a man, he told himself. Even after that spine-chilling cry and exceptional display of skill had shaken his certainty of that right to the core of his bones. He checked his grip on his sword and shield and dropped into a crouching stance. His eyes were hard and cruel. Arethnii quaked at the sight.

The stranger took a step toward the leader, but then he stopped.

"On second thought," the blood-soaked phantom said, "you're not worthy of my blade."

Instead of attacking, he slid over and wiped his sword on the uniform of the dead giant and then stowed it in its sheath. Then he motioned for the leader to approach.

The leader licked his lips unconsciously, feeling a renewed amount of confidence.

"We'll soon see who lives and who dies!" he vowed.

He moved in quickly, wanting to end the fight in a few fast moves...and so it did.

The wraith dodged the first jab as easily as if he'd been told what was coming...and then he lunged, grabbing the highwayman's sword arm at the wrist. He twisted that joint from inward to outward hard, aligning the leader's elbow to face downward...and then he brought his knee straight up into it, forcing it to hinge completely the wrong way.

"AAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" the leader screamed at the pain, and at the sickening sight of splintered bones tearing through his skin.

In a desperate maneuver, the bandit tried to counter that move by using his shield as a club, but the bloody warrior merely absorbed the blow and turned his attention on that limb. He gripped the stout, metal-faced shield by its edge with both hands, and then rotated it hard. The leaders left forearm was still strapped firmly in that device, so when it spun ninety degrees, that elbow exploded in an agonizing spiral fracture.

The leader crumpled to his knees at that, shrieking once more at the waves of agony slamming into his brain. But the newcomer wasn't quite done yet. He tore the shield from the leader's dangling hand and whipped it around until it dropped down on the commander's left ankle, shattering that joint completely.

The leader's head bent back and his eyes bulged outward as he screamed once more, and then he fell over to thrash on the ground. His mind was overwhelmed with unrelenting anguish.

The foreign super-warrior then just tossed the shield away and strode toward the queen and her children.

Arethnii was still there, kneeling where she'd been positioned before the final skirmish. She had watched all of the short battle until the last blow fell, at which time she had to turn her head. The sight of her captors dying violently had been a relief at first, and too, it was almost dream-like because it had happened so quickly. But with the leader, the bout was vividly clear...and the sound of bones breaking and a man's high-pitched screaming had made her stomach turn.

She heard approaching footsteps though and whipped her head back around. The wraith was easily fifty feet away, but the sight of him was truly horrifying. From head to toe he was spattered with blood...his hair literally dripping with it...as well as with various pieces of some unlucky victims...of how many, she had no clue. His gaze was as hard as the densely packed ground beneath her and his demeanor was the exact opposite of kind. He was bristling with ire. She glanced at the edge of the forest behind her, a quick thought of flight on her mind, but then his hand moved again, smooth and fast. There was a glint of shining metal in a brief moment of sunlight and then something imbedded itself a foot from her, right between her knees. It was a knife.

Her eyes flared at the weapon, and so she snatched it up and brandished it at him. It had a good ten inches of naked blade.

"Stop right there!" she ordered.

The specter obeyed. He paused a few moments while he scanned the area slowly. He even took in a long draft of air and sifted through all its inputs...and then he returned his attention to Arethnii.

She was on her feet by then, still holding the knife outwardly, like a sword...but it quivered in her grasp.

"W-w-what are y-y-you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

The creature suddenly looked a bit shocked, but then glanced down at himself. A moment later he was smiling back at her.

"A mess," he replied lightly. His voice was deep and mellow, another thing about him that was totally unexpected.

She scanned him carefully, like he'd just done to the surroundings. He was not uninjured. She could see at least ten places on his frame that oozed blood with every pulse of his heart.

"You are a man?"

"Of course," he said, his eyes taking another fast look around.

"We cannot stay here!" he then told her gruffly. "The battle scattered their men a good distance, but there are still many of the bandits unaccounted for, so you must make a decision. Trust me or attack me. Make it now."

She gripped the knife tightly for barely an instant before tossing it back to him.

"What chance would I have if I were to fight?"

The warrior caught the bladed weapon in flight and smiled a cynical smile.

"Come," he said before turning to the east.

"What about him? He'll tell those who come next which way we went!"

"No he won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

The grisly fellow glanced down at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Don't you hear them?"

Arethnii strained for a few moments, and then shook her head.

"Hear...what?"

"Wolves...an entire pack. Just over that western rise...not a hundred kez away. I'd say twenty at least. There is food for them everywhere...obviously...but they will come here first."

"Why?" she asked, confused as to what made him so certain.

"Simple. They like their quarry to be fresh...to feel the warm blood in their mouths."

He glanced over to the leader who was still whimpering on the ground. The bandit's eyes suddenly flared. A new wave of terror was written across his face.

"They'll be here very soon," he told the man.

The wraith then stooped over and caught the eye of Arethnii's son.

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly.

The boy still gripped his mother's leg tightly, but he shook his head.

"Good. How about you, little miss?" he asked the girl.

"No," she replied, "but."

She looked up at her mother for a lita before bursting out in tears again.

Arethnii dropped to her knees and hugged her.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I-I-I...I'm all wet!" she said.

She'd lost control of her bladder during the harrowing ordeal.

"That's alright," the newcomer told her.

He then held his arms out in a beckoning manner. He even smiled at her.

"Come on now. I'll carry you out of here and we'll get you cleaned up as soon as we can."

Arethnii gave him a look of horror and repulsion.

"We have to move fast," he said sternly. "You carry the boy and I'll carry the girl. NOW!"

Arethnii didn't like his tone at all, especially after having spent many years watching everyone cow-tow to her, but the scene all around them had changed her perspective dramatically. The smell of death, of burning bodies, of blood and feces, was enough to sway her viewpoint greatly.

"I swear that I will not harm her," the phantom said. "And she will be able to see you over my shoulder."

Arethnii was heavily at odds with that plan, but she saw the practicality of the offer too, so she bid Isla comply.

"You must do as he says, my darling."

She saw more tears instantly jump into her daughter's eyes, so she pulled her tightly to her bare breasts again.

"We have to escape this place, Isla," she whispered in her ear. "You have to be brave now. I promise this is only for a little while."

Isla looked into her mother's eyes for reassurance, and then she turned and reached for the crimson man. He scooped her up like a feather and turned about, checking the road both north and south for signs of movement.

At the merest hint of a sound, the wraith stomped down hard on the outlaw leader's abandoned sword, causing it to flip up into the air. He then caught it in his left hand and immediately slung it away like flicking a rock to skip it off a pond. The blade rotated four times and then slammed into a man approaching at a dead run. It was one of the bandits rushing up to give his report about the battle to his superior.

The fellow stumbled and fell dead barely ten kez from the queen.

The bloodied warrior turned his head to the side, so that Arethnii might hear him more clearly.

"There will be more!" he said harshly...his head swinging left and right while he headed east. "We must go!"

The fellow was at the very edge of the woods by then, and he scooped up two items from beside a tree...arrows and a bow.

Arethnii hurriedly towed young Renni into her grasp and stepped forward.

"Lead on, sir," she said.

They walked fast into the woods and were lost to sight.

### Chapter Twenty-nine

### Into the Wilds

After ten borts of silent marching behind her gore-covered savior, Arethnii grew a bit inquisitive.

"May I know your name, Sir?" she asked.

"Do not speak again," the fellow said in a terse whisper tossed over his shoulder. "An animal can hear it for a hoz."

She wanted to snap at him very badly, to demand that he treat her with due respect, but just then a leopard's scream tore across the wooded land, and it was far too close for her liking. That sound stopped her words in her throat instantly. Instead of berating him, she bit her tongue, kept quiet, and pressed onward.

From then on, Arethnii Deaton, queen of the most heralded kingdom in the known world, kept her mouth shut and just followed her guide ever eastward to an unknown fate.

It took a quarter of a billot to reach the point where the man had stashed his provisions, and that left them barely another two before dark, but even so, they were many hoz away when the shroud of night had fully ensconced the land...yet onward their rescuer marched.

Arethnii grew concerned when her hero made no preparations for a camp, so she chanced another question.

"Are we to walk all night?" she asked in her softest voice.

The man had been running on autopilot for a long while, constantly searching the woods for signs of pursuit or danger, so when she spoke, it startled him. He stopped immediately. Isla had long since passed into slumber, and she presently draped across his broad shoulder as limply as a wet towel.

He did not chastise Arethnii that time, but instead, quickly evaluated their position.

They were down in a deep hollow between three looming hilltops. The air was still and the temperature was dropping rapidly in the encroaching winter air.

The soldier seamed to suddenly realize he'd pushed this little family far harder than he should have, not considering that they weren't as fit as he.

"Apologies," was all he whispered back, but then he headed off in a new direction.

By the light of the stars alone, he'd been picking his way through the gloom, and so now he used that same dim glow to find a secluded spot at the base of a huge fallen tree, right where the root-ball had torn free of the ground to leave a deep hole.

"There," he pointed, directing Arethnii to the depression.

She picked her way down into it and crouched. Renni was equally as docile as Isla.

The smell of freshly exposed dirt was strong, almost overpowering to the more domesticated woman, but the warrior who guided her knew it would disguise their scents well, so that's why he'd chosen that spot.

The queen was trembling in the cool air, and the damp ground made her shiver sharply. The man hadn't really thought about it until then, his mind so entrenched with staying alive, but now he shifted his focus.

He hauled out a cloak from his large pack and wrapped her in it. Then he climbed back out of the depression and began a slow perimeter sweep.

"Try to sleep," he whispered down to her. "I'll stand guard.

"Does he never tire?" Arethnii asked herself.

The fellow disappeared into the night, leaving her and the children alone in that dark crater, and for the first time in her life, the queen of the great kingdom of Heraitey was utterly baffled.

"Just who is this man? Where is he from? Why did he save us? And what does he want?"

Her mind tried to begin deciphering those questions, but the trials of the day had sapped her strength too badly.

She yawned once and was out.

When the glow of a new dawn began to build in the east, Queen Arethnii's eyes popped open. She was on her side in the hole, curled into the fetal position with Isla and Renni pressed up against her front. She felt quite warm, almost confortable in fact. Then she realized that they were not alone. A body that dwarfed hers was pressed up against her back, and an arm was wrapped about her torso, it reaching far enough to envelop the children too.

At first she had remembrances of the days when her husband was alive...about how he'd cradled her in bed...and it was incredibly nice and familiar. But then she recalled that she was not in her bedroom and her husband was long dead, so she tensed.

The soldier was awake instantly. His mind blitzed through a dozen possibilities before realizing they were still safe. He removed his arm from Arethnii's figure and rolled away, but not before releasing a sharp snort and a grunt of pain. His entire body was screaming at him.

Arethnii recognized the sound for what it was, but said nothing. She was still uncertain about him, and his position next to her was more than a little vexing.

The stranger saw the uncertainty in her eyes when he moved away and so he tried to calm her fears.

"Warmth was all I was after," he whispered.

She offered him a thin smile of understanding and noted that he was bare-chested and had apparently bathed sometime during the night because he was no longer covered in blood and gore. She also noticed that he was nearly clean shaven...not more than two day's growth showing...and instantly found him to be quite uncommonly handsome. Then she saw the dozens of minor wounds across his exposed torso and slight bulges in his skin at four different places.

Arethnii's forehead drew taught as she pondered what they were. She leaned a bit closer.

"Are those arrowheads?" she asked in disbelief.

The man was up on his feet by then and scanning the dense woods. All seemed calm and quiet...other than the usual clamor of the forest.

"Yes," he muttered back to her, "and if you don't mind, I could use some assistance in removing them."

"Of course...yes. Come down here and let me look..."

"Eat first. I'm going to have a quick look around. Oh, by the way. I have a shirt you can wear in my pack."

With that, he trotted into the brush and disappeared.

Arethnii sifted through his supplies and found the shirt, quickly donning it. It swallowed her slim body as much as the cloak had and hung nearly to her shins...but it was better than nothing. She tied a bit of rope around it at her waist to corral the extra cloth and then dove back into the pack to fish out the sundries they'd been eating the night before and helped herself. Then she went into a thick patch of bushes and relieved herself. It had been many years since she'd been 'roughing it' in the forest...her last camp-out being when she was thirteen...but she didn't hesitate to revert back to the basics for necessity's sake.

The soldier returned a few borts later and knelt down in their bare-bones camp, pulling a small knife and motioning for Arethnii to approach. He held out the weapon, hilt first. The children were still asleep.

"If you're not too squeamish, could you get the ones around back? I can't really reach those. I'll get the others myself if you like."

Arethnii took the offered blade and moved around to his rear. She knelt down as well and felt one of the bulges on his left shoulder. A small part of the arrow's shaft was still attached and it stuck out from his bronze skin. She was gentle in her feeling of the area.

"I know you are just trying to be kind, but we can't linger here. Please work quickly."

He then began gulping down some food as well.

Arethnii was hesitant, but she wasn't a frightened young girl, so she simply did as requested, and then she was amazed at how calm her patient was while she worked. The first three were near the surface and so extracting them wasn't too difficult, but the fourth was deeply imbedded and it worried her greatly.

"This one's caught under your shoulder-blade," she explained as she struggled to pull on the slippery arrowhead.

"Yeah!" he hissed through gritted teeth, his entire body trembling from the onslaught of pain. "It's pressing on a nerve as well."

He then reached under his arm with his left hand and felt around from the front until he found the spot.

"See if this helps," he said as he jammed his fingers deeply into his flesh as hard as he could.

He was breathing in short bursts by then, sweat bursting from the skin all over his body, so Arethnii knew he was in dire distress. That made her even more determined not to let him down. She saw no other way to accomplish the task, so she used each hand and shoved both her index fingers two inches into his bleeding wound. When her second joints disappeared in his flesh, she gripped the object with her finger-tips like pincers...and tugged.

"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" the man grunted, his head pitching back hard and his eyes squeezed shut tightly.

Arethnii wiggled it back and forth for a few more litas before;

"I got it!" she finally said as the long, jagged weapon squirted into her grasp.

The soldier felt the phenomenal relief of that small act and fell forward prone onto the ground.

Arethnii placed her hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" she queried with great empathy in her voice, wiping the fresh blood away from the wound.

He breathed hard for a while, relishing the mere ache of the holes in his body after that mind-bending bit of surgery.

"Yes. Thank you," he said a few moments later.

"You're welcome."

She then proceeded to begin stitching him back together, using a medical kit he was carrying.

That interaction woke Isla and her brother, so Arethnii took a few borts to get them settled and eating some breakfast.

"There is still danger around," she told her daughter. "So watch your brother while I work on our friend here."

They were very well mannered children and stayed quiet.

It took another full billot of similar methods to remedy all the foreign object damage in their guardian, so she questioned him while she worked.

"How is it that you just happened along at the right time to save us?"

The fellow just shrugged his wide shoulders as his head constantly panned the forest.

"I don't like traveling in the open," he began, "so I try to stay off the roads as much as I can. I find those routes to be filled with cutthroats and bandits, you see."

He smiled a twisted smirk.

Arethnii couldn't suppress a grin at that.

"I was cresting a ridge to the east of the main road when I first heard the commotion of the battle, so I approached to investigate. That's when I saw the bandits clashing with the soldiers from duel attack points. Thusly I concluded that the bandits had ambushed the soldiers.

"And honestly, I considered just moving on. After all, their fight was not my concern."

"So what got you involved?"

"I'd gotten so fixated on the skirmish that I didn't notice that the outlaws had two teams sweeping the nearby woods...for stragglers or escapees, I guess. Before I knew it, four men spotted me and engaged. That's when I took the arrow you had so much trouble with."

Arethnii just stared at him with her mouth open. She was completely stunned.

"They hit you on the very first volley?"

"Yes. It wasn't one of my finer moments," he replied as he scanned the area once more. He wasn't about to make that mistake again.

"And you still managed to turn the fight around?"

It was the soldier's turn to stare at her with confusion on his face.

"I wasn't _dead_!"

She just smiled and shook her head and continued with her work.

"And so you somehow fought off four men after being wounded?"

"Yeah, but they were fools. After I took out their archer, the other three all rushed me at the same time. They were not skilled swordsmen."

"And that's when you saw me?"

"No. I had no idea they'd attacked your wagon. The clash with the sweeper team drew the attention of a larger group of marauders. They saw their friends fall and decided to avenge them."

"I guess that ended poorly for them?"

The warrior nodded, his eyes still constantly probing the forest like an owl.

"And just how many men were in that group?"

"Twenty-three," he replied softly.

Arethnii immediately stopped her work. The stoic fellow felt her go rigid, so he looked her way again.

"Twenty-three?" she clarified.

Again he nodded. Then he shrugged it off. "Most of them were within bow range."

She shook her head once more.

"And then you heard the battle where I was?"

"No. I went to some of the caravan's wounded soldiers, to check if any lived. The brigands had been systematically executing them before they attacked me. One of the men saw me inspecting his fellows and began to cry. He was just a boy...maybe fifteen years old. I told him; 'Fear not. I am not your enemy. I will not harm you.' But his wounds were mortal. I could tell he would not live much longer.

"Two of the attackers broke cover and moved toward me just then, one carrying a crossbow and the other a long spear. I dropped them with my own bow. Then I turned back to the boy.

"I asked him whose caravan was being attacked.

"He said he and his men guarded a shipment of gold and precious gems for the Braechine Mining Company."

That was Arethnii's escorts' current cover story, should anyone try to interrogate them.

"He was fading fast, but gathered himself enough to raise his left hand and point to the road that led south.

"'You must hurry! They will kill everyone!' he said with his dying breath. Well, I knew better than to trot off down an open roadway in the middle of some unknown battle, so I swung wide around the east side, hid my things, and headed west through the forest.

"That's when things really got interesting. They had archers everywhere...and those men were very good at their profession."

"But you got past them."

"Obviously."

Arethnii grinned again. "Yes. Obviously."

"Well, I could see by then that a large caravan had been attacked. A few of the wagons were being hurriedly driven to the north with most of the remaining bandits ringing them...I supposed they held the valuable cargo they'd come for...but several other wagons were being burned. Women and children were dead on the ground."

Arethnii cringed at that statement.

"Yes," she told him, "several families were traveling with the caravan for protection...ours included, obviously."

The warrior nodded while she felt the bile well in her throat at the thought of it.

"I crossed the road and worked my way through four more groups of cutthroats before I saw the apparent center of their attention...you and your rig, which was engulfed in flames.

"I guessed you were some extremely rich person they'd planned to ransom for an enormous sum, but when they appeared intent on slaying you...a helpless woman with two young children...I decided they were stepping over the line."

Again she stopped her duties and just stared at the incredible warrior at her side.

"So that was it? You came to our rescue...alone...taking an insane risk with your own life...to protect a total stranger simply because I was a woman with children?"

"Yes."

She was so stunned that she didn't know how to respond.

"But why?" she asked.

"It was the way I was taught, growing up. The strong should protect the weak whenever possible...and that holds especially true when there are women and children involved."

"But perhaps I was someone who was despicable...who deserved to be killed."

"Well, that might have been the case, I guess. But people like that tend to be assassinated in secret, not attacked in the open when they have several hundred armed soldiers to protect them.

"No, my guess is that you and/or your husband are some important figures in one of the large cities. Either some ruling position or a powerful economic title...or possibly, you own the mining company the boy spoke of."

"But you haven't inquired about any of that...or even my name."

He shrugged. "Why would I care? I have no interest or affiliation with that company. And I'm not from around here, so your name or title would mean nothing to me. And if you lied, I would have no way of knowing, so what's the point?"

Arethnii saw his logic and nodded.

"Where were you headed?" she asked a moment later.

"I'm on my way to Heraitey."

"Oh, really?"

"I will take you anywhere you like along that route, and see that you are safe," he told her.

"I thank you, Sir, but Heraitey is where I was headed as well."

Then it was the man's turn to make an inquiry.

"From the size and opulence of your wagon, you're obviously wealthy. Are you held in high regard there...in Heraitey...with the ruling authorities?"

Arethnii almost laughed.

"It depends on who you speak to, I suppose...but yes...at least for the most part, I think so. Why?"

"I would be grateful to you if you could help me get an audience with the queen."

"Seriously? You want to meet with the queen?"

"Yes."

"May I ask why?"

"You can ask."

Arethnii of course realized the sarcasm in his statement, so she just remained silent.

"By the way," she said a moment later, "my name is Karla Siposian."

Karla was her grandmother's middle name. She'd always liked it.

"Very well, Karla. I am known as DanKor ."

Ron used that alias since the farmers had called him it so often.

She shot a strange look his way at that announcement...one of inquisitive suspicion.

"Who calls you _that_?"

Now it was Ron who was confused.

"Why? Does that mean something to you?"

Arethnii snorted and then let out a light chuckle.

"It's just that I've never heard that name given to any living man."

Ron waited silently, not satisfied with her explanation.

"You see," she clarified, "it's from the 'old tongue' and it means 'invincible'. Normally, it's reserved for tales of legendary men from long, bygone times. It's not meant to be taken literally, of course...nor given to someone who might be challenged to prove it."

"I see. It could be that maybe I'm pronouncing it wrong."

"Well then, why not tell me your given 'real' name?"

He smiled at her, thinking quickly. "Dangarth Korval. I'm sure it's merely short for that."

"Oh...well...I suppose... Where exactly are you from, DanKor?"

Ron flipped his thumb over his shoulder. "East."

That was far more ambiguous an answer than she cared for, and it showed on her face.

He could tell she was a shrewd woman, and that her mind was still fishing for more, so he turned the tables on the conversation.

"Is your family from Heraitey?" he asked, overtly nonchalant about the whole matter.

She was no fool though, and clearly saw that he was unwilling to share his full identity, but she allowed the diversion nonetheless. After all, she was hiding hers too, and hadn't he just saved her and her family. Was his name or heritage important enough to chance a rift?

"No. Actually, I am originally from Nevari."

"Really?" he said, seemingly very surprised. "And your husband? Was he with you during the attack?"

"My husband is with the Creator, but no, he did not fall there. He has been gone for three years now."

"Were you to be slain for profit then? Some powerful rival in commerce, perhaps?"

"No. At least, I don't think so." She was thinking fast too. "I suspect I was going to be eliminated simply to keep me from giving a description of the bandits to the authorities."

"Hmmmmmm," he nodded. "And I suspect the remaining brigands will no doubt try to make good on that. They'll likely set trackers on our trail...probably already have.

"This trip will be far from easy, Karla," Ron confessed, "and we'll need to keep our wits and our nerve to endure it. I plan on moving fast through rugged terrain, so you will have a difficult time to keep up."

"Oh...yes...of course," Arethnii told him, "but the children. How will they manage with..."

"We'll have to carry them or we're doomed. Even doing so will slow us down enough to be caught from behind, unless we're granted some exceptional luck."

"The roads will no doubt be patrolled, so..."

"I wasn't planning on using them."

She hadn't really thought about the route they would take, always having used the wide, relatively smooth roads, but after the attack, she recognized the need to avoid those.

"I suppose you are familiar with the route back?" he inquired. "With the towns and such along the way?"

"Yes...mostly. At least the ones of notable size."

"Then if we head southeast, what town or community might we run into?"

"Southeast is Leaness. The road to Heraitey is southwest."

"Yes, but the men who attacked you know who you are, don't they?

"Yes, they do."

"So when those thugs' allies find their men dead, they will begin looking in that direction. That would be the logical thing to do."

"I see. Well then, the southern part of Leaness is dotted with the usual villages and towns of simple country folks. Even if I don't know the names of them all, I'm sure they are all very similar."

"And they are peaceful enough to negate the risk?"

"For a man like you...I should say so. They won't have an army or any large contingent of soldiers...unless we are unfortunate enough to happen upon a routine patrol. That too is pretty common across the varied lands. However, they will most assuredly stick to the roads."

The fearsome warrior sat still and composed while she finished up, but when she'd tied the final knot, he immediately set off.

"Thank you," he told her as he passed, heading for the watching youths. He stopped near them and pulled down his shirt from where he'd hung it the night before after washing it out. It wasn't dry, but it wasn't completely soaked anymore either. He slipped it on forthwith, and began assembling his other gear.

The kids had finished up with breakfast by that time. Isla had taken care of her own bodily needs and then helped her brother do the same, knowing they would need to get on the move soon. She was a very intelligent young girl, and even though she'd led a sheltered and privileged life, she understood the dangers that surrounded her family. Arethnii had explained such things to her after the last assassination attempt nearly two years in the past. She stayed calm and composed when she saw the stranger/warrior and her mother approaching. Renni mimicked his older sibling.

"We'll have to continue like yesterday, Mira," Arethnii told her. "DanKor will carry you and I'll carry Jesop.

(Mira and Jesop were their 'fake' names they'd come up with in secret...to be used when out of touch with Heraitey's protection, or in strange lands away from their home. It was simply too dangerous to have strangers knowing that the prince and princess of Heraitey were amongst them.)

Ron knelt at Mira's feet. He saw that her dress had a coating of the blood he'd worn on the previous day, but she didn't seem to be bothered by it. At least, she didn't mention it.

"Are you okay with this?" he asked kindly.

"You look quite different from yesterday," she told him while looking him over very carefully. "Much better."

Ron smiled at the little girl.

"Yes, I suppose I do. And we'll get you cleaned up as soon as we can too. And replace your dress."

Isla glanced down at herself and nodded.

"Yes, that's a good idea."

She then looked back at him and spread her hands out.

"I'm ready."

He scooped her up and waited for Arethnii to gather her son.

"Now follow me."

### Chapter Thirty

### Evasion

DanKor set a fast pace, his long legs eating up the ground with ease, but Arethnii was not as tall as he and quickly found the speed too much...especially with Renni weighing her down. In fact, she had to jog every few borts just to keep up. Of course when she did, she made a tremendous racket that ate at the woodsman's nerves.

After a half billot of that, he finally spun about abruptly. Arethnii had her head down, watching her footing, so she ran right into him. He caught her by the upper arm.

"Oh!" she squeaked. "My apologies. I..."

"You are making too much noise!" he whispered harshly. He didn't want to be cruel, but he'd become accustomed to Cache's stealth, and Josy's (who'd been taught well by Karne). Even Lasinii had been fairly well disciplined in moving through brush.

"High-borns walking in the woods!" he bellowed in his mind, "It's like wearing a bell around their dragen necks!"

Isla's eyes flared and she tensed up. She knew her mother.

Arethnii was not accustomed to being chastised...ever! So her temper instantly leaped front and center of her thoughts.

"Well I'm so sorry, _DanKor_!" she hissed, staring up at him with fire flashing from her dark eyes. "This isn't my usual mode of travel!"

"Then learn...and fast!" he growled back at her, not at all concerned with placating her. "You're leaving a trail a blind man could follow in a hurricane, and every predator within two hoz of us knows exactly where we are!"

Arethnii hadn't really thought about that in the bright of day. Having seen her protector in action had all but erased any fear that he couldn't defend her from virtually any band of aggressors. But the real possibility of beasts attacking them was something outside her scope of understanding. Her head then began to pivot around, taking in their present environs.

She'd always known about wild and dangerous animals of course, like the leopard the night before, but everyone she knew hunted _them_. She never gave any credence to the scenario where that might be turned around. Her eyes flicked to the weapons Ron carried while her mind recalled some of the trophy animals that were stuffed and mounted in the palace. Some of the greels were easily ten feet tall and weighed as much as six men. There were panthers and leopards, wolves, boars, and even a giant omnivorous moose in the wilds of her kingdom, as well as all the other lands. Of course it was self-evident that those animals could be killed by men, but the hunting parties had always been large groups of men wearing armor. Her guardian was a single man with none.

She was a very astute and logical woman, so she quickly decided to alter her attitude yet again.

"My apologies, Sir," she told him, lowering her eyes in submission...something that was totally unnatural to her. "I did not realize. If you will instruct me, I will endeavor to improve."

Ron reined in his own wrath and took a deep breath. Then he began a tutorial.

"When you place your step, point your toes as such and be mindful of the area..." he began, but when he saw her torn and bloodied feet...feet that she had made not a single complaint about...he too altered his attitude. She was obviously far out of her depth and trying very hard, so he took pity on her.

"Forgive me, Karla. I did not realize."

He immediately stopped the march, cleaned and tended her torn feet, and fashioned a pair of moccasins for her out of some antelope hide he had in his pack. They were back moving again within the billot.

By the end of that day, Arethnii was doing much better at muffling her movements, but she was exhausted too, and ready to stop for the night. The children had been a wonder through the entire day, never complaining once. Ron had been very happy about that.

He found a cozy little nook in some thick brush at the base of a steep rise and so he decided it was safe enough to make a fire. When it was going nicely, he slunk into the woods to hunt. It was dusk and many creatures were getting in some last bort foraging before dark. He came across a gaggle of turkeys and dropped one for their dinner.

He thought he'd have to take care of the meal, but Arethnii leaped forward upon his return and took over the duties.

"Not the typical 'society gal'," he thought as he handed over the bird.

She and Isla plucked the turkey and cleaned it while Ron erected a spit, and before long, the bird was slowly spinning above the flames.

While she did that, he arose and swept the area around the camp for threats.

They ate their fill that evening and slept soundly.

The following day brought them to a town large enough for them to replenish their supplies; Stigias Colone (Rabbit Bend in the old tongue).

At first, Arethnii wondered how they would manage that, since everything she had was back at the caravan or in Heraitey, but her new bodyguard eased her worries by producing a heavy purse. He handed it to her without a thought.

"You normally carry all this?"

He gave her a shrug of his bronze shoulders.

"No, but I figured dead men don't need money, so I 'repurposed it'," he explained with a sarcastic grin.

She was both shocked and impressed at his cunning, opportunistic rationalization.

"You purchase what you and the little ones need. I'll get supplies. Try to be as calm as you can, but we should not linger here. Understand?"

Arethnii understood exactly what he meant and her stomach fluttered with nervous energy. She could not let her guard down for a moment before they were safely back in Heraitey, or at least in her realm of Minara.

DanKor took a step in the direction of one of the general stores, where dried goods, tack, feed, tools, and such were sold.

"Wait," Arethnii called out, grabbing his arm to stop him.

"Won't you need some of this coin?"

He turned back to her with a broad smile, and then patted his waist. There was another bulging sack the size of his fist tied there.

"No, I'm good."

He gave her a wink and continued on his way.

Arethnii headed for a store of a different sort, where clothing, baskets, leather-ware, shoes, and such were sold, but before she got there, she noticed a bath house conveniently nestled directly behind it. They both held the same family name: 'Castian's Clothiers' and 'Castian's Bathhouse'.

"Pretty smart," she acknowledged.

The queen had always been a good mother to her children, not like some of her wealthy friends who let nannies and house servants tend their youngsters exclusively, so she was efficient in picking out suitable attire in the right sizes. The outfits were commoners' clothes, made of much rougher fabric than they were used to, and not of the high aesthetic standards she would have preferred, but such apparel would allow for them to pass more easily amongst the masses, so she did not hesitate. She even bought sandals for each of them that were actually designed for rugged use, not like the dainty ones they all normally wore around the city. They then took everything over to the bath house.

The building was quite large, able to accommodate both men and women separately. (Ron explained that they would have been similar to the Roman bath houses of old Earth) There were many servants milling about to help with the scented oils, perfumes, and soaps, and they were kind and attentive.

A billot later, Arethnii and her two children were clean again, and she was amazed at how good that felt. She even admired their new clothes. They weren't much to look at, but were well made, sturdily constructed, and comfortable.

Isla tried to discuss their situation when they were alone, soaking in the huge bath, but Arethnii quashed her queries with a subtle look.

"You never know who might overhear," she told her daughter in a low whisper. "Sound carries far too well to prying ears."

Arethnii had paid up front, so when they were dressed, the family simply headed out the exit portal, but just before they did, one of the servants passing close to them suddenly stumbled and dropped a basket filled with wet towels right at her feet.

"I am so sorry!" cried the girl who couldn't have been much older than Isla. "Please forgive me, Mistress!"

"Of course, child," Arethnii told her. "Don't you worry about it at all."

The queen immediately stooped to help the young girl, and so did Isla and Renni.

"Foreign men have been going through town looking for a mother travelling with a son and daughter," the child whispered very low. She looked right into Arethnii's eyes. "There descriptions are very good. Word has spread and I just saw a runner dispatched to find them. I think our owner recognized you. You must leave quickly!"

"Thank you, sweetie," Arethnii whispered back.

When all was returned to the basket, Arethnii helped her to her feet again, pressing several of her "repurposed" coins into the girl's hand.

"There you go," she said with a bright smile. "We are in your debt."

The girl scurried off to the laundry and Arethnii stepped out onto the veranda. She tried to keep calm, but her mind was racing. They were to meet DanKor at the smithies' shop down the road a few blocks, but she was afraid to walk down the central street, so she diverted to a smaller avenue that ran parallel to the main one.

She walked calmly and without hurry, but inside she was vibrating with angst. And when she got there, she did not see her travel companion. She waited in an alley off to the side of the shop, pretending to be patient, but it wasn't long before she grew frantic. If men were looking for a foreign woman with a daughter and son, she stood out like she was wearing a sign...and she was a sitting duck. She quickly began weighing her limited options.

"How do I find DanKor without traipsing all over town and exposing us?" she thought.

It took less than a lita for her to receive a reply. It came in the form of an arrow slamming into the wooden wall of the shop, a foot from her.

The trio all recoiled sharply from the sound of it and then her eyes flew open wide and she traced its path back to the main road...but no one was there. She leaped to her feet to flee, but before she did, she checked the flight path once more. That's when she saw DanKor. He was across the wide street in an alleyway like her. He was pointing his finger at her emphatically, but she didn't understand.

"Mother," little Isla said right then, "there's something on the arrow."

Arethnii looked at the arrow-shaft and saw what her daughter had spotted, and then she understood what DanKor had been signaling. There was a small bit of parchment wrapped tightly about the wooden missile, and it was sealed with wax.

She hurriedly tore it open and found a message written in the common language of Erthania.

"Walk west to the river. Then head north."

Arethnii looked back to where DanKor had signaled from, but he was gone.

"Come along, Mira and Jesop," she told her children. "We must go now."

"But what about DanKor, Mother?" Isla asked with worry across her little face.

"I don't know, sweetheart. But I have to assume he has a plan."

They leisurely rose to their feet and sauntered down the alley as slowly as she could with the adrenaline racing through her veins. The queen's entire body was vibrating from anxiety. Once at the adjoining avenue, they stepped out of the shadows and onto one of the covered walkways that fronted the long line of stores. There were people all about, running their daily errands, and most didn't give the trio a second look, but when someone would linger their gaze upon her for any extended period, she would simply smile and turn away, and then hold her breath and pray they would not hail her.

Using all of her personal restraint and guile, Arethnii remained outwardly calm as she wove her way through the town with her little ones beside her, supposedly window shopping like any other visitor might. She even occasionally entered a few of the stores for a brief look...thus further adding to the illusion of calm until they at last came to the end of the road...and upon the bank of the river.

It wasn't very wide...possibly a hundred feet across...but was clear, deep, and fast moving, with several boats cruising quietly by. They were mostly barges loaded with various products, but two were passenger crafts that held ten people and had four men working oars for guidance and propulsion. That was the quickest way to travel downstream between towns, but it was also the easiest for spies to watch.

Arethnii paused for a few moments to take in the busy scene, and saw dozens of workers hustling about the port, loading and unloading cargo to and from the six wide docks that supported the town's commerce.

For a short time she contemplated her direction because south was the way she needed to go, but DanKor had told her to head north. She wondered if he might have gotten confused. Then she saw the hunting parties down at the very southern end of the port, where the passenger crafts were kept and boarded. A group of six heavily armed and armored soldiers were carefully searching every boat...and every woman they saw, especially the ones with young children. Arethnii noted they had no insignias denoting their origin.

"Okay then," she told her kids, spinning about to point north. "Let's go this way!"

They kept walking, that is, until they came to a hectic area where some domestic bartchas were being herded toward a barge. There was no way to go around so she kept her cool while she waited for the long procession to pass, but it was extremely nerve-racking.

At last, the pigs were aboard the barge and Arethnii was able to move again, but when she started, she heard a loud order from behind her.

"You there!" shouted a man. "Stop! Stay where you are!"

Arethnii tried to ignore him, and just kept on walking as calmly as she could, but her feet quickened even still.

"You there! Stop! Hey, lady! Stop!"

Soon afterward she heard the men break into a run. She was barely a hundred and fifty feet ahead of them.

Arethnii scoured the way north for signs of DanKor, but all she could see was an empty dock that led twenty feet out into the river way. Beyond it was a wall of thick forest with only a narrow trail leading into it.

She started to run down that path, hoping that her protector would somehow stop the pursuing men, but just as she'd settled on that plan, a narrow skiff came shooting downstream from under some low hanging branches that leaned well out over the water. In it was DanKor!

"Down the wharf!" he called. "Run!"

Arethnii didn't think. She just reacted.

"Mira! Go!"

Then she scooped little Renni off his feet and bolted for the end of the wooden decking, right behind her daughter.

"Jump!" DanKor yelled at Isla, and the girl didn't even break stride, leaping into the boat at the very front, just as it reached her.

Arethnii tried to copy her daughter's nimble move, but the feel of the rocking hull beneath her feet tossed her off balance and she ended up crashing right into DanKor's lap. In fact, he had to grab the both of them to keep them from tumbling overboard.

At the very instant the little family was secure, DanKor used his long paddle to push off the end of the dock as hard as he could, sending the small boat streaking for the opposite shore.

"Get down!" he ordered everyone, and Arethnii wriggled down below the level of the sides of the boat, meeting her daughter there nose to nose. Then they felt the narrow skiff begin to lunge.

Several arrows hissed over their heads in the next few litas, and one even pierced the side of the flat-bottom canoe, but with every next stroke of the paddle, DanKor put distance between them and the hunters. A bort later he gave them the 'all clear', and they sat up to look around.

Well behind them, the soldiers who'd given chase were still at it, running along the riverbank as fast as they could, but they were well out of bow range by then and falling further behind.

DanKor watched over his shoulder between strokes.

Before long, the pursuers stopped, had a brief discussion, and then headed back northward.

"They'll go back and commandeer a boat!" Arethnii said, with worry in her voice.

"It won't matter," he said with a crooked smile. "They'll never catch us!"

With that, he quickened his beat pace.

A billot passed before Arethnii stopped staring northward, but the scene hadn't changed. The only crafts they'd seen were the ones they'd overtaken.

"How far are you going to take this river?" she asked.

"I don't know. How far does it go?"

"Well," she thought for a bit, "if this is the Marsigis, it will join with the Bravanci at the southern part of Vassar's kingdom...in a city called Decinyart. Beyond that is the kingdom of Leaness."

"Okay, but that really doesn't help me since I have no idea which way that is from here, or its relation to Heraitey," Ron admitted. "I tell you what. You explain to me the best route and I'll try to keep us all safe till we get there. Fair enough?"

"Very well," Arethnii agreed. "But we need to stay away from Decinyart, in my opinion."

"Because those men who're after you will likely have some sort of spy network set up there, right?"

"Without a doubt."

"That's a long way to go just to keep a witness from talking...don't you think, Karla?"

Arethnii saw the look in his eye and knew he was growing more curious about her circumstances...maybe even suspicious.

"Yes. Yes it is. But to tell you the truth, DanKor, I think you may have been right all along about their motives to assassinate me. I'd dismissed it because our presence in that convoy was supposed to be a secret. We'd intentionally waited until the last bort to book passage with that group so that no one would know our family was aligned with it."

Ron shrugged and his lip hitched up on one side. Arethnii caught that and inquired.

"What?"

He looked at her ruefully and said; "Well you know that the only way to truly keep a secret...even between just two people...is when one of them dies."

Arethnii gave that a quick thought and smiled back, understanding his meaning.

"At any rate, my husband was a very powerful man before he died. Now, his son stands to inherit his holdings and position of power when he gets older, so eliminating him...us...would pave the way for a very substantial shake-up in the hierarchy of Heraitey...and much of the surrounding kingdom."

"And the queen? Is such a coup beyond her power to prevent?"

Arethnii just shook her head, gazing into her daughters questioning eyes.

"At this point, the only thing that might be known by anyone other than us is that the caravan has been attacked. Without knowing who is involved...or that we are even alive and at risk...she is utterly helpless."

"Is she? Is there no possibility that she might actually be party to this...this power-grab?"

Arethnii looked straight into Ron's eyes, a long hard stare, trying to read him. She saw nothing but blunt candor looking back.

"No, DanKor," Arethnii told him resolutely. "I know her quite well, and I can, without question, guarantee you that she would have none of this."

"Hmmph," he grunted, accepting her assessment with a nod. "Good. I would not wish to have any dealings with such a person if she were."

Ron didn't question her further, not able to comprehend the intricate workings of the large city's political and financial structure. He'd always hated politics. Bureaucrats who'd much rather protect their own power and wealth than do what's right for the people or the city made his skin crawl.

They kept up a fast pace until they reached the outer fringe villages of Decinyart, and then Ron pointed their little boat into the mouth of a wide, slow-moving tributary and set off east-northeast. He stayed on that course for the remainder of the day before abandoning the craft under the cover of some dense cane and striking out overland again...that time heading due south. From there, they kept to the smaller roads and paths that connected the tiny farming and fishing communities with the larger towns, but they had to stay moving because Ron suspected that word of their passage would spread. Those isolated knots of civilization rarely saw strangers, so he knew that was inevitable, but he hoped it would be a slow process...slow enough to stay ahead of.

During much of their time together, they took on the guise of a family, with Ron even holding Arethnii's hand when they passed through the foreign villages, just to appear as travelers, not fugitives.

(She once described to me that his palm and fingers were so rough it felt like she was gripping warm pumice)

They pressed onward for several days and slept in the woods at night, but when a week had passed without a hint of pursuit, they took a chance on a bit of luxury and rented a room at one of the smaller, more remote towns of northern Leaness; Ivyton. The place was an inn called 'The Fox Run'.

It wasn't much more than four stone walls and a dirt floor, but on that stormy night it was better than the open forest. Ron set up a space for himself on the hard ground in front of the doorway so that the little family might have the single, meager bed.

When Arethnii and the children were asleep, he arose and eased out of the room to make a sweep of the area. The rain had stopped by then, leaving the night cold, moonless, and quiet, with just a soft breeze rustling through the trees all about. Feeling safe for the time being, he slipped back into their room...silent as a mouse.

Arethnii caught the change in temperature as the door opened and closed, so she looked over, straining to see in the nearly nonexistent light. She could just make out Ron's silhouette as he was getting comfortable in his cloak.

"You are very good with the children, DanKor," Arethnii whispered delicately to him. "Do you have a family of your own?"

It took a long few moments before Ron replied, so the queen didn't know if he had heard her or chosen to ignore her inquiry, it possibly being too personal for him to answer. Just when she was ready to abandon the attempt...

"I had a wife once...and a son," he whispered back in a voice she thought was impossibly gentle, coming from such a phenomenally fearsome warrior as he. "Circumstances arose that forced us apart...and ensured that I could never be with them again."

Arethnii's mind tried to imagine what could possibly drive such an unstoppable man from his family, but before anything took hold...

"Years later, I was gifted with a daughter, and my heart was bonded to another's...soon to be betrothed once more. But they too were taken from me...and I will never see them again either.

"Now I am here."

His words were so filled with sorrow and loss that Arethnii was certain she could actually feel his heartbreak hanging thick in the air...and she could speak about it no more.

Josy tried to move past that section, but her voice broke just then and her eyes filled to their brims with tears. Without a word of explanation, she slowly closed the book, stood up and turned about, and walked into the house...her shoulders jerking with the spasms of her quiet sobs.

Every eye followed her movement, but not a person spoke, and many of the terrifying, hardened Aredanz warriors had tear trails on their cheeks as well.

### Chapter Thirty-one

### Nights are Lonely

Four days later, Josy again called her audience together, and then she continued.

From there it was a slow and tense santari and a half more of nearly nonstop travel. They had a few frights and close calls with greels, common hunters, and various patrols, but luckily, nothing as harrowing as the boat escape back in Stigias Colone. Arethnii and the children had adapted well over that period, and presently felt almost at home traipsing through the woods with their demigod protector.

Finally though, they reached a point when Arethnii knew exactly where they were. That realization came when they passed close by a town of approximately two hundred, called Raven's Beak...named for a particularly odd-looking rock formation nearby. They had avoided almost every large settlement since Ivyton because they suspected that those towns offered the best likelihood of spies being instilled in the population, watching for the small family.

Utilizing such secrecy had its limitations however, so it was only by chance that she saw the familiar sign. At that moment, Arethnii knew they were merely days from Heraitey. And from there, she began to think about the future again.

"DanKor," she asked during their midday meal, "What are your plans once you've had your meeting with the queen?"

He smiled wryly. "You mean if she doesn't immediately have me executed?"

"Executed? Why in the world would she do that?"

Ron just chuckled lightly and shrugged his shoulders, dismissing that question.

"Well, I think I will turn right around and go back to Nevari," he said instead, smiling a bit more casually.

"Nevari? Really? Why?"

"While I was there, I met a young woman. I know nothing about her...not even her name...but...I don't know. She seemed nice. I think I'll try to find her.

"What about you?" he countered. "Will you just take up where you left off, after all you've suffered through?"

Arethnii smiled too, casting her eyes down to the ground. "It's hard to say. I suppose so. We'll see."

Following another afternoon of marching steadily onward toward their unknown futures, they camped on the southern edge of Raven's Beak in a narrow ravine that overlooked a sprawling glade, giving Ron an excellent view of anyone approaching.

He'd managed to fill his quiver during their travel time by doing business either in the very early morning...alone...or right at the end of the day, when people were tired and paid little attention to strangers. At present, he had thirty arrows on his person, so he felt he was as prepared as he could be for whatever might arise. That allowed him some peace of mind.

That night, under the immense gallery of stars and a full Dersa to light the sky, Arethnii waited until Isla and Renni were sound asleep, and Ron was settled in, lying on his back.

They had become quite comfortable with one another by then...Karla and DanKor...and she had even at times cuddled with him to keep the chill at bay, but to his credit, her bodyguard had never tried to make any advances on her.

That night however, Arethnii had other plans.

After bathing in a nearby stream, one that was frigidly cold on that winter evening, she hurried over to where Ron was and, slipping under his thick cloak, pressed herself against him firmly, seemingly for warmth. He instantly felt her damp chill and so cradled her to him and stroked her arms and back briskly to warm her.

"Where have you been to get so cold?" he asked, grinning at her shivering figure as she clamped to him tightly.

She nuzzled her face against his neck and felt his rough hands on her skin, and suddenly she wasn't cold any longer. She was the exact opposite.

"We are getting close to Heraitey, DanKor," she said softly into his ear.

Her heart began to pound harder and quicker. Ron felt the shift immediately, and her breathy words sparked his own insides to leap as well.

"Maybe only two days more, from here."

He stayed quiet, but did not let go of his hold on her.

"It was all I could think of for the last several weeks, but now I almost fear it."

Her lips brushed his skin as she spoke, and that fueled his passion even further.

"You have no claims upon your heart, mighty DanKor?" she breathed huskily, her teeth scraping his neck lightly.

"No," he replied without moving. "You?"

"Not at the moment."

Arethnii's hand began to slide across his wide chest, caressing it and gauging his reaction...feeling the powerful thumping of his heart. After another bort that same hand drifted lower, and when she found a definitive acceptance of her advances, she cast aside all hesitance and slipped atop him, her hands suddenly full of purpose, and very efficient.

In moments, she had stripped DanKor of his clothing and had cast off her own thin shift, attacking him with the pent up desires of a young, healthy woman who'd been far too long without a man.

They spent the following half night in tangled, heated embrace, ravenous for each other and oblivious to everything else.

(Josy didn't stumble or hesitate in her reading of that description. She even had a slight smile in her eyes, which astonished many of the listeners.)

By the early billots of the following day, they collapsed into slumber, intertwined with one another and sleeping soundly, but not for very long.

The pleasurable events of that late night forced them to miss some much needed rest, and though the brilliance of dawn brought with it a tired, yet devilishly grinning Arethnii, it also delivered a different sort of surprise.

Uncharacteristically, Ron was slow to awaken, and groggy. Having slept so little...and with his mind still on those delightful exertions, he was not as alert as he normally would have been. Therefore, when they packed up their camp and made to move off, he was taken totally unaware.

With Arethnii walking on his right, and Isla between them both, they strolled calmly out into the glade and sauntered across it. Renni was following behind them, giggling and chasing butterflies in their wake. Barely halfway to the other side though, when they were still fifty kez from the cover of the surrounding woods, Ron suddenly surged in front of them in two long, hasty steps. Once there, he threw out his hand to sweep Arethnii and her daughter back behind him.

Half a lita later, his bow was out and at full draw, an arrow to his cheek and a target sighted.

"Go back!" he hissed at Arethnii. "Back up...and stay directly behind me!"

She'd been with Ron for so long by then that she instantly did exactly as he said, corralling her daughter in a blink and towing her backwards. Renni was already in her arms.

"What is it, DanKor?" she whispered, but there was no time for a reply.

Fifty archers stepped out of the tree-line and began to close on them.

"Drop your weapon!" roared an order from the bowmen's commander as he strode into the clearing. "I am Captain Marole Slazinger, of the queen's army. You are hereby under arrest as a thief, a fugitive, a murderer, and a kidnapper!"

"According to who's report?" Ron retorted, his bow still at the ready.

"The local regent in Brakkone...second city of Leaness...has sent word to us about a madman killing several men and abducting a fellow's wife and children. He was suspected of trying to flee their territory to avoid punishment and is using that dead man's family as hostages for his escape. We were given full authority to kill him on sight...or if possible, return him to face justice. A trapper spotted your group yesterday and reported your movements to us."

"Your information is flawed, Captain. I have murdered no one. Any man I have killed has been in battle, protecting myself, and this family! I have taken no one against their will either! This woman and her children were free to leave at any time! And as far as being a fugitive, I have run from no conviction of any crime, from any land."

The commander would not relent, however.

"Drop your weapon, or die here...now...in this glade!"

"You'll join me, Captain!" Ron vowed in a deep, growling tone. "I guarantee that!"

"WAIT!" Arethnii suddenly shouted, rushing forward to place herself between her bodyguard and the archers. "He is innocent!"

The captain hesitated, not wishing to injure a civilian...especially one cradling a child.

"Step away from the criminal, Mistress!" he ordered, waving her out of the way. "We have received compelling information that..."

"STAND DOWN, CAPTAIN!" she ordered, defiantly still holding her ground.

He was so stunned that he froze in mid-sentence.

"I recognize those uniforms," Arethnii continued. You are from the kingdom of Minara...from Heraitey, are you not?"

"Well," the captain replied, a bit confused, "yes. But that..."

"Then you _must_ obey my command!"

He looked at her as if she were mad.

"And just why is that, Mistress? I obey only my..."

"Because I am Arethnii Marialous Saline Erapson Deaton...your queen!"

The captain looked as if he had just been slapped full in the face. His expression was overwhelmed with shock.

"But I," he began. Then he strode forward a few steps...and then a dozen more. And then he kept approaching until he was barely ten feet from Arethnii.

"And the code?"

"Dawns light is often the darkest part of night!" she recited.

"For it often reveals the true cost of battle," the soldier finished.

Suddenly all the blood left his face and he dropped to his knees, his hands out front and head pressing against the ground.

The next instant, every archer withdrew their weapons and did likewise. And from the sound of it, another hundred soldiers copied them in the woods.

Ron let the strain off his own bow and just stared at Arethnii's back. He too was speechless.

She finally turned around and regarded him with a fierce gaze. He just stared back with a blank expression.

Arethnii then broke out in a broad smile and let out a loud exhalation.

"These soldiers are from home...from Heraitey. We made it!" she announced.

Ron understood what she was saying, but his expression didn't change...his mind was running a dozen different variations of what that news might actually mean, and what he should say now.

Arethnii found his silence quite amusing; especially after everything they'd been through to get there...and everything they'd just done the previous night.

She walked up close to him, still smiling, and whispered;

"Some things should stay private, don't you think?" She then winked at him.

"Of course, Kar...that is...your grace. However, now that I know who..."

"I know you wished an audience, but not here, okay?" she said, cutting him off. "We'll speak in private once we've reached the city."

"Yes, of course."

She gave Isla a light stroke of her finger across the chin and a reassuring smile before turning to regard the men who still remained kneeling.

"Please rise, brave soldiers of Heraitey...and let me thank you for your fine service. It has been a very long and tiring ordeal, and I am extremely grateful to be home again."

Isla wasn't exactly as relieved as her mother, so she gravitated over to DanKor and wrapped her arms around his waist, keeping him between her and the archers.

"Don't fret, little one," he told her. "I think the danger is over."

She frowned and made a stern face at the soldiers and then put her arms up to him.

Ron snatched her from the grass like a feather and set her up on his shoulders so that she might see better. That seemed to calm her. Then he walked beside Arethnii toward the captain.

"Your highness," he exclaimed when she approached him. "It is wonderful to find you unharmed." But then his eyes ran up and down Ron's impressive physique, his strange armaments, and the casual ease that all three of them treated him, and he began to ask a question, but hesitated, and then decided to stifle it.

Arethnii was no fool however and gathered what he wished to explore.

"You have a query, Captain...Slazinger is it?"

"Your, eminence...it's just that...well...I was wondering about this ma...that is...about your...your...escort?"

Without turning to regard Ron, Arethnii just fielded the man's inquiry frankly.

"Captain, let me introduce you to Heraitey's newest hero...Dangarth Korval. He single-handedly saved us all from certain death, and then provided us safe passage from the site of the massacre to here...through many other harrowing situations, I might add. If there is anything else to be said regarding him, it is that he has gained the gratitude of your queen."

That put life into the man, and erased any further prying he might have wished to explore. The captain immediately pivoted toward Ron and saluted him in the fashion of the Heraitey people. Ron bowed his head in acceptance.

Arethnii was standing very close to her savior at that moment though, her shoulder practically grazing his elbow, so the captain found himself treading a fine line when he spoke again, as it seemed quite clear that she did not view him as merely a bodyguard.

Marole's eyes flicked to the point where their bodies were closest and then back to the queen's gaze, and said; "Your fiancé, my queen...Chancellor Worsham...will be extremely pleased to find you well...your grace."

If that statement was designed to cause a reaction, he was sorely disappointed as neither Ron nor Arethnii even twitched. Arethnii was expecting it, and her new lover couldn't care less. After all, she had seduced him.

"Yes, of course," she retorted with a light, graceful smile, "and he is well also, may I assume?"

"Yes, but he has grown very distraught by your disappearance...and was nearly ready to cancel the celebration of your nuptials."

"That is understandable, but by my calculations, we should still have eight days. Is that right, Captain?"

"Yes, your grace. You are correct."

"And exactly how far are we from the capital?"

"We could be there by nightfall two days hence, if we hurry, your grace."

"Excellent. Then let us carry on with that plan. May I presume that you have already dispatched a runner to let everyone know that I am alive?"

"Well, no, your grace. Not just yet. I..."

"Good," Arethnii told him. "Send no one."

"But, your highness," he added with hesitancy, "we have no carriage for you...just a few supply wagons...and without sending word, you would have to..."

"Walk?" she finished his question. "That is exactly what I plan to do."

Marole was taken aback at that announcement too, never in his wildest dreams thinking she would even contemplate such a mode of travel.

"A-a-as you wish, your highness...of course."

He started to turn, but then remembered who he was speaking with.

"Shall we go then?" he inquired.

"One moment. Are all your men in this clearing, Captain?"

His eyes danced from left to right while his mind did some quick thinking.

"Yes, your grace. Why?"

"Please have them all gather around us as close as they can, would you?"

"Yes-yes...of course."

He then turned to his aide. "Gather the men in tight formation."

A few sharp whistles sounded across the open field, and then the men, archers, spearmen, and swordsmen alike all jogged into a circular formation about the queen and her family. When they were pressed in, shoulder to shoulder, Arethnii spoke.

"First, I would like to thank you men for your dedication and service to Heraitey, and to me. I do not doubt your abilities, nor your devotion. With that said, I would ask your indulgence."

She took a half step to the right and turned to face Ron.

"Take a good look, men of Heraitey, at this fellow beside me. He has been my personal shield over the past nearly two santaris. He saved me and my children from the very brink of death, back at the ambush site when my entire military entourage was destroyed. He has bled for me, he has killed violent, cruel men to protect my family and me, and with those acts, and many chivalrous ones since our meeting, he has earned my deepest appreciation beyond compare. He has my total confidence, my friendship, and my respect...and I would like each of you to remember that when dealing with him in the future."

Not a word was spoken, but too, not an eye blinked. They were all riveted on such emphatic, complimentary words from their queen.

"Thank you men," she then told them.

With that announcement, she turned to the captain and waved her hand for him to lead the way.

They all then headed up the trail that would provide access to the main road. Captain Marole Slazinger issued orders to his troops to set up a perimeter that would scout a hoz out in every direction for any signs of aggression, and then they marched south toward Heraitey.

### Chapter Thirty-two

### Heraitey

The captain gave Arethnii his personal tent for the night. It was large and divided into two sections...one for slumber and one for command duties. He posted six men to watch over it...four on the outside and two in the anti-chamber, but Arethnii just thanked him and dismissed the inside guards, stationing Ron in that area instead.

"Of course, it will be as you wish, my Queen," Marole told her hesitantly, "but surely two of our best soldiers are..."

Arethnii held up her left hand, stopping the captain in mid-sentence.

"I mean absolutely no disrespect to your fine men, Captain...I assure you. However, I watched Dangarth Korval destroy thirty attackers single-handedly, right before my very eyes. If I have to choose a guard for my children, it will be him."

The captain bowed low, turned, and dismissed the two guards.

She and the children took the sleeping section, and with a hundred Heraitey soldiers all about and Ron acting as their own private super-human shield, they dozed soundly through the night.

The next morning, rested and refreshed...and walking down actual roadways...the royal family set a fine pace. And also, by not waiting for the proper "regal" transportation, and carrying on well into dusk, it saved the procession easily eight billots, so they crested their last hill by mid-afternoon the following day.

As they came into view of the famed city...the one spoken about with awe and reverence in the legends of Caron's future...Ron found that those tales had not done it justice. Even his experiences with much more advanced civilizations could not keep him from being very impressed.

His vantage point was from that final hillock, at a distance of almost three hoz out, and it allowed for a grand, all-encompassing sight.

Heraitey was built right at the base of a four-hundred-feet-high cliff that had a flat plateau above and twin waterfalls...one on either side...feeding down into the city. There were ten watch towers constructed across that high elevation spotters' nest, with bridges over the waterways to allow fast movement of troops from one side to the next. And if he wasn't mistaken, there were at least a dozen catapults under weather-covers sitting up there too. He guessed they could send aerial bombardment easily a thousand kez down range to quell any attacking army.

That was well-planned, no doubt, but the most truly marvelous defense was the multiple entry gates to the capitol that stood in the foreground. Each one guarded the access to a bridge-way...five in all. And those bridges spanned a natural, ragged rip in the terrain that was a hundred feet wide and two hundred feet deep...one which formed a complete arc around the city proper from one cliff face to the other. It was just over four hoz in length and it completely insulated the city from any attack or bombardment as Heraitey's walls stood out of range of all known weapons from the far side of the rift. The only avenue for assault was to cross through the bridges, and as Ron inspected the scene, he noted that those manmade roadways were retractable. If hostilities ensued, the defenders of Heraitey simply needed to withdraw them, instantly isolating their city.

Much like Nevari, the surrounding land for hoz around provided space for the cultivated fields that fed the city, but Arethnii explained that they weren't the only ones. There were thousands of acres on the high plateau as well, with a huge lake for irrigation, so even if some army did wish to set up siege, it would be years before the citizens would become desperate.

Arethnii's procession employed the center bridge (the only one extended at that time) and moved on into the city with growing fanfare as the word of her safe return finally got out. Soon thousands of citizens were rushing to the main street to get a glimpse of the queen most thought had been lost to the evil of the outside world.

By nightfall, Arethnii was once again cleaned, powdered, primped, and coddled, and her children were safe and secure in their ornate quarters. She gave orders to put Ron up in one of the hundred guest suites in the palace and bid him to come see her at noon the following day, for she had not forgotten his wish for an audience with her.

He enjoyed the rich appointments of the palace very much, and marveled at the fact that the entire city was plumbed as well as any modern day Earth one. And at night, when the sun set and the street lights came on, as well as lights in most homes, he was even more awed at the level of advancement in the otherwise primitive world.

"The ancient legends were right after all," he said out loud to himself. "Heraitey truly was the most advance city on Caron."

He wanted badly to explore the wonders around him, but decided to wait for the following day, for he was badly fatigued. He'd gotten almost no sleep on the two previous nights...still fearing an assassination attempt on the queen and unwilling to relax around so many armed men...especially after the dire warnings Brossin and Maitrin had given him...and little on the one before that due to their romantic dalliance.

He felt certain Arethnii would never escort him herself...how could she, really...but was hoping she might supply him with a guide to accompany him around the city and answer his many questions.

Ron turned in early and slept much sounder than normal, his room being extremely quiet, nestled deep inside the massive building, and so, quite unlike him, he didn't rise until mid-morning. When he did however, it took but a single pull of a cord beside his bed to have him quickly surrounded by six young female attending servants. They provided him refreshments, breakfast, bathing assistance, and a brand new wardrobe. Once he'd donned the perfectly tailored accoutrements...he'd been thoroughly measured during the evening prior...he headed off to make ready for his meeting with Arethnii.

He received many strange looks from people he verbally engaged for directions, but was eventually placed in an anti-room off of the main audience chamber, where the queen typically held court. Ron stood there calmly, but the two sentries who guarded the doors appeared most unfriendly toward him. They were massive men, well-muscled and fierce looking. Both had finely crafted swords hanging at their waists and close-quarters spears in their hands.

After a short wait, he was summoned.

"Disarm yourself first," the man who'd come to beckon him said.

Ron had taken a step forward, but then stopped. He was dressed as he always was, ready for battle. His two swords were at his waist, his three throwing knives were placed for easy access, his bow was across his back...unstrung...and two dozen arrows were clustered in his quiver. He considered the order for a moment.

"No!"

"Then you will not see the queen."

"Really?"

He gazed calmly at the fellow and then said; "Why don't you go tell Arethnii what you just said?"

"QUEEN Arethnii, you jackal!" the man spat.

Ron just shooed him off with a flick of his hand.

The doors to the throne room were thick and heavy, but he could make out a sharp clash of words being tossed about. A quick moment later the same fellow was hurrying through the door once again, his face redder than Ron would have thought possible.

"Queen Arethnii will see you now, Sir...just as you are."

Ron smiled a wry smile and strode forward.

When he stepped into the huge room, he found himself in outright awe of Heraitey's architectural craftsmen. It was a massive space with a domed ceiling easily ninety feet from the perfectly smooth marble floor, two hundred feet in length, and a hundred wide. There were dozens of three-foot-thick columns carefully spaced along the perimeter to support a large balcony where hundreds of people sat and stood to watch their newly restored queen hold court.

As Ron rounded one of those columns, headed toward the end of the chamber he'd been guided to, he saw an expressive scene taking place with the queen. He didn't understand it at first, but then it became apparent that she was being greeted by another woman, one whom she obviously held very dear as they were embracing one another tightly and speaking fast.

He approached as they separated, still chattering happy greetings.

"I was so worried," the newcomer was saying. "I can't believe that you're truly here...and unharmed! The gods have certainly been watching over you, my queen!"

It was clearly an emotional reunion...tears of joy falling freely from both women...and as he drew to a halt some twenty feet from them, Arethnii finally looked up and smiled.

"The gods were absolutely looking after me, dear Vessia!" she agreed, her eyes shining at her rescuer/lover's impeccably masculine physique. "For they sent this magnificent warrior to me at the exact right instant. Another lita would have doomed me for sure!"

The woman with her back to him suddenly realized that they had been joined by another person, so she hastily wiped her wet face and eyes as she turned to greet the savior of her queen...of her dearest friend.

"May I introduce you to the man to whom I owe my life, and those of my children? Vessia Milicent Asaria Cordalis, this is..."

The young woman spun about just then, sweeping the last of her tears away and looking at the fellow Arethnii was heralding, and then her mouth dropped wide open. Before she even realized that she was speaking, a single word had escaped her lips.

"Ronin!" she chirped in a high, dazed voice.

Now it was Arethnii who stood there dumbstruck.

Ron froze as well, his mind blitzing with shock and surprise. How could it possibly be the same woman? He'd met her on the high, stone barricade, a thousand hoz away, posing as a slave. How did she make it back to Heraitey safely with those cutthroats on the road? And she was actually friends with the queen? What were the odds? It was nearly overwhelming.

After five long litas ticked off and no one had spoken, Ron finally recovered.

"Vessia, is it? That's your name?"

Vessia's eyes were as round as saucers. Her head simply nodded a slight bit once or twice.

Ron had completely forgotten the queen, forgotten his purpose for meeting with her, and forgotten his manners. All he could see was the petite, gorgeous, flabbergasted young woman he'd saved back in Nevari. She was wearing a short, blue-green, sleeveless dress...it matching her teal eyes to perfection...slipper-like sandals that laced up her well-shaped, tanned calves, and her hair was pulled up and ensnared by a thin white ribbon that corralled those brown curls into a puff-ball that bounced about lightly when she moved. She was breathtaking!

"How are you?" he asked.

"Uh...good...fine...tired...I just got back, you see and..."

"E-hem!" sounded behind Vessia.

"OH! My queen! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!"

Vessia stammered a bit more, but drifted off to the side to allow Arethnii a clear path to Ron.

Every person in the huge chamber had stopped what they were doing by then, and not a sound could be heard.

"What did Vessia call you?" she inquired of the man she knew as DanKor. Her voice was steady to the commoner, but Ron could hear the tremor in it...the anxiety in it...the utter exasperation in it.

Ron bowed deeply first, and then, when his eyes had captured hers again...

"I am Ronin Alsone, Queen Arethnii."

She had been standing, greeting her friend, but with that declaration, she fell back into her seat with a less than graceful thud. A fleeting glance at Vessia asked the unspoken question.

"I met him in Nevari...briefly...my queen," Vessia explained in a whisper. "I didn't realize until later who he was, and even then I thought I must be mistaken."

Arethnii turned slowly back to face Ron.

She had been waiting for news of that man for so long...years, in fact. Now she'd just learned that she had been saved by him, tutored by him, guarded by him, and finally, ravished by him. Those facts caused her to become absolutely mute.

Ron had surmised that it would be quite the revelation to the queen, after he'd found out that she was the ruler of most of the present world, so he was prepared better than she. He jumped in smoothly to fill the void.

"I have journeyed far, your grace, after finding out that you sought an audience with me. I apologize for using a false name while we traveled together, but I have been set upon by more than one unscrupulous band of men since arriving, and didn't want to give aid to others who might wish to collect on rewards that have been offered for my head...especially in the company of such a fine lady and her young children.

"I hope that you can see past that deception, as I was not aware of exactly who it was I was escorting either."

That short speech allowed Arethnii time to compose her wits a bit, and so it was the queen once again who sat upon the throne when she answered...although it was a softly spoken reply that only the few people nearest her could make out.

"Of course, my noble champion. I could hardly berate you for your wish to remain anonymous when...as you said...I was doing the same. However, that is not the true cause of my amazement. You see, I had all but given up on the prophecy...on the idea that the gods would send someone down to us...and on the possibility that you actually existed. I had begun to accept that the stories were all myths and legends, derived from superstitious old men.

"But this is not the time and place for such discussions. Would you join my future husband and me for dinner, and perhaps a few billots of dialogue this evening?"

Ron's eyes flicked over to Vessia, who still stood staring at him with an unblinking gaze.

"Of course, Vessia will be there as well," she added, "since she is my most trusted advisor."

Ron's decision was instantly solidified.

"It would be my great honor, your highness," Ron responded, bowing low once more.

"For now though," Arethnii continued, casting her gaze around the massive room and raising her voice once again to include that vast audience, "I would like to introduce to the citizens of Heraitey," she paused just a fraction of a lita, as her inner self urged caution, "Dangarth Korval; the man who..."

Arethnii then explained much of what had transpired on the road, and what DanKor had done for her and her children. She hit the highlights only, but still there was enough of the miraculous story to leave everyone there breathless with DanKor's bravery and uncommonly acute abilities.

Half a billot later, at the end of her extravagant introduction, Arethnii broke off the court proceedings for the midday meal, explaining to her guests that she needed private time with her betrothed to finalize some wedding arrangements, so Ron took his leave of the ornate chamber and headed out to find some lunch.

Arethnii wanted badly to begin grilling him on the spot, but instead, turned toward her royal chambers with her fiancé who at that moment seemed determined to keep her within his sight at all times. He had not been too keen on DanKor after seeing him...knowing that such a fantastic specimen had been alone in the wilds with his betrothed for almost two santaris.

Arethnii had at first felt a powerful jolt of jealousy when she saw Ron's reaction to her friend, Vessia, but when the man who she was about to marry began to press her for details of all that private time with the super-soldier, she used it to her advantage, telling him that Ronin was already in love with another, and that Isla and Renni were constantly with them, so such insinuations were completely groundless.

Vessia begged away from Arethnii the instant she heard her fiancé start in, and raced away to try to catch up with Ron.

"Ronin!" she shouted just as Ron was making a decision about which way to go.

Ron greeted her with his most devastating smile, and received one in return.

"Hello, Vessia," Ron said, bowing his head like a well-mannered American southerner. (His description) "That is a beautiful name, by the way...as is the rest of you, of course."

She blushed heavily and looked away for an instant, but then her gaze locked onto his with a brazenly candid defiance.

"I need you to answer a question...if you please."

She was right in front of him by then, scant inches from his person, and craning her neck nearly straight up to speak with him.

Such a beginning to their conversation surprised Ron very much, but he simply took it as a frank and candid opening...and he was always comfortable with that.

"Anything I can, I assure you," he replied.

"Why did you save me...back there in Nevari?"

That seemed a strange question, especially since so much time had passed. Nonetheless, Ron responded immediately.

"Simple. You were helpless and you were attacked...unprovoked. No one has the right to treat someone like that...especially a lady. And before you say it...I don't care if they thought you were a slave! That doesn't matter in the least!"

"You would have saved anyone then? It didn't matter that...," she hesitated just a lita or two to gather her words, "you thought I...well...you thought I was pretty?"

Ron scrunched his brows for a scant instant.

"Honestly, I had no idea what you looked like. I caught sight of you for barely a moment before they grabbed you...and that was from a distance, through dense fog...with your hood covering much of your face. I didn't see you clearly until I was inside their little alcove." He then recalled that moment, having found her in such a vulnerable state. "And I apologize to you, Vessia, for that...for seeing you like that, I mean."

Vessia's expression had softened considerably by the end of his explanation, and it was quickly replaced by one of the sweetest, most modest blushes he'd ever seen.

"Well, that isn't the way I would have wanted to meet you either," she admitted, and then she chuckled. An instant later though, she was serious again. "But at least we met." And with that statement, she moved even closer to Ron, her eyes dancing back and forth between his. She was a tiny woman...nearly as short as Cache Kuar (as he put it once), and so she found herself a bit frustrated.

"Bend down a little," she said suddenly, and when he complied, she reached up and locked her fingers in his hair, pulling his face to hers for a long kiss.

When they separated, she grinned up at him madly.

"I've been wanting to do that for a really long time!"

"Well, don't let me keep you from repeating it...please!"

They both broke out laughing.

From that moment on, Ron and Vessia were hard to keep apart.

### Chapter Thirty-three

### Plots and Plans

That evening, once Arethnii's intended had taken his leave, the queen moved their little trio to a secluded corner of a large room that was lavished with heavy tapestries on the walls, thick furs on the floor, and stuffed cushions so plentiful it was difficult to find the actual seats.

Ron could tell that space was designed to dampen sounds from carrying past the ears of those in the immediate vicinity, so that the queen might have confidential conversations with dignitaries without being closed off in a room where her security team could not see what was happening. Eight of her heavily armed personal guards lined the far wall watching for signs of danger for their queen, and four female servants stood ready for a signal that would summon them to tend to her or her guests.

"Now that we are alone, your grace, I..." Ron began.

"Please, Ronin," she stopped him. "We have been on a first name basis for too long...even if the names were not quite accurate...so when we are alone, call me Arethnii. The title gets old and cumbersome...even irritating when I'm with friends."

"Very well, Arethnii. I was sent to find you so that I might warn you of an attempted coup."

Arethnii and Vessia exchanged a quick glance as he said that, but didn't say anything, so he continued.

"While in Nevari, I was told of the possibility of a plot to overthrow you during your wedding celebration."

Arethnii looked stunned.

"Truly?"

Ron nodded.

"Vessia and I had briefly entertained that possibility, but had dismissed it as we had no proof. May I ask who it was that gave you this information, my friend?"

"Well, it was two men...two military men. One claims his commander knew you well. His name was Brossin Negalli."

"General Negalli?" she said, greatly surprised. " _Was_ , you say? He's dead?"

Ron nodded. "I'm afraid so. His adjutant, Maitrin Poseri told me of his connection with you."

Arethnii nodded slowly, recalling the general fondly. "Yes, I knew Brossin for many years. It's truly a loss to hear of his death. Was it during the battle?"

Ron felt a bit leery of telling her too much detail, so he gave her the highlights.

"He was badly wounded in the battle...but he passed on a few days later. It wasn't pleasant for him, I'm afraid. But he did seem to take comfort in passing along his warning, and his deep desire for me to help you."

Arethnii nodded sadly, but sat quiet for a while, her thoughts drifting. Then...

"Why you? I thought Nevarians despised you...after the damage you wrought upon them."

"Yes, it's true that I am a wanted man because of what happened there, but"

"Please, Ronin," Vessia then interjected, placing her hand in his and squeezing it in a sweet, cajoling way. "Would you tell us what did occur? When you...arrived."

Ron saw that they were both merely curious, with no sign of judgment upon their faces, so he obliged them...without detailed descriptions of the brutality of the fighting. He explained how it all unfolded, and how he and his friends very nearly died in the escape...and about the current price on his head.

"And so," he finished, "when I finally caught up with Brossin, I was trying to get that bounty removed. That's when I discovered that you wished to speak with me...the truth behind the ruthless cover-up...and the plot to kill you. And that's when he begged me to try and find you...to prevent your assassination and a likely war for the throne."

Arethnii nodded her understanding, her mind whizzing along.

"Did they know who in Nevari was involved, or why?"

"No, I'm afraid not...only that a military man named Toboyo was suspected of being part of it. But they didn't know who he was, or where he was from, or even to what extent his part might be. And to be honest, that name might just be a code-word to keep his identity secret. I just don't know. That small bit of information was given to me just before the man begging me to find you and save you...Maitrin...was killed by one of the barbarian horsemen of the northern plains, about twenty-five hoz west of Nevari."

"Then it is true? You were out on the plains during that hellish battle?" Vessia asked, her face filled with dread.

Ron patted her hand gently. "I'll get to that later," he said. Then, to Arethnii...

"I think he and Brossin were discreetly trying to uncover the particulars of who was involved, or even how such a plot might be successful. In fact, to their great misfortune, my untimely arrival that day, four years ago, may actually have derailed their efforts to pry out that evidence, I'm afraid. Afterward, tensions grew and suspicions grew with them, so clandestine sources became difficult to procure."

"I'm sure," Arethnii said. Then she added; "We found that particular angle equally stymied to our own efforts. You see, before we arrived, we had heard snippets of information eluding to nefarious activities in Nevari, but mostly it was conjecture derived from certain pieces of missing information...that, and pure, wild speculation. But the whispers of an assassination plot were a new wrinkle we stumbled upon during our visit. Vessia and I worked out some crude scenarios that pointed to the wedding as well, but in the light of day, they seemed far-fetched too, with nothing to lend them credence.

"Vessia even went out into the streets, attempting to blend in with the commoners..." (Ron's eyes flicked to Vessia's and he saw worry looking back, so he remained silent.) "but she was unsuccessful in that endeavor, other than to confirm that the citizens were uneasy and frightened.

"Of course, she did discover the truth about you and your...uh...unconventional...arrival."

Ron smiled at that description, and the ladies returned it.

"We had heard nothing about any plans to ambush us on the road though, so that came completely out of the blue...and the scope of it was truly unimaginable. No one would have thought such a brazen attempt would even be considered, much less accomplished."

"At least they fell short of their ultimate goal on that day," Vessia inserted.

Ron and Arethnii both nodded in unison.

"During your ordeal," Ron interjected, "before I got there, do you recall seeing anything that might point us in any certain direction?"

"No, I'm afraid not. And I've been through similar attacks...although on a much smaller scale, of course...so I knew what to look for, but I didn't see a single insignia I could identify on any of the men who accosted us."

"Of course not," Ron interjected. "An attack like that would likely have been carried out by some third party mercenary group, no doubt...so that if it failed, it couldn't be traced back to whoever arranged it."

The ladies both nodded at his assertion.

"But if the throne was what they're after, and they would have succeeded out on the road," Ron added, "wouldn't it have made the takeover of Heraitey much more difficult?"

Vessia fielded that query.

"No, I'm afraid not. You see, her funeral would have been equally as good as the wedding, if not better. The same people would have shown up, with the same military accompaniment. And such a somber event might have actually aided their clandestine efforts because people are generally most vulnerable when distracted by grief or loss."

Ron nodded his agreement.

"And with the shock to the citizens," Arethnii joined in, "and the disarray of leadership, a great deal of changes and confusion would have been expected, therefore not as readily noticed. It would have been easy for someone with foreknowledge to be ready to slide the critical personnel into place."

They all sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating that scenario.

"But we still might be able to guess at their plot, don't you suppose?" Vessia finally said. "I mean, to have any possible chance at succeeding during the upcoming ceremony, this new assassination would have to employ someone very close to you, right?"

"Yes/yes," both Ron and Arethnii acknowledged.

"And in the likelihood that something happened to me," the queen added, "especially my death...Heraitey would immediately move into a full lock-down state. Every door and gate to and from the city would be closed, locked, and guarded. So if it was an attempt to seize power, they would need to be inside already...and almost certainly would require complete control of several of my military commanders as well. Otherwise, they would be overwhelmed by the palace guards, captured, or killed in the fighting."

Vessia and Ron agreed. "Yes, that prearrangement would seem to be a necessity," he said.

Arethnii sat back for a few moments thinking.

"I actually had been contemplating just such a conspiracy during the trip home...at least until the attack. Afterward, I just worried about my children and getting home alive. However, I'm not a military person, so I would need you, Ronin, to make a hasty evaluation of our preparations, to see how it might happen."

"Me?" he retorted with obvious surprise. "But I don't know anything about your..."

"The prophecy says that you would be the finest warrior ever to set foot on Erthania...that you would be unbeatable in battle...and that your prowess of combat skills, their uses and tactics, would be incomparable."

Ron looked at her frankly, assessing her words carefully. Again, he found the insight of those legends and divinations to be uncanny.

"Are these claims without merit?" Arethnii pressed, raising her brows sharply.

"They seem a bit...extreme...don't you think?"

Arethnii said nothing. She just held her questioning gaze.

"Okay, I do have some experience, but I'm a stranger here. I won't be permitted to move freely about...to investigate..."

"Vessia will be your passkey. She is well-known throughout the city as my adviser, and she will carry a royal decree granting both of you absolute access to any place or anything you need."

Ron sat back for a brief moment and took in a deep breath.

"What makes you think that you can trust me to do this, Arethnii? What if this entire time that you've known me has just been a carefully planned ruse to gain your trust...for this exact purpose? What if I'm just a Trojan horse?"

Both the ladies stared at him curiously. Ron could tell they were trying to figure out his simile.

He smiled and shook his head a bit. "What if I'm here as a ruse to undermine or circumvent your safety protocols?"

Now it was Arethnii who sat back and gathered herself. Her face was as lovely as usual, yet placid.

"I'll tell you why," she began after a bort. "I was suspicious of you at first...not the first few days, of course, because I was still in shock and the only thing I could think about was the danger we were in. But afterward, I began to wonder just how it was that your timing had been so perfect...or if it might possibly have been something other than mere happenstance. I came to some definitive conclusions along the way.

"Let's review the known realities and my deliberations.

"First, was the fact that you didn't simply kill us all. If you knew who we were...and you certainly would have if you'd intended us harm, you had no reason to play out this elaborate charade. Our vanishing would have opened the door for whoever might be vying for the throne...especially if they were already inside Heraitey. That much we've already discussed. Thereby we would have died in the dirt without ever having met you. So you weren't hired to kill us.

"Second, was that if you didn't know who we were, no man in their right mind would have risked so much to help complete strangers...even if he thought it might gain him favor of the queen by saving a few of her well-to-do citizens. It simply wouldn't be enough leverage to get access to the queen...or some other form of clout...you would need to plot and carry out a coup in so short a time.

"Third, was that if you were employed by an outside party, trying to work your way close to me...the scenario you are suggesting now...and were faced with saving us all in order to accomplish that goal, what would you look like? Would you work for a huge payday? I presumed that you would have. That's what drives normal mercenaries, right? However, when you came to us, you did not fit that mold...not at all. You appeared to need little, and in fact, had almost no money on your person, other than what you stole from our attackers. Your attire was extremely basic, with no lavish trim whatsoever. Your weapons, while being strange to me, were not gilded, nor encrusted with jewels. And finally, your hands were so rough that I doubted you'd spent much time in any city in the past few years, and that's the only place money is of any real value.

"No, my dear friend. You were a warrior...a hunter...a loner. I would wager that you moved around often and were truly close to almost no one. And the thing that clinched it for me was that when I was pulling those arrowheads out of your body, you gave almost no reaction to what had to have been excruciating. You have known unfathomable pain in your life, my dear friend. And from that brief confession back in Ivyton, cruel, wrenching sorrow as well, and certainly heart-breaking loss.

"No, Ronin Alsone. Anyone who has spent as much time with you as I have, would, without a doubt, come to the same conclusion. You are just as you appear to be...as extraordinary as it is. You are simply a man...a miraculous man, no doubt...but a man who sees injustice and finds it offensive, so you react. It just so happens that when you react, your will, your tenacity, and your abilities are so far beyond the norm that it is overwhelming. That is why the people you've met call you DanKor...after the mythical deliverer from the ancient days."

Ron smiled again at that title. It almost seemed like the 'Ronin' myth all over again. "And just who might this 'DanKor' be?" he asked.

Arethnii smiled easily. It was a story she knew well from her childhood...a fairytale.

"It is said that the first man to discover the secret of steel built a sword that he used to vanquish all beasts that threatened his people. His name was Elvarus Dane. He was absolutely fearless...unfathomably so, in fact. His deeds with that weapon were so grand that the blade he swung was eventually even given its own name; Kaore. The word of Dane's prowess spread out across the land like the wind, and drew vast numbers of followers to him. He welcomed them and used their devotion to build the first fortified city in the known world. They constructed it out of stone, and that land prospered for a thousand years. Elvarus Dane...with his legendary weapon...brought our people out of the wilds and into civilization. Now, when the commoners witness someone who is truly exceptional, both in ability and in compassion for the everyday peoples, they dub him; DaneKaore, or DanKor."

Ron suddenly recalled the slight variation of that title in the story Lilea once told him in Lampsh, so many years ago, and so he nodded his understanding.

"I must say that it is quite rare to hear that name these days, but I also know it is well appointed toward you. I have seen it with my own eyes. Your abilities are phenomenal and...wielded by you...your weapons are is invincible. Yet you are more humble than almost any man I've ever met...and you are incredibly chivalrous."

Vessia, who had spoken little during the entire meeting, was watching Ron carefully, and saw that he was very impressed with Arethnii's rationalization, yet uncomfortable with her praise. That sealed her impression of him beyond what her fluttering heart had already told her. The queen was absolutely accurate.

With Ron's silence as an answer, Arethnii continued.

"So, now that we have a pseudo plan for preventing the overthrow of my kingdom, we will...if you please...discuss a topic that I need clarified.

"The reason I sent word around the known kingdoms, searching for an audience with you, is this..."

The queen then recited to Ron everything she had been told about the prophecy. He'd heard much of it already, but listened carefully to all the overt claims as well as the implied ones. He found it fascinating, and a bit disturbing.

It was truly eerie to hear how his landing had been seen a thousand hoz away...while it was happening...by Oderus, and even foretold by others, hundreds of years before it occurred, just as Pierci had claimed.

When she was done, he considered it all for a while, and how much he should divulge about himself and his origins. Finally...

"I have no explanation for such dire omens to be connected to my arrival, Arethnii. I really have no idea whatsoever about why I was deposited here."

"So, may I take it that you are not from Erthania?" the queen asked.

Ron felt he had to give in to that. Too many people had witnessed the crash.

"That is correct. Your civilization is completely foreign to me, and so even though I don't condone some of the aspects of it, as it is vastly different from my home, I have no plans to change it. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"So exactly where are you from?" the queen inquired. "You dropped from the heavens. Are you a god sent to us in the form of a man?"

Ron smiled and shook his head. "You pulled the arrows out of my flesh, remember? Would a god sustain injuries by mere mortals?"

Both women tilted their heads a bit in thought, but then shook them to the negative.

"Not the gods we've ever heard of," Arethnii admitted.

Ron smiled again. "Me either. No, Arethnii...and Vessia...I am just a man. I just happen to be one who is from a place where I received extensive training...and extensive education."

"But you're so strong!" Vessia piped in. "You destroyed my attackers so easily!"

She turned to the queen just then. "It was like they were nothing more than children, the way he snatched them up and tossed them away!"

Arethnii was glaring at her however. "What attackers?" she demanded. "And when was this?"

"Oh...uh..."

Vessia then recalled the events in Nevari that led up to her meeting Ronin.

"Why didn't you tell me back then? I'd have had those men torn..."

"My queen," Vessia cut her off. "Ronin here did all that was necessary...and then some...to those ruffians...believe me. And I didn't want you worrying about me while I was trying to gather the information we so desperately wanted."

Arethnii was still obviously perturbed with her young advisor, so Vessia returned the conversation back to Ronin.

"At any rate," she continued, breaking eye contact with her fuming friend and looking at him instead, "you broke those men as if they were stick figures!"

Ron raised his hands in a defensive manner.

"I admit I have a slight advantage of strength compared to some men, I guess," he confessed, trying to think of a way to explain his heavy-worlder genetic structure in a manner they could follow. "The places I've been in the years previous to landing here...and the events I was forced into...required great strength and fortitude to survive. Spending years in such situations and locations...hardened my bones and muscles more than normal. But at the time Vessia just described, I was simply angry and got a bit overly excited."

Now it was Arethnii who smiled.

"Yes," the queen inserted, "I remember how 'excited' you were when you slew nearly thirty men single-handed, right in front of me."

She then recited to Vessia...in much greater detail than she'd told the audience at court...exactly what had transpired during the attack on the caravan, and her subsequent rescue.

"And that...that...that 'sound' you released!" she finished, staring at Ronin hard and shivering openly. "May the Guardian never let me hear that again!"

Ron shrugged his shoulders at her, grinning slyly.

"Yeah, I got a little carried away. Sorry."

The two ladies just stared at him for a few moments, dumbfounded that he would down-play such phenomenal feats so readily.

"Yeah, well," Ron said in an attempt to break their spell of awe, "back to that 'prophecy' of me causing the downfall of your civilization. Since landing on that field so far away, I can only say that fate has been steering me from one event to the next. And maybe that's the way it will stay. I won't see where I'm headed until it is the only path for me to take."

"I don't follow," Arethnii said.

To clarify, Ron explained to her and to Vessia much of what life had been like since his arrival in Nevari, yet he did not divulge that he had lived more than a thousand years in their future. He saw no reason to drop that bombshell on them...especially when he had no way to prove it and he didn't want them to think him mad.

Many questions about the prophecy were asked, and theories abounded amongst the three of them, but only one scenario could explain with any concrete legitimacy, what exactly his purpose was at that time in their history...the inexplicable truth. And Ron decided to keep that fact to himself for the moment. It was as such; without knowing it at the time, he had saved young Renni's life. That was an irrefutable fact. He decided to accept that that one thing might be the key to it all, for just as Arethnii had said; if Ronin Alsone had not appeared at the exact right moment, the young tike would never have lived to become king.

Although, one could also argue that if Ronin had never fallen from the sky, Arethnii would not have been searching for him and thusly would not have been on that road to begin with. The bends and twists of time travel truly bewildered the mind.

In any event, how his arrival could be tied up with the downfall of Heraitey, Ron couldn't postulate just then. He could see no viable connection of one to the other. The war was supposed to have occurred when Renni was an old man, so who could guess at what might happen decades in the future. And as he sat there considering it all, the whole legend of Ronin Alsone coming to the rescue during that conflict seemed impossible to Ron, for right then he realized that it most likely wouldn't happen until he was in his seventies or eighties!

In fact, it was very likely that none of them sitting there would ever even live to see any of it. And furthermore, Ronin's intervention supposedly saved the city, so this collapse of Heraitey that had been forecast for centuries may never have had a bearing on that event at all. Generally great cities and societies degrade over generations, even hundreds of years, and so no one had any real knowledge of how much longer it might take before the rest of that story unfolded.

They all talked in circles afterward for billots...late into the night...testing and retesting all the angles they could imagine. In the end, they broke off and headed for bed with the resolve to tackle the immediate issue on the morrow...the threat to Arethnii. The prophecy could wait.

Ron walked away convinced that he'd done the right thing by not divulging the entirety of what he knew about the legend to Arethnii that night. Something inside him had urged caution. Too much information about the future...as hazy as the legend was about specifics...could lead to disastrous decisions made out of fear and ignorance, or even overconfidence. It was best to let it lie for the time being.

Even though the night talks had lasted well into the wee billots of the morning, Vessia was up early just the same, and she met Ron as he was leaving his room. She was wearing a simple, white, thigh-length dress and sandals, with her hair piled up and out into a fluffy ponytail again, to help her stay cool in the unusually warm early winter weather. (That far south delayed the onset of the cold season) Ron was clean-shaven and in his usual attire...a vest and trousers made of deerskin, with moccasins. And he was armed to the teeth. To most citizens of the city, a warrior such as he would be someone to stay clear of, to avoid any chance of contact that might escalate into battle. To Vessia, he was the exact opposite.

Her heart was hammering away so fast she felt he must surely hear it, even before she reached him, and her nervous energy was causing her entire body to vibrate. She kept telling herself it was because of the looming threat and the importance of their assignment, but deep inside she knew differently. It was because she would be able to be right beside Ronin Alsone for the next couple of days, working closely with him, and it was almost too much to handle. However, when she gazed into his beautiful gray eyes, she saw the same kind of anxious joy looking back, so that allowed her to calm her quaking nerves enough to speak in coherent sentences.

They had a nice, long breakfast together, huddled in the corner of a café, making plans about how best to proceed, and then they began their evaluation immediately afterward.

The city was vast, so first thing, Vessia took him to the chief wedding planner who went over the entire ceremony with them...from the elaborate entrances of foreign leaders, to the seating chart during the ceremony. Ron wanted to see exactly who was going to be where, at what distance, at what angle, and such. That comprised most of the first day.

It was going to be a massive undertaking, with several of the attending rulers each having their own military contingent. Great care would have to be taken to avoid embarrassing dignitaries, or their kingdoms, or their customs. Some of the guests were accompanied by as many as 300 of their countrymen. All those accommodations were mapped out on huge sheets of parchment, like a seating chart for the actual party guests, yet those charts encompassed more than ten square hoz of land.

By supper that night, Ron felt he had absorbed the principle highlights of the arrangements and had noted a few points of interest to mull over, but nothing stood out...as he feared it wouldn't...so they set off to see the actual venues the following morning.

In the cool billots of the new day, they walked each of the avenues into and out of the city, with Vessia answering a hundred questions his inquisitive mind developed. The first was how the city had electricity.

"I don't know that term...electricity," she responded, tilting her head slightly.

"Oh...well...let's see," Ron replied, searching for some word that would add clarity. "How about 'power'? Is there a power generator in the waterway up above, feeding down into the city? For the energy you use."

Vessia scrunched her brows and pursed her lips, trying to decipher what he was saying.

Ron's mind went blank. "Uh...power...energy? You know...for the lights?"

He pointed at the tall lamps on posts of a nearby courtyard as an example.

"Like in those. The wiring runs through the ground and up the poles to power those lights."

Vessia shook her head slightly. "I don't know what 'wires' are, Ronin. Perhaps it is done differently on other wor...that is, in other places, but here we use galorus crystals to light dark spaces and open areas at night."

"Oh. Crystals? So they just glow at night...or in the dark?"

"Yes."

"But there are some inside the palace as well. And I can turn them off by turning a lever on the wall."

"Yes, of course. There is a magnetic switch to control the ones inside rooms. If the polarity is changed, the lamp goes out."

Ron's mind went through his somewhat limited knowledge of magnetism and saw how that could possibly work, and so was very impressed that the primitive people had figured that out.

"And this is everywhere in Erthania?"

"Oh no, it is only in Heraitey. For some reason we don't understand, it will not work beyond that rift that protects our city. Oderus told me the elders proclaimed that since this is the birthplace of the Gods, it is one of the gifts we were granted."

Ron accepted that explanation as one of many things he would never fully comprehend...each planet he'd visited having at least one thing strangely unique to only it.

They made their way out to the deep rift to see the retractable roadways, and across the city twice, checking each of the twelve passageways that led through the palisade walls. And then, after the midday meal, they went up to the high plateau. That excursion was absolutely fascinating to Ron.

He found that the entire escarpment was some fifteen hoz across and twenty in length, with a deep lake taking up three square hoz of it serving as a reservoir for Heraitey's drinking water. That lofty mesa was an oddity of nature too, as it jutted up out of the surrounding terrain like a gigantic tree stump, having none of its sides even remotely sloping to the neighboring land.

If any army had the audacity to attempt an attack by that route, it would have to first survive four hundred feet of truly heroic climbing just to get started. And should they be successful in gaining even half of that height, the military had constructed a watchtower at every half-hoz along the perimeter...and each overhung the cliff edge by fifty feet, giving them an unobstructed view of the entire face that force would have to scale.

Also, there was a road joining each of the towers that allowed reinforcements to move swiftly between the stations. Archers could easily be called upon, loads of rocks could be carried to and dumped over the edge, even carts carrying vats of boiling oil could be utilized at virtually any point along that circuitous route. And beyond all that, if even a single successful man were to somehow avoid all that, the Heraiteynians had filled the bordering woods with Tridant Forest monkeys that could live off the nuts and fruit trees of that carefully planted, peripheral area. Those small simians were extremely skittish, so if even a gifted woodsman were to set foot inside their domain, their panicky, watchful nature would set off a shrill alarm that would alert every soldier within two hoz.

Next were the waterways, closer in to the area that would actually give access to the city. They were dug on either side of the lake, creating a tremendous moat that also would have to be spanned. They were deep...far too deep to wade across...and were very fast-flowing. On top of that, the few bridges that spanned them were also retractable, so any enemy force attempting to attack or infiltrated Heraitey from that route would have to either be phenomenal swimmers or haul boats up the sides of the plateau.

With two thousand soldiers constantly manning those defenses, Ron had to shake his head at the thought of any threat coming from that direction.

After that little tour, they walked along the rim of the plateau...the one that looked out over the entrances to Heraitey, far below. Ron asked many questions of the men who manned the twenty huge catapults...each one a massive, exquisitely constructed trebuchet. Once he found out the range of the weapons, the multiple types of payloads they could deliver, and the speed that each could be reloaded and fired, he stood quiet for several borts, his mind running mental scenarios of what might be considered, what might be attempted, and what might possibly be successful.

When he finally inhaled deeply and let it out in a long, low whistle, Vessia turned to him questioningly.

"Wow!" he exclaimed.

So much planning had gone into the defense of Heraitey that he doubted if even an army of twenty-thousand men could stand a chance of breaching the outer barrier...the chasm. And, if by some miracle they managed to achieve that goal, they'd be inside a secure killing zone from the hellacious catapults up above, with absolutely no protection and no possibility of retaliation. And beyond the vast quantities of ammunition stationed at each machine, he saw an endless supply of more in the rocky land to the west.

Also, during their tour, he'd noted hoz after hoz of secure, planted fields that also were totally safe from attack. It was as if the city of Heraitey were its own country. They needed nothing from the outside world in order to survive and thrive.

Ron smiled at his heavenly escort and hooked his arm with hers, leading her back to the closest stairway downward. As they strolled, Ron laid out his preliminary assessment.

"Firstly, I think the city is completely impregnable by an outside force...no matter the size...as long as the defenders are true to their oaths. But, every defense...no matter the quality of the design...has at least one single weakness...the men who guard it.

"Therefore, I would first have to recommend caution at that most obvious flaw. .From the outlines and drawings we've seen, the visiting armies are being allowed to set up camp inside the chasm, right next to the city's walls. I know that it makes a statement that everyone is a friend, and thusly they are all trusted. However, such close proximity would allow entry into the city by the loss of a single access point...one door. That's too easy."

"So we should move all the military forces beyond the outer barrier," Vessia nodded. "I had noticed that as well, and I completely agree. They won't be happy about it, but that's easy enough to deal with."

"Okay, so if you do that, as I've already stated...I really see no chance at all that an outside force could possibly threaten the city...that it; without key inside help. However, if they did have it...and we have to assume that they do...success still could be accomplished with control of as little as two of the commanders in charge of the entryways."

"I don't follow," Vessia admitted. "Why just two?"

"Well, if someone at one of the five huge drawbridge gates could guarantee that a predetermined passage would be open at the critical time, a force of only...say, twenty men...could race inside, seize control of the station, and lock the path open. That would allow the rest of their troops to march across. But then, they would also need accomplices at the city wall as well, to escape the inevitable aerial bombardment from up on the cliffs...the catapults. It's half a hoz of open ground that would no doubt see a huge casualty loss, but if the attackers were disciplined and stayed spread apart, enough could make it to the inner wall to be a formidable force.

"Now I know there are also dozens of archers manning the high bastions of the palisade walls, and I am sure they are very capable, but if, say; two hundred men...each carrying two shields...were running fast across the open ground, those few archers would be hard-pressed to stop them all. Thereby, if those men were not stopped by a closed gate...to keep them within range of the city's archers...their troops would likely be inside the city proper before the catapults could be made ready to fire a second time, or more archers could be summoned.

"If coordinated well, some highly motivated warriors just might be able to pull it off. And barring the stationing of a huge defensive force around the wedding venue, which I would imagine Arethnii would definitely not authorize, this small invading army could overwhelm the palace guards and reach the queen."

"I see," Vessia agreed, her mind's eye visualizing each step that Ron had stated, "and yes, you're right. She would view such a show of military might inside her city as disdainful, even cowardly. After all, this is supposed to be a joyous event...a celebration for all the citizens to revel in...not a battlefield.

"But how would we be able to know who of these 'key' officers was trustworthy and who was compromised?"

"That's the thing," Ron acknowledged. "You can't. At least, not in the timeframe you have."

"Then," Vessia said, pausing just a moment to consider her options at one of the three dozen landings they would pass, "the only answer would be to change every single person assigned to those critical areas!"

Ron smiled broadly.

"You see," he grinned, tilting his head slightly to her out of respect to her pragmatic thinking, "you didn't need me after all."

They took that recommendation straight to the queen.

### Chapter Thirty-four

### Wedding Bells

The final preparations were immediately adjusted in several key ways. First was just as Ron had suggested...to force every visiting army to camp outside the barrier ravine. They made that change under the guise that it allowed for much more space for all the foreign soldiers...to avoid any 'accidental' skirmishes.

Secondly, the plan was further modified so that four of the chasm bridges would be closed and locked days in advance, with the retractable roadways stowed. Then, upon entry of the last guest, the newest captain in the city's military...someone with absolutely no ties to any of the upper echelon...was given a brand new detail of soldiers, and the duty to seal the final avenue's bridge as well. That had never been done in the history of Heraitey...other than when under some enemy attack, but that single move effectively eliminated any chance of a coup by an outside military force.

The visitors' ambassadors ranted and raved at the great insult...having their people treated as untrustworthy, or simply unworthy in the eyes of the queen...but with the recent attempt on her life still on everyone's minds, the precaution was difficult to argue with. And furthermore, when the closest patches of land were given to the most amiable representatives, each of the other rulers quickly gave in and fell in line. They didn't wish to be seen as petty by their rivals or the powerful aristocrats of the great city, or as uncompassionate to Arethnii's recent plight and her wish for extra security.

Vessia and Ron suggested the same theory might apply to the reception. The dining tables were therefore swapped at the last moment as well, so that the newly married couple would be seated opposite, and far away from the more influential visitors, anyone who might have even a remote chance of trading places with the queen. Again, ire was expected by the most pompous nobles, but Arethnii just smiled and said it would not be a problem...she would handle it.

"I'll just pretended it was 'one of those silly mistakes' that always happens," she told them, feeling quite empowered by it all.

Lastly, after the ceremony, instead of the queen and her husband walking slowly down the long aisle between friends, family, and the hundreds of dignitaries, they decided to ride. A beautiful cart (One that was originally supposed to carry them all through the city) was wheeled into the massive church, pulled by a very elaborately decorated little beast. The carriage platform had been designed to carry a large bubble made of golden mesh. (Ron said he envisioned a translucent version of Cinderella's carriage when he looked at it). They simply stepped into the ornate little coach and the miniature biort (hornless ox) set off at a slow, walking pace, guided by Arethnii's twelve year old niece. The affect was that they seemed to hover along past those in attendance, waving as they went, like they were in an indoor parade.

The five-foot tall wheels of the transport had been designed to set wide apart too, giving it excellent stability, but also creating a rolling defensive barrier. Thusly, no one was allowed within eight feet of the couple, and the gold mesh of the cart's shell would prevent any assailant from surreptitiously tossing a knife or shooting a poisoned dart at either of them.

If there was anyone who'd planned to use the cover of the large audience and lack of close-packed bodyguards to attack the queen, they were offered no opportunity to do so there either. No guest was permitted to carry any weapon, or any purses or satchels that might conceal a weapon, into the grand room.

As the pair glided down the aisle inside their gilded bubble, Isla and Renni followed immediately behind, tossing flower pedals in the wake of the cart. And then there was a real shield that allowed Arethnii to be totally at ease. Ronin himself dropped in behind them with Vessia at his side, arm in arm. They appeared to be escorting the children, and so it all looked fairly normal to the onlookers, yet even though he was garbed in regal attire, much as many dignitaries there were, in his case, the swords and knives strapped to his person were fully functional.

As the small procession left the grand cathedral and entered a foyer, the newlyweds slipped out of the cart and into an alcove. Once there, they wound their way through secured passageways to the grand ballroom where the reception was to be held. That deviation...and none of the routes they utilized...were on the originally planned itinerary.

Once inside that venue, the queen and her new husband went to a private room while they awaited their guests. They had a bite to eat and enjoyed a few drinks with their closest friends, and so when the guests were all there, they were free to mingle. But no matter how many toasts were made to them, or to their children, or to Heraitey, or to each of the other kingdoms, they put nothing to their lips even once.

At midnight, the new couple retired to their quarters to begin their life together and left the hundreds of partiers to their own schedules. Nothing untoward had occurred.

During that later time period...after the queen had gone...many military leaders felt emboldened enough to voice their disapproval of the late billot changes they'd been forced to endure, feeling that their status had been harmed by the impression of a lack of faith. Those criticisms tended to be kept amongst their small groups, but still, it got around enough to cause a buzz.

Ron noticed that one commander of the Nevari troops; Torrence Lassitor, had remained conspicuously silent while many of his peers complained, as had the two men he paired himself with all during the reception. And they seemed very solemn amongst the joyous wedding revelers. His curiosity eventually forced a question.

"Vessia," Ron said to his lovely escort while they danced to a slow waltz, "do you know those men with the Nevari general?"

Vessia was well acquainted with nearly every dignitary at the massive event and so responded easily.

"Of course. The fellow to his left is Yorian Franneson, First General of Eshara. The one on his right is Bocall Ippson, a senior general in Heraitey, assigned to the main gates. Why do you ask?"

At that moment, both Vessia and Ron abruptly stopped their dance and stared hard at each other.

"To-Bo-Yo!" they both said in a harsh whisper.

Afterward, they kept track of the trio until the foreigners moved to depart.

When the reception was finally called to an end, Ron slipped away through an alternate exit and met the men outside the royal ballroom complex...while they were still within the well-lit square that formed the sprawling entrance.

The trio was flanked by twelve soldiers...their personal escorts...four each.

"Forgive me, Generals," Ron said to the commanders while moving smoothly into their path to bar their exit, "but there is someone who would like a private word with you all."

They all jerked to a stop...obviously surprised...their eyes quickly darting across the sea of people all about them. Most of those folks were tired and a bit drunk, so they paid little attention at first. It was very early in the morning by then and they each understandably wanted to get home, or to their rented beds.

"And just who are you that you would dare stop us?" Ippson growled at him. "I am Commander of the Gates, and I report directly to the queen...to the QUEEN! I have no intention to..."

"Forgive me, General...but that is precisely who demands your presence," Ron countered, still calm and unruffled. "The three of you, actually...Queen Arethnii herself."

That little ruckus caused a dozen or so citizens to slow their withdrawal, and as they dawdled, more eyes were drawn to the developing scene.

Ron took out the queen's royal symbol...the one that gave him unfettered authority...and held it up. "I am Ronin Alsone," he said loudly. "Perhaps you've heard of me."

Ippson was a good-sized man, broad of shoulder and thickly muscled about the chest and arms. He tensed visibly when he heard the name...as did General Lassitor, from Nevari. Yorian Franneson appeared surprised and a bit nervous, his eyes darting to his cohorts.

In an effort to recover, and to show his indignity at being confronted, General Ippson threw back his shoulders and his posture went rigid...clearly defiant.

Torrence Lassitor however, a darkly tanned fellow from years spent outside conducting his military affairs, had another reaction. When he heard the name 'Ronin Alsone', his shoulders drooped markedly and all the blood drained from his face. In a heartbeat he'd turned ashen white.

Yorian Franneson guessed where things were headed, and so glanced to his personal escorts, his eyes flaring with a subliminal message.

Ron took all that in, but kept his attention on Ippson.

"No?" Ron pressed. "Well, that's alright. It really doesn't matter.

"At any rate, I am acting with the full consent of the queen, so...if you please..." Ron then made a gesture for the generals to precede him.

Ippson just stood his ground, but Lassitor's and Franneson's eyes flicked quickly to the two nearest alleys that would lead to the city's exits.

"It's very late, Sir," Ippson replied, recovering himself a bit and trying to appear calm. "Perhaps it could wait until morning."

"I am afraid that it cannot," Ron added...his demeanor shifting noticeably sterner.

By then a large crowd had gathered around the group, their eyes and ears now straining to see and hear everything they could.

Ippson paused another moment, quickly scanned the area and noticed that Ron was alone in his duty...and so he smiled.

The generals had a total of nine swordsmen with them and three archers carrying crossbows. (The armed men had stayed outside the building during the entire time of the nuptials and reception, so they each still had their weapons.) All hands were on blade hilts and the bowmen held their weapons easily across their bodies...but they were already cocked and loaded.

Ronin merely stood his ground, his hands hanging easily at his sides, but he addressed those soldiers.

"Soldiers of Erthania, I admire any man who stands by his pledge to his commander...I truly do. However, your leaders all ultimately report to another...the ruler of Heraitey; Queen Arethnii...who has demanded their immediate audience. They are duty bound to adhere to her command...as are you...so it would be unwise to deny her order.

"And if that is not enough, my fine fellows," he added with a definite measure of warning in his voice, "then I beseech you to consider your own families."

Ron's deportment shifted markedly to a very grim glare. "Would you widow your wives by denying your queen...for men who do not uphold their own sworn oath?"

There appeared to be a moment when the soldiers weighed that thought, but the general from Heraitey cut in to break their indecision.

"I'm afraid we will have to decline," Ippson replied for the group, and then he signaled his men.

The bowmen snapped to in a blink, their bolts swinging around to center on Ronin...but he was already ahead of them, his fingers flicking three flashing blades their way.

Without so much as a further glance at those men, Ronin launched himself at the nearest group, the Eshara swordsmen. The first of them never cleared his blade. He felt a sharp, cold flash of pain as he was raked from chest to hip by one of Ronin's weapons, and then his right forearm was falling to the pavement. That was Ronin's left-handed down-stroke. His right dug into the next soldier's neck, opening it up all the way to his spine.

Ten of the thousands of wide stones that made up the broad courtyard were instantly showered in crimson...but Ronin was nowhere near there anymore. He dashed to the left and swung again...and one of Heraitey's warriors fell with nothing connected below his knees. Number four...a Nevari soldier...roared and slashed at the blazing warrior, but he felt his blade wrenched from his grip as it collided with his opponents, and then his chest-plate was skewered by twenty-four inches of hardened steel.

Five and six thought they had an opening when Ronin took down number four, but as they leaned forward and attacked, he spun about and leaped horizontally...right over their slashing weapons. Five's head departed his shoulders before Ronin landed, and six's left shoulder and chest were both opened up to expose his lungs.

Ronin darted away the instant his feet touched the stone, no longer concerned with those men. He spared the lives of seven and eight, but neither would ever hold a blade again, nor walk without a pronounced limp.

The fight had lasted barely fifteen litas.

At that instant, the three generals all shared the exact same expression; one Ronin had seen many times before...absolute astonishment.

Ronin faced the military leaders again when all their men were either deceased or incapacitated. More than three hundred people were staring by that time, each horrified, pulses racing, and totally dumbfounded.

"This was not necessary," Ronin said sadly, waving his hand to encompass the dead and injured men.

He then bent and cut a bit of cloth from one of the dead soldiers' uniform and wiped his blades before stowing them again. After that, he went to the bowmen and retrieved his knives. Then he returned to the military leaders.

"If you all would kindly follow me," Ronin said in a calm, tranquil tone.

Dejected and deflated, the generals each dropped in line with their escort, glancing back only once at the ruined state of their men.

To my knowledge, none of them were ever seen again.

Everything they each knew about the plot came out...such as the fact that Yorian Franneson had arranged the attack on the road. He'd been given the route information by Torrence Lassitor.

And Bocall Ippson eventually gave up the names of four of his fellow military leaders who had been convinced to join the coup. (As we had suspected, each of them had held positions at the city's entrances.) But they never gave up the names of exactly who was supposed to take over and rule. However, three prominent, well-to-do families were nowhere to be found following the generals' arrests.

Directly after returning from the wedding ceremony, a clear shift in military power at Nevari followed suit. Regent Governor Byronin Erapson instructed that nearly every soldier assigned there for more than a year be replaced. That was done under the auspices of reward for their valiant efforts against the plainsmen, but the queen and her brother knew better. You see, the day after the incident at the reception had taken place, Arethnii had explained everything she knew to her brother. And then, when the more intimate details became known to her, she sent him a written list of what she expected from him. As proof of his ignorance about the entire conspiracy, he offered no resistance to her demands.

A santari later, Eshara took similar steps after speaking with Heraitey's ambassador...a fellow who arrived with five thousand heavily armed soldiers dragging siege weapons in tow.

By the time the queen and her partner (He could not be called King as he was not of the proper bloodline) showed themselves again...three weeks later...the city was back to normal and all the visiting armies were long gone. Whatever covert takeover that might have been planned had been for naught.

Ron enjoyed those weeks very much. Vessia invited him to accompany her to her workshop during the days, where he was truly impressed with her many experiments and projects. And afterward she took him on a new campaign...to sample every type of food available in the city. Breakfast, lunch, and supper found the pair inseparable. They grew very close, very quickly.

Arethnii called Ronin to her private court a few days after her honeymoon was over and offered him a position as the lead weapons and tactics instructor for the military. Her intent was to assure that he remained in the city and close by, in case she might wish to postulate more prophetic theories in the future, while also giving him a purpose and a way to make a living.

Ron had already surmised such an offer might be in his future and had spoken to Vessia at length about it. And since the proposal was made in a private forum, he felt free to refuse the offer without inflicting damage to the queen's authority.

"Queen Arethnii," he began, bowing low and keeping to the Heraitey customs of respect, "I am most grateful to you for the offer of such an important and lofty position. However, because of the very prophecy that drove you to search me out, I must...regrettably...decline."

Arethnii was outwardly shocked, feeling certain he would have jumped at the proposition.

"I don't understand, Ronin," she said. "I thought..."

"Your grace, my refusal truly has nothing to do with any animosity that you might feel I have toward your peaceful society...and definitely not with any wish to insult you or your position. I simply think that...due to the dire prediction of that foretelling...I should not interfere at all with your realm. Thereby I can insure that I would have nothing to do with its fate, whether good or ill. History will never link the two of us together, as it shouldn't. And from what I've seen of your defenses, weapons, and fortifications, I don't see where I would help you that much anyway."

Arethnii sat quiet in her seat for a long while, considering his explanation. Finally, she had to admit there was no fault with his logic.

"I must say that I am sincerely disappointed, my friend, but I can find no argument against your reasoning. I feel no offense in your refusal either, I assure you. Thank you for being frank and honest."

Ron bowed low again and took his leave.

Ron did wish to remain close to Heraitey however...for obvious reasons...and so when his meager cache of money ran low, he set about hiring himself out as a carpenter, stone mason, and any other odd job he ran across. The queen insisted on providing him lodging...as a way of thanking him for all he'd done...so he needed little, but that lasted barely through one santari.

Within that time period, Arethnii's new husband received an urgent letter saying that Balcor's senior engineer had taken ill and passed away, and that had forced a hasty scramble to replace him because his kingdom had just begun a massive undertaking. It was a bridge across a deep valley that would provide a hundred hoz shortcut for trade between that domain and Heraitey. The location was in very rugged terrain and would need hands-on guidance and adjustments as the project moved along, and they had no substitute with the necessary experience to take over. It was a monumental undertaking for their people, and vitally important. It seemed a catastrophic setback.

Arethnii summoned Vessia immediately, and after a long interview with her, agreed to send her as a temporary replacement...just to help out until a more experienced man could be found.

Vessia met Ron that evening bursting with excitement about the opportunity, and spent two billots explaining the entire thing to him over their mealtime.

"What do you think, Ron?" she asked, her face still beaming with pride and excitement.

"I think that this is far too dangerous for you to accept," he said with a stern, blatant glare.

Her face immediately went blank. She had of course expected him to be thrilled for her, and fully supportive.

"That is," he then added, seeing her shocked expression at his stern demeanor, "unless you were inclined to bring along a personal bodyguard...strictly for your safety, of course!"

He smiled wryly at her then, which restored her own excited appearance.

"You would do that for me, kind sir?" she asked sweetly, batting her eyes heavily and blushing a deep red.

"To do it right, though," he added, casting his eyes down as if in deep deliberation, "would take a great deal of time...maybe even 'round-the-clock duty'...to be truly certain of your welfare."

She grinned hugely at that. "Really?"

"Perhaps," he continued, taking her little hand in his huge one and staring intently into her blazing blue-green eyes, "it would be a more appropriate duty for a husband."

Vessia practically burst with joy at that, leaping up and rounding the table to fling herself into his arms.

"Yes-yes-yes-yes! I agree! I agree!"

They were wed a week later, in a small ceremony with less than a dozen people in attendance. Arethnii was Vessia's maid of honor, Isla was her flower girl, and Renni carried a golden rope that was then wound about the pair's hands as a sign of their unbreakable bond. They were granted three santaris of free time before reporting to the construction site.

Ron asked his new bride if there was anyplace she wanted to go.

"Anywhere secluded, my love," she replied haughtily. "As long as we are together, the location doesn't matter in the least."

### Chapter Thirty-five

### Married Life

Two weeks later, Ron carried his wife across the threshold (an Earth custom that was not understood in Erthania) and into the small farmhouse he'd claimed more than three years in the past.

The place was no palace, but not a total disaster either, so Vessia didn't voice a single objection. She was alone with her god-like husband, and that was more than enough for her. They took great pride in sprucing the place up and enjoyed one another in every way possible.

Ron also took advantage of the remoteness of the surroundings to share the vast secrets of his life with his new spouse. He felt that she...out of all the people in that time period...would be able to comprehend it, and knew without a shred of doubt that she would absolutely keep his confidences.

Her inquisitive brain was inundated with a million questions, and over the next few weeks, he answered all of them that he could. It was immensely shocking to her, but she knew he had made none of it up. In fact, she was certain that he'd kept much of it...the most horrible, cruelest, and heartbreaking parts...from her to spare her gentle soul. That did not offend her. After what he 'had' chosen to share, she was quite sure she didn't want to know the rest.

They spent a santari and a half there, in absolute bliss, before heading off to her assignment, which was far away from their hidden cottage. By the time she'd reported in with the foreign crew, Vessia was carrying their first child, and she was so happy, she beamed every moment.

Vessia was not well received at the worksite however...her being a woman causing no small amount of animosity with the team of ten male engineers already working the job...but she fully expected that and so tried to ignore it. Ron...having worked in a nearly all male vocation for years...knew how such things went though, so he stayed at her side all day, every day for the first santari, not speaking, but always hovering. Once, one of the Balcor engineers became furious when she pointed out his mathematical mistake and so he pushed her away from the long drafting table they were using to lay out the project. It was a harsh move that sent her sailing toward the ground.

"HOW DARE YOU QUESTION MY..." he ranted at her, his eyes flaming with indignation.

Ron was half a step away and caught his little bride in one arm, but then spun about and clamped his free hand on the surly fellow's throat. A moment later the man was dangling a foot off the ground, his neck feeling as if it might snap in the next instant.

Ron held Vessia firmly, yet safely...but his visage was filled with utter rage as he stared up at the struggling engineer.

"GGGGGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" erupted from deep within his broad chest.

The man's eyes looked as if they might explode from his head, so wide and filled with terror were they, and a lita later urine was dripping from his sandals onto the floor.

"Ron...my love...please don't," Vessia pleaded gently, her hands firmly on Ron's bulging bicep.

Ron heard her sweet voice and reined himself in enough to lower the man to his feet, although as soon as he was released, the terrified engineer wilted to the wooden floor.

Three Balcorian guards heard the commotion and rushed in. They were large, grisly fellows showing scars that bespoke of their many previous battles. They charged Ron immediately.

Ron swept Vessia behind him and stepped forward to meet them, his twin blades flashing briefly. Metal crashed only four times, punctuated intermittently by fist striking flesh, and then the three guards were all unconscious on the ground...yet they still lived.

Everyone in the large tent was pressed back against the walls by that point, transfixed by such a fantastic, violent scene.

Ron looked at each and every one of them in turn, and then said in his most menacing voice.

"Touch this woman and I will take your hand! Harm her, and I will take your life!"

No one in the room was breathing.

"ARE WE CLEAR?" he then bellowed.

Every head nodded in such rapid fashion that it looked like their skulls would vibrate off their shoulders.

"GOOD!" he said, stowing his still naked blades.

Vessia slipped up to him and pulled his head down to her for a quick kiss.

"Thank you, Darling," she whispered, "but I think you're scaring them."

Ron glared angrily once more around the room, and then grunted loudly before moving off. He gripped two of the fallen guards by their vests and dragged them out of the room, dumping them unceremoniously on the ground before returning for their partner. He then took up his original position for the remainder of the day with his arms crossed and his gaze panning the space as if daring any of them to step out of line again.

It was a nervous group who took up the work once more, but when Vessia showed the other engineers that her calculations were in fact correct, the men began to show her much more tolerance...although not wanting to acknowledge actual respect.

Another few weeks of unending checking and validating of stresses, arcs, spans, and measurements brought to light just how talented the young woman was. And during that time, no one even spoke to her without a distinctly soft, composed tone, so Ron finally decided she was under no more threat and took to helping out with various jobs around the project.

Sometimes he would lend a hand with the digging crew, or by climbing dizzying heights to lash timbers together, or by hauling and shaping the massive logs. There was always something interesting and challenging for him to keep himself occupied with.

Then, again...out of the blue...a new wrinkle entered the mix.

One dreary morning, five santaris into the project, a military messenger came running into the worksite's coordination center close to midday. He wore the crest of Heraitey and was carrying a sealed pouch with Queen Arethnii's signet upon it.

"Is there a woman named Vessia here?" the courier inquired.

Vessia strode up to the young fellow immediately.

"I am Vessia; the queen's advisor," she announced, expecting the fellow to hand over the pouch, but the young man merely smiled.

"Excellent," he told her. "Could you please tell me where Lord Dangarth is?"

Vessia was taken aback for a moment, yet gave him directions to where her husband was working. The lad sped off instantly. Vessia looked after him, wondering what Arethnii might want with Ron, when she saw him already strolling toward the worksite...about two hundred kez away. He was heading in to have lunch with her.

The messenger almost passed him by, but Ron recognized the man to be a stranger, saw his military insignia, and turned toward him out of guarded curiosity. The runner pulled up quickly to a sliding stop and questioned Ron briefly, and then he turned over the pouch.

Ron opened the case, took out a roll of parchment, and read it on the spot. It was a long letter, but when he'd finished, he looked up with a grim expression and then motioned to the courier to follow him.

He brought it straight to Vessia.

"What is it, my love?" she asked of him after he'd greeted her with a quick kiss.

"Here. You'd better read this yourself."

It went into detail of a period spanning the past eight santaris...to well before the wedding...in an area that was wild and sprawling. The gist of it was as such; A band of marauders, numbering at least fifty, were terrorizing small communities in the Klinghall Delta...a river estuary in Eshara lands. The military had sent four squads in to quell the situation, but none had been seen again. The thugs were using the forest as cover for their retreats and escapes and had presumably ambushed all of Eshara's men. All manners of violence and debauchery were being committed against men, women, and children, including flayings, rapes, murders, impalings, and even burning people alive for sport.

"I know you don't want to interfere with Heraitey's troubles," Arethnii wrote, "and I am not trying to change your mind about that...but these bandits are preying on the helpless villagers of a friendly neighbor and have managed to avoid all their patrols by guile and stealth, so I think sending our troops into that foreign land will have similar results. The only hope I could come up with was to dispatch someone who cannot be fooled, cannot be outpaced, and cannot be stopped. They need Ronin Alsone!"

"For the sake of the innocents, I plead with you, Ronin. Will you help?"

Vessia finished the letter and looked up at Ron.

"My darling...you must help these poor people."

Ron was in a quandary at the request. It had been the agreement of Arethnii, Ron, and Vessia that his true name would not be used in public. To the commoners, he was Dangarth Ronald Korval, Ron for short. No one would hunt him that way, and he would be free to have a life of his own. Therefore, with the name; Ronin being specifically mentioned, he understood that she was truly desperate. However...

Ron looked into his wife's eyes with almost desperation. At that moment he had another part of the legend of Ronin stuck fast in his thoughts. "Ronin lost all he cared about while out on a mission to help others," it had said. "That is why he constantly wandered the lands."

"It would mean that I might be gone for a while...possibly a santari, or even more."

His eyes flicked about the room at all the men who'd be around his heart's desire while he was away. He trusted none of them with protecting his little family.

The messenger saw his hesitance and reacted.

"Queen Arethnii has dispatched twenty soldiers to your disposal, Lord Ronin. They are only half a day behind me. They could watch over your wife, or go with you...whichever you choose."

Ron sent the young man to get some food and water while he considered the queen's request.

He ran the pros and cons dozens of times in his mind, but once he and Vessia discussed it at length over their midday meal...and she pointed out that the entire time they'd been there, no outside threats had surfaced...he began packing his traveling gear.

The squad showed up that evening and its leader recognized Ron straightaway. He'd heard some of the stories of DanKor's abilities...the ones Arethnii had proclaimed upon her safe return to the city, but he'd also seen him in action that night outside the wedding reception, against the generals' men. It was like meeting his all-time idol, yet he kept his senses and relayed all he knew about the problem with strict, military precision.

"In a fifty hoz area of wilderness," he began his report, spreading out a large parchment, "an area I have highlighted on this map...a small army of bandits have been striking village after village, pilfering everything they need and using the citizens as sport in all types of deadly and degrading games. And any resistance to their demands was met with brutality beyond any normal reason.

"They have declared that they would slaughter everyone under their control if we sent troops in," the soldier said, "and they made good on that threat at least once. We found an entire village full of corpses when the queen first sent us to investigate the disappearance of the Eshara squads. The bandits positioned scouts at every road and they are well-trained woodsmen, Lord DanKor. Eshara even dispatched their own covert insurgents into those woods and none have returned. That is why Queen Arethnii thought of you. She said no one could match you in or out of the forest. That is why we are here."

Ron went over everything the man knew about the bandits again, and then he set them to the task of making a perimeter around the bridge worksite.

"So we are not to go with you?" the fellow clarified.

"I'm afraid not. I will be travelling fast through the deep woods. I don't think any of you are quite ready for that."

The young man was openly disappointed, but he didn't question Lord DanKor.

"Besides, I have a task for you that is far more pressing to my piece of mind."

That night, after some tender time together, Ron left his pregnant wife and set off. No one but Vessia knew he'd even left.

Ron returned eight weeks later. His beard was thick and his expression was disturbingly grim. Brandiss...the young man who'd first reported to Ron...met him at the outskirts of the build site.

"My wife?" he asked the lieutenant.

"All is well here, Lord DanKor."

Ron nodded, relief written clearly on his face.

"It's done!" he then told the fellow in a gruff tone. "You men can return home now."

Brandiss was taken aback...confused.

"What do you mean?" he pressed as Ron began walking toward his and Vessia's quarters. "What do I tell Queen Arethnii? What did you do, exactly?"

Ron turned about slowly. Vessia was walking fast to meet him by then, excited to see him, yet deeply worried by his dour expression.

"Tell her she was right to call on me. There were twenty-seven individuals making up the core of the group. The remainder of them had been forcibly recruited and were merely following their directives in order to survive. This core group was not comprised of reasoning men. They were rabid animals, and they each died a very unpleasant death."

Vessia caught up to Ron just then and greeted him as warmly as she could in full view of the workers and soldiers, and then they went to their hut. He was quiet for a long time, while he heated two huge pots of water. Vessia hovered, but did not press him. Then he sat back in a tub of that steaming liquid while she scrubbed the grime off him...and slowly, he told her about his task. Again, he spared her the worst of the details, but it was truly a horrible place he'd gone...at least for the poor souls those brigands had terrorized.

It had been easy for him to track such a large group back to their compound. Their guards and scouts were not really highly gifted woodsmen. Once there, he witnessed a portion of the 'entertainment' they enjoyed. Their cruelty and debauchery were beyond appalling.

That night, when the day's events had passed and all was quiet, Ron eliminated each of the guards and stole his way into the crude village. He then slipped into some of the tents or huts one by one, and snatched a total of seventeen of those heinous fiends and carried them off into the dark forest. They were all gagged and bound, and some had even felt his iron-hard knuckles against their faces to subdue them. In a semi-open area about a hoz away, he tied those men to trees in such a way where each could see the others. Once he'd accounted for all the ones he wanted, he went to work, whereupon each fellow was then given the opportunity to experience exactly what he'd forced upon his own victims the evening previous.

(Ron didn't describe any of that, but when he recalled it, he shivered with revulsion.)

Just before daybreak, Ron returned to their base camp and began again, this time singling out the core group of ten leaders...those who really ran the show. He was swift and efficient.

When dawn finally cast aside the gloom of the night and the first stirrings began, the entire mood of misery and fear suddenly took a sharp turn for the hapless prisoners who'd been forced into servitude for that malicious gang. Those down-trodden men and women found their masters neatly gagged and trussed up securely, laid out in the common area for all to see.

Any of those men's caged prisoners who were still alive had been set free, fed, and treated for their various injuries. Ron made it clear that their abuse was over and that they could return to their lives immediately if they wished. Most chose to stay with him for protection on that journey however, for he swore he would make sure each of them made it back safely.

After many tears had been shed, some for their unbelievable salvation, but most for those friends and relatives who'd been lost to the insane thugs, the survivors all made ready for their trip.

Ron tied the vile men's necks to a long, slim pole that rested across each of their shoulders and allowed the brokenhearted survivors of their torment to rip their clothes from their bodies and lash every inch of them with switches and sticks. After being beaten down for so long, those acts allowed most of them to vent their pent up anger and hatred and restore some of their own self-worth.

When they'd finished...and while the newly captive men could still walk...Ron marched them off down the dirt road to the communities they'd so horribly decimated. There, he left one of the leaders in each village as they passed through. He staked them out in the center of village and let the citizens reap upon them whatever retribution they desired. Rocks, clubs, knifes...even fire was used. And Ron forced every one of the brigands to watch their comrades' demise, right up to the last man. It was all brutally savage and disgustingly bloody.

"And this type of behavior troubles you..." Vessia asked Ron, wanting him to share all of his bitter emotions with her, "being from such an advanced world?"

He looked at her with a curious expression.

"What the villagers did? Not in the least! Those miscreants got what they deserved! I just feel so badly for the victims of their mindless lust for violence. Such senseless suffering is what haunts my thoughts, not the deaths of those devils. They were powerful and so they preyed on the weak and defenseless for sport...for fun! And just to be honest with you, my love...such vile behavior occurs on every planet I've been on...no matter how advanced!

"That's something I'll never understand...not ever."

Following Ron's mercy mission, the King of Eshara was so grateful, and so impressed that he begged Arethnii for the name of the miraculous warrior she'd dispatched to help his people, and so...since she saw no real way they could trace it back to Ron or Vessia...she told him. From that moment, word of it spread fast across Eshara, and wide enough to encompass part of Balcor, Leaness, and Vassar, where a year previous, a different (yet still valiant) story of deliverance involving a phenomenal warrior with the same name had first emerged. These new tales came from the king's lofty seat, as well as those tiny, ravaged settlements that had witnessed first-hand the savior they claimed had to have been sent to them from the Guardian himself.

To the commoners, that moniker became an instant beacon of hope, of righteousness, and of retribution.

The details of his exploits were passed along mostly be word of mouth, and so were imprecise and thus widely varied, but the overall message was what everyone focused on.

To those in dire straits, they need only get word to Heraitey...to Queen Arethnii Worsham...and pray to the great Creator to send them their ultimate protector...their ancestors' version of absolute stalwart rectitude...the living embodiment of the legendary DaneKaore himself.

"Let it be known across the lands; as certain as the sun rises, justice will come for their tormentors because Ronin Alsone is here!"

Ron had been tight-lipped about his true identity during that outing, even though he'd been bombarded with pleas for it, so afterward he was not directly tied to the myriad stories that followed. (Although there were a few murmurs around the build-site that drew comparisons of the two...mostly from admiring young maidens) But he also did absolutely nothing to dissuade Ronin's fans, or his fame, or the awe in people's voices when they spoke of him. He'd decided to let it take its own course.

Time ticked onward, and life at the worksite eventually returned to normal over the weeks following that infamous mission, and that was just fine with the newlywed couple.

The project proved intense and was rife with treacherous exertion, and even though Vessia was pregnant, she didn't hesitate to scramble up and down the mountainsides, inspecting the work and suggesting changes she deemed necessary. However, as her girth expanded over the next few santaris, other concerns drifted to the forefront of her thoughts.

There were many women in the area, camped out in the flat areas of the valley floor, doing the mundane chores typical of ancient times' living...cooking, cleaning, and even 'entertaining'. However, there were none with experience in child birth. That began to weigh on Vessia's mind as her pregnancy progressed.

The queen was also expecting, as it turned out, and she and Vessia wrote long letters back and forth about their individual needs, pangs, and urges. Arethnii's advice calmed her young friend a great deal simply because of her prior experience, so that was a great relief in and of itself.

As time drew closer to having the child, Arethnii took it upon herself to send three midwives to help young Vessia through it, so she wouldn't have to make the long trip back to Heraitey to deliver her baby.

Arethnii gave birth to a fine, healthy boy with black hair and black eyes one week before Vessia delivered a sweet little dark-haired, blue-eyed girl.

Ron and Vessia travelled to Heraitey three santaris later, just to visit and share their happiness, and a santari beyond that they returned to the bridge project.

It took another year to finish that venture, and since she'd proven herself to be such an extraordinary engineer, Vessia was immediately assigned to another location...this time in Vassar...where a huge dam was in the planning stages. That turned out to be a five year endeavor. Then it was away to Timbea, the capital of Leaness, for an aqueduct project.

(Ron never voiced a single complaint, always extremely proud of me and happy to see some new part of the world as long as his family was there. He desired none of the spotlight...none whatsoever.)

The queen had no more children, but Vessia supplied Ron with four more girls spanning the next eight years of their marriage.

(Ron told me on many occasions that it was the longest period of happiness in his entire adult life...a time with no wars, no assassination attempts, and no death of anyone close to him.)

Aside from a few more 'special assignments' from the queen...outings that further solidified the commoners' belief that Ronin was the true DaneKaore...the living deliverer of the Guardian's justice...it was filled with nothing but the normal trials and struggles of fatherhood and marriage.

Every other year, Ron would take his family to their hideaway farm for a few santaris where they would recharge and enjoy the peaceful country life. He was afraid the children would become bored with it, but his girls were thrilled every time, and pitched in to the best of their abilities to keep the place in shape and comfortable.

They weren't boys, but that didn't stop them from learning to defend themselves, use knives, and a bow too...and they were quite handy with both.

In total, thirteen years of peaceful family life passed by...but everything had to end sometime.

### Chapter Thirty-six

### Children are our Pride and Joy

The year Renni Deaton turned eighteen, things began to shift.

On his birthday, he took over rule of Heraitey from his mother since the birthright of a male child eclipsed the temporary status of a widowed queen. (If Arethnii had not birthed a boy before her first husband had died, she would never have even been allowed to rule at all.)

That was fine with her, of course, as she was more than willing to give up the constant pressure and responsibilities of the throne. She was nearly forty by then, her daughter was married and living in Gosmere, and her youngest son; Conith, was closing in on thirteen. She'd actually been looking forward to that transfer of power, when she could step back from the spotlight and enjoy time with the last of her babies before the inevitable happened...he moved on to adulthood and sought out his own life.

Conith was a wonderful boy...very smart, very athletic, and very handsome. At the beginning of his teenage years he was reaching a milestone in their culture's society. It was time for him to make an important decision...to either become an academic or a soldier. However, having watched him grow and mature, Arethnii had already realized that he would be both. His curious nature and calm, logical view of life were a rare combination, and her pride in that boy knew no bounds.

He had been taught the basic use of weapons by private tutors since he was six...and had excelled...but when he decided he wanted to take his warfare education to the next level, he went to his mother for a favor.

"Mother, do you think you could speak to Ronin for me?"

(He and all of Arethnii's family knew Dangarth Korval's true identity)

"About training?" she immediately gathered. She'd heard hints over the past two years from the boy, but had hoped he would grow out of that desire. It was inherently dangerous, brutal, and violent, and she didn't like to see him injured. Also, she hated to see him move away, but Ron, Vessia, and their family were on a new project in Benshans, a city in the eastern-most realm of the five; Vassar.

Conith nodded, his face laced with apprehension of her possible denial.

She'd put it off as long as she could, but he was determined to be heard, and he was of age.

"Yes, my darling. I will write to him," she relented. "But you know that his time is very limited. He has many duties and a family of his own."

"Yes. But you and he have been friends forever. He would not deny you this request...if you would just...you know...word it right."

She saw the shrewd way he'd approached the subject, having waited years to gain just the right amount of leverage to pry his way into the desired outcome. She had to smile at that. The young man knew what he wanted.

"Will you continue your academic studies?" she asked, having already used a great amount of her own influence to enforce the importance of knowledge and learning.

"Yes, of course! And Lady Vessia will be there to keep me on track too...if I should need it."

"That will be a mighty heavy workload, don't you think?"

"Nothing worth doing is going to be easy!" he quoted her own words right back at her.

She had to put her hand over her mouth to hide her grin and try to remain serious. He, of course saw right through it.

"Well, it just so happens that your father and I have discussed that very thing...which somehow, I was certain would eventually come up...and we have agreed. I will send word to Ronin tomorrow."

Correspondence was grievously slow across the vastness of the land, so it took more than two santaris for the reply. Ron, of course was more than happy to grant her the request.

Conith was packed and ready when the scroll came back. They left immediately...father, mother, and son. They stayed in the Benshans area for three santaris. Arethnii wanted to make sure he was settled in before leaving him on his own...although 'on his own' was a bit of an overstatement. He was the former queen's son, and the present king's brother, so there was never a shortage of guards and servants nearby.

She and Vessia were overjoyed to see one another too, of course, and they spent many days together catching up and renewing their bonds. However, when she could find no more excuses to keep her nearby, Arethnii and her husband begrudgingly returned to their home in Heraitey. Normen Worsham was, after all, a very important man in the economic circles, and needed to be there.

Barely a week later, however, during one of Conith's sessions with Ron...which were held during the midday break of his schoolwork, Vessia walked over with Lillette...their oldest...to bring Ron a fresh slice of pie she'd just made. The two of them were running drills, and Ron was encouraging Conith to be more aggressive. The youngster made several attacking moves that Ron swatted away with such ease that the boy became frustrated. His other instructors had been very impressed with his swordplay, and he'd actually gotten through to mark one of them on one occasion. Now it seemed he was starting over. His opponent was that far out of his league.

When Conith saw Vessia and her daughter watching...Lillette was a very pretty young woman in her own right...his pride and teenage hormones kicked in and transformed him. In a blink, he let out a snarling growl and a burst of speed. His blade was suddenly much quicker, and much more decisive, but his method left him vulnerable too. It was brash and totally reckless.

Ron batted his attack aside easily again, but when they squared off a moment later, he burst out in a grand smile.

"That's what I want to see, Conith! That's the kind of focus you need! Now, of course, it will have to be harnessed and tempered, but you have the talent, my fine young man. You'll get it...no doubt in my mind!"

Conith gathered his composure quickly and smiled, and then they clasped arms like real fighting men and Ron sent the youngster back to school.

Ron headed over and gave his daughter a big hug. Vessia though, took a little longer to move. She had seen something in Conith's expression that had sent a cold shiver through her. And for the first time since she'd married the phenomenal Ronin Alsone, vanquisher of all assailants...man and beast alike...Vessia Alsone was frightened.

(I found out most of the next part through letters from Arethnii.)

Seven more years flew by as Renni married, started his own family, and grew into his position. There were several uprisings in those times, as young men in other kingdoms did the same, wishing to make their own mark on the world...just as I'm sure it has always been everywhere.

During the first few years, Renni had always consulted his mother's advice, as she was the only ruler he'd ever known. Consistently, she'd urged caution and a measured response to those threats.

"They are just testing you, Renni," she told him, "to see where your boundaries are...you know...how far you will let them go. They're like children poking a pachar (Erthanian house cat).

At those times, Renni would direct a few hundred soldiers from one of his army's outposts to reestablish order. That worked well enough for a while, but the insurgents grew bolder and more organized, knowing he was so young. There were even a few audacious rulers who pressed for separating their kingdoms into independent countries...free from all ties to Minara and the ruling authority of Heraitey. They wished to prove themselves equal to the "High King", you see.

Once they even attacked and burned one of Minara's border strongholds. Renni quickly grew impatient with such insolence and became more aggressive with his responses, and back and forth they went.

At that particular point in Heraitey's history, it so happened that one of the army's greatest fighters was intent on growing his status as well, and so he encouraged such retaliatory actions from his king whole-heartedly, quick to volunteer his services no matter where he was stationed. He was a young man too, but tales of his abilities and ferocity in battle were already spreading rapidly enough to catch the king's attention.

The young man had arrived in Heraitey from the wild highlands of one of the nearby kingdoms, claiming he wanted to join the finest fighting force in the known world. He pledged his loyalty to King Renni with great fervor and began moving up the ranks at a blistering pace. In only four years, he was a general, commanding a thousand troops...and his methods had become the terror of the lands. His name was Braun Miel.

With Heraitey's army headed by Braun...whose name would soon become infamous and widely feared...nearly all the uprisings ceased. The military that he was the spearhead of was so unquestionably superior to all others that actual clashes grew very brief, and after a few more years, non-existent.

Three separate battles ended by complete and total slaughter...where not a single opposing soldier was allowed to live...just to make a point. That point was; do not challenge the king of Minara!

Braun was a warrior to the core, and loved the thrill of the fight like no one else. He was a fiend with a spear, could throw knives as accurately as most men shot arrows, and shot arrows astonishingly better than that. And with a sword, he was even further ahead of his "peers".

Peace soon spread far and wide, less the wrath of Braun be felt.

King Renni enjoyed the feel of power that his great army gave him, and sat upon his throne with nearly god-like stature. His authority seemed endless.

Arethnii, however, was growing concerned about her oldest son.

Minara...and especially Heraitey...was as rich and powerful as it always had been, and all seemed like it was going as well as anyone could hope for, but as the wise old adage states...power corrupts, and ultimate power corrupts ultimately.

By that time, Conith was also well established in the army, and being the king's brother assured that he was well-placed too. Now, just to be clear, he was a cunning, fierce, and gifted soldier in his own right, so his appointments were not merely handouts...they were duly earned. But it was also clear that he was not the brutal warrior that Braun was. He dealt with opposition in a far different way. He had endured many battles over the years too, but unlike Braun, he allowed the opposing leaders a choice of surrender before, during, and after any clashes.

The two great Heraitey warriors met only twice that I am aware of. One of those times, I was there. It was at Renni's thirtieth birthday.

On that day of jubilation, the city was completely involved, carrying on in all the streets with banners, music, and much regalia. It was late spring after a mild winter. The fields were all planted, and the kingdom was prosperous, so everyone was in fine spirits.

There was also a grand, celebratory tournament out on the sprawling grounds between the city walls and the great rift. It was a good way for many of the sportsmen and warriors from any kingdom or foreign realm to show off their prowess, and an excellent way to make a name for one's self. With so many diverse nationalities present, the competition was quite a sight to behold.

It took a hundred men two santaris to construct a wide set of beautiful grandstands for all the elites who chose to attend, and there was also room for some ten thousand commoners as well.

Renni himself set off the tournament with a brief show of his own abilities with a bow and javelin...and he was not without talent in both...and then he took his seat for the real events to start.

More than a thousand men competed in ten events, each layer of bracketing quickly winnowing down the group until there were only two dozen left for the finals.

One man in that exclusive group was Conith, and another was Braun.

Bow and arrow, javelin, axe, sword, and staff were the tools of the competition, and the twenty-four men left at the end were putting on an incredible show.

Conith took the top honors with the bow and arrow. Braun won the axe and staff, and a fellow from Leaness won in the javelin. It was all very calm, dignified, and organized...but one event was still to come, and it had promise building of another sort.

During the long three days of competition, a great deal of talk regaled from the Heraitey fighting men...those under the individual command of Conith and Braun...each extoling the abilities of their own leader. It built and built until both sides were practically salivating for a clash...and then, at last, the finale arrived...the sword competition. Of all the fine participants, the two Heraitey generals were the sole remaining competitors.

It would be clear, once and for all, who truly was the finest bladesman in the great lands of Erthania. That was the bawdy hype of that man to man battle...with practice swords, of course.

To the actual contestants, it all began as a good-natured challenge...a bit of fun.

Late along in the day, at the very center of the tournament grounds, a milling crowd of roughly five thousand was pushed back for space...and to allow the nobles a better view...and then the two generals took their positions. They began slowly, each being a little wary of the other just because of their independent reputations. But that soon evolved into serious warfare that produced some of the best swordsmanship anyone had ever witnessed.

(Of all those in attendance that day, only Arethnii had seen better, for I had never seen my husband in real battle.)

To everyone who knew the intricacies of the art of swordplay, it was obvious that Braun was the stronger of the two, and the most aggressive. Conith however, was by far the more skilled, and the more patient. Braun pressed and pressed, hammering away at the younger, slighter man, but, to Renni's great pride, his brother defied the onslaught with amazingly graceful moves, and stood his ground.

Ron and I were in the audience, sitting a few seats down from the king, and we were glued to the scene...Ron excited and smiling, and me anxious and cringing. Arethnii stared at the battle much the way I did, and her husband was in Ron's camp.

Ron felt a great sense of joy and pride for his pupil too. Conith had indeed learned well the lessons he'd been taught, and it was clear to his instructor that he was holding back. There was no need to truly show everything he had in his repertoire, and he was impressed that the young man had the presence of mind to remember that. After all, this was just for show.

It was savagery and brute force against unflappable composure and elegance, and after twenty heart-pounding borts of warfare, neither commanded a true advantage, or gained a clear victory. At that point, Renni...seeing his mother so distraught by the fearsome clash...called it to an end.

"ENOUGH!" he shouted, leaping to his feet and pounding his hands together. "Excellent bout, men...truly excellent!"

That began a roaring, raucous round of applause.

The two generals stepped back from one another instantly, each still feeling the heat of blood-sport heavily in their veins, but then the roaring from the crowd broke the spell and they both began to grin. A moment later they grasped sword arms and bashed shoulders into one another (a fighting man's embrace), each howling to the other their accolades of the match.

Conith's father; Normen, charged down to the floor and corralled his son in a powerful hug, beaming with pride, and Renni was right beside him.

"That was quite good," Ron said, settling back in his seat and squeezing Vessia's hand. She, on the other hand, was less gleeful. "You should be very proud," he said to Arethnii, who sat next to his wife.

"Oh believe me, Ronin," she said, grinning back at him with a look like she was ready to explode with joy, "I am! And you should be as well. Your expert instruction was what did the trick, no doubt."

Ron smiled and gave her a nod of appreciation, but then said; "I thank you for your kind words, but it was Conith out there...not me."

They sat for a moment in quiet, but Ron's inquisitive nature sprang to life.

"Arethnii," he said, "that Braun has had some very good instruction as well," he said. "Do you know who his tutor is?"

Vessia did not respond at all to that discussion. Her thoughts were decidedly on something else.

"He was a transfer," Arethnii replied.

"Oh, really? Do you know where he's from?"

"He came from someplace in the north, or northwest...from some city in the high country. From what I've gathered from Renni, he is a remarkable warrior and brilliant strategist."

Ron nodded his understanding and made a mental note to try and speak with the young man, but never got the chance. He was called away just then, his duty sending him to deal with some important matter. They all watched him run off the field, escorted by a military courier.

Soon afterward, "Dangarth-Dangarth-Dangarth!" began to build in the stadium.

That surprised Ron a great deal as he had been away for several years and didn't understand how anyone would even think of him. Then he glanced down and saw Conith. The young fellow was waving at him excitedly, and when their eyes met, he began to motion for Ron to come down.

Ron waved him off, smiling broadly, completely willing to ignore his pleas, but the youthful soldier would not give up. He merely increased the chant, fanning his arms to get the crowd more into it.

"Dangarth-Dangarth-Dangarth-Dangarth-Dangarth..."

Arethnii added to the pressure.

"Go ahead, "Ronin"," she urged quietly. "I'm sure he just wants to give you credit for his training...and to thank you."

"It's not necessary, Arethnii...truly," he replied, still calmly sitting back in his chair." This is King Renni's day, and his brother's. Let them have the spotlight."

But the chanting only grew louder. Vessia was still very quiet...something unusual for her.

Finally, after the king entered into the chanting maelstrom, Ron relented and stood up, drawing a roaring cheer from the crowd.

"I'll be right back, sweetheart," he told Vessia, kissing her hand before heading down. She still had said nothing.

Conith introduced him to everyone within earshot, boasting of his weapons-master's unfathomable abilities.

"I'm telling you," he said to them all, "that if this man...Dangarth Korval...had been competing, he would have been the only man standing at the champions' podium...in all the categories! I guarantee it!"

And as men everyone know, to hear such assurances of incredible feats caused them to want him to prove it with a demonstration.

"Forgive my young friend, fellas," Ron said with his hands raised, "but I don't have my equipment, so I couldn't possibly..."

"You mean these?" Conith called out, his hand waving to a cart that held all of Ron's personal tools of war.

Ron grinned a sly smirk at his student.

"Well played," he chuckled.

"What say you all?" Conith asked of the dense group crowding in around them? It was mostly military men, nearly all of whom had heard the incredible stories about the long-ago massacre of Queen Arethnii's caravan and every one of the half-legion of soldiers that had guarded it...and of the great Dangarth Korval...the queen's savior and protector.

There was a loud roar of consent from the rough crowd.

"To the bow!" called Conith, leading the large assemblage to the shooting range they'd just vacated.

One of the series of targets was a set of six melons...each about the size of a man's fist...hung from thin ropes and swinging side to side. Every target swung at a different rate and passed the one next to it by a few inches. That overlap made it pointedly distracting, and thus more difficult to separate them and their speeds. It was tremendously challenging at ten paces, and Conith had won that particular event by striking all six targets in less than eight litas with no misses.

"Okay, Ronin," cried the tournament coordinator. "You know the rules. As fast as you..."

"Flit-flit-flit!" sounded as Ron snapped into motion. Everyone's head whipped around instantly.

Three arrows had been set to flight, and each of them skewered two melons...exactly where those swinging targets crossed paths with their neighbor. It had all happened in less than two litas, and Ronin was standing about fifteen paces from the normal position.

The entire crowd was shocked to silence for a long few moments...every member of the audience blinking and looking from Ron to the target, and then back again. Vessia was so impressed that she pushed through her distracted, sullen mood and flushed deeply, filled with pride and awe of her fantastic husband.

And then the crowd burst out in a deafening roar.

Knife-throwing went much the same, with various hand-tossed items being bull's-eyed by Ron's flying blades...both left and right handed. And then they reached the javelin. At fifty paces, Ronin put four spears so close together that a man couldn't place his hand sideways between any of them. The other competitors had made their throws from thirty.

He worked his way along each of the trials as easily as a Ceatary glided the thermals. At the position of the staff competition, Ron picked out five of the soldiers he'd seen competing...each willing and knowledgeable with the device, and sparred with them all at once. In less than a bort, each of the men were disarmed and flat on their backs...though none were truly hurt.

When that demonstration was concluded however, it was not yet enough for the excited watchers. They called for swords, for Conith had told them over and over that his tutor was a truly peerless master with a blade.

He tried to talk them out of it, but was soon swinging twin practice blades, each covered with thick leather that would hide the edges. He faced off against six men...Conith being one of them. Braun was, by then, long gone.

It took less than two full borts before it was just Ronin and his protégé, and when that point was reached, Ron just smiled grandly and tossed his weapons to the attendant.

"You have already displayed your talents, my friend," Ron told him, "so let us be done with this."

Conith was grinning as well, and knew that if he continued, it would only be a humbling experience for him, so he relented, going to Ron and embracing him instead.

"That was great fun, Master Ronin," he whispered. "You did not disappoint!"

Many words of amazement and congratulations went round the two for the following half billot, until they all decided to retire indoors for the feast and more celebration.

Conith went into the palace and cleaned up, and was soon languishing about, surrounded by beautiful young women with flushed cheeks and hearts aflutter.

( _This next part is from my own perspective...of what I did then...and what came to be_.)

I, on the other hand, was taking in the scene with the very opposite of joy on my mind.

It had been many years since that early bout of Conith against Ron. However, since that day...the day when I had seen something shocking in Arethnii's youngest son...I had never forgotten it...and never quite recovered. I was still the steadfast scientist and level-headed advisor to King Renni whenever he required it, the adoring wife to Ron, and the doting mother to our girls, but I had developed an undercurrent of anxiety that I couldn't totally shake. And it especially hadn't helped my peace of mind when I realized I could no longer get pregnant. I'd been desperately determined to give my husband a son...but unfortunately, that was never to be.

After a few years had passed since the birth of our last child...our fifth daughter...I confessed to Ron my profound worry one night. Ron did the best he could to ease my distress with calm, rational science. He had made it perfectly clear that I was not to blame for that fact. He then explained that he knew exactly how reproduction worked and that the sex of the baby was always determined by the man's seed (as he put it). He urged me to put it out of my mind every time the subject came up. If we had no more children, and therefore no son, then that's the way it was meant to be.

"But what about the legend?" I'd finally said, at my wits end with frustration and self-loathing. (He had told me about some of what was to come, you see.) "How is 'Ronin' going to save the city many years from now when you have no son to carry that moniker for you? I have failed you, my love. I have failed you."

Ron had held me tightly to him as I cried. He had no answer for that, but was undaunted by it nonetheless.

"It has worked out already, my darling," he told me gently, his voice filled with unruffled certainty. "It will do so again."

Ron had simply carried on with his inauspicious duties to the kingdom, staying well out of the limelight, and began to develop an entirely different theory. Maybe he had been training his own replacement all along in Conith, or would one day with some other young man. There was nothing in the legend that said he had male heirs. Perhaps it was all just timing, training, and natural talent.

"Just because each era has a 'Ronin'," he rationalized to me once, "a man who is said to be the greatest soldier to walk the face of Erthania, or Caron, doesn't mean he is blood kin to me, or to any one particular person. Maybe each 'sighting' or story is merely the Ronin of his time...the best the storytellers had ever seen. It really could be that simple!"

That had allowed Ron to relax and enjoy his life, which he saw as endowed with innumerous gifts he'd never experienced before.

(Back to the birthday festivities.)

During the evening part of Renni's gala, billots after that impressive display, I fell even further into a sullen state, no matter the celebration all around me, and drifted off to a quiet corner to brood. Arethnii, still filled with ecstatic pride of her youngest son, saw me sulking and glided over to my side, wishing to give comfort to her oldest friend. But I saw her coming and it merely inflamed me more, so much so in fact that when Arethnii finally asked me what was making me so unhappy, I burst out with a short tirade.

"It's not right!" I hissed at my former queen...my closest friend...tears bursting from my eyes and draining off my chin. "He should be mine! _I_ am Ronin's wife! He should be mine!"

Arethnii didn't immediately follow my point, so she pursued my line of thought.

"Who, my dear friend? What are you talking about?"

"Conith!" I blurted, a bit louder than I would really have ever wanted to. " _I_ am Ronin's wife! _I_ should have given him a son...NOT YOU!"

Arethnii was frozen in horror for an instant, but then as quick as a hummingbird's wing, she spun about to see who might have overheard that statement. Her heart slammed into overdrive so hard that she nearly fainted. However, when she'd thoroughly surveyed the scene, and saw no one nearby was paying any attention...she took a deep breath, wringing her trembling hands. Her eyes were wide and full of dread.

"Vessia," she said then, suddenly tense and desperate...her voice quivering with nearly unrestrained panic, "please...please...I beg you...please don't say anything! I beg you! It was all a mistake...okay...I'm sorry...not a mistake...but a single night of passion!"

"Yes...," I seethed at her, "I know! He told me before we wed...and I kept your dirty little secret all these years!"

I could see her mind was running so fast her words couldn't keep up.

"It was noth...it didn't mea... We were both single! He said he'd met someone...but he didn't even know your name then!"

I knew she spoke the truth. I knew it. But it didn't matter. I was so furious...and jealous!

"You had him first, but he _loves_ me! He married _ME_!"

"Yes-yes...that's right! He does! He loves you! But that night I had no idea he cared for you! Truly! I would never have...I would never have hurt you like that. It was just that...I don't know...he was so...you know! But I didn't know! You know I didn't! Please, Vessia! We've been friends for so long! Please don't tell! It would destroy Conith! It would destroy Normen!"

She then actually dropped to her knees at my feet. The previously most powerful person in all of Erthania was at the feet of a former slave! "Please! I beg you!"

In that instant...somehow...seeing her in such a frantic state of utter desperation...I suddenly did let go of my pent up, resentful anger, and burst out in tears anew.

"I'm sorry, Arethnii," I sobbed, sinking to my knees before her and grabbing onto my friend tightly and holding her. "I'm sorry! I would never tell. I won't. I swear it! Not even to Ron! I know you didn't mean for this to happen...sincerely, I do! I've just been so jealous of you for so long!"

Arethnii buckled even further just then, her entire body quivering with relief, and as she sank I went with her.

"Thank you, Vessia...my dearest friend!" she breathed as we hugged one another. "I'm so sorry!"

"I know-I know!"

"Thank you-thank you!"

The two of us stayed tightly together for a long while, each trying to console the other for the hurt they'd caused. I apologized again, telling her what a truly wonderful young man Conith was, and impressing upon her how much like Ron he was. His intelligence, his mannerisms, and his unflinching code of honor were amazing, and bespoke of her and her husband's excellent upbringing. Finally, half a billot later, we rejoined the party, eyes dried, arm in arm, and smiling.

Unfortunately however, we didn't realize then...and wouldn't for years...that just on the other side of a thick, heavy, decorative curtain, King Renni had been standing all that time, having just partaken in a quick rendezvous with one of his mistresses, and hadn't finished cinching up his trousers quite yet.

He had heard the entire exchange!

Renni Deaton soon returned to his party too, not quite as boisterous as he'd been, but he managed to hide it for the rest of the night. The following day however, he began to think. The only man he'd ever known as a father was Normen Gesse Worsham, and he had always been a wonderful one too. He was a role model, a teacher, a guide, and a friend, and Renni loved him as much as any son could love his natural father. But Renni also knew how proud Normen was of the man who he believed was his real son, Conith...Renni's own half-brother. That was the problem.

His mother; Arethnii had betrayed the man he called father...lied to him, to Renni, to his sister, and to the kingdom, for twenty years, and in Renni's mind, the only people to blame was his mother, Arethnii...and Ronin Alsone.

He loved his mother too, as any son does, but this infidelity and treachery struck too deep a blow for him to let it lie. It began to fester, and that poisoned and twisted his outlook about who he might trust, if anyone. He quickly grew to be more cynical, more suspicious, and sterner.

Over the next few years, Renni used his mighty army to leverage nearly every other kingdom into a mostly subservient position in trade relations...the prices of goods, taxes, and tariffs. It was almost as if he was daring them to rebel so that he might crush them. Some did, and against those he released Braun.

To my knowledge, Conith continued to make a name for himself up until a santari before his twenty-fourth birthday...the last time I heard his name...and his prowess was well renowned across the lands, almost as widely spread as Braun's.

At that particular time, on a cloudy, early summer morning, Ron, me, and our two youngest girls; Ariah and Kala (the three oldest were married and living in other cities) were drawing a lengthy visit to Heraitey to a close and due to leave for our backwoods hideaway vacation. It was going to be a long one too...six santaris, or maybe even a year...because I was between projects and we felt we deserved it. But before we left, Ron and I were called to the throne room by the king.

"I'm sorry for the bad timing, Ron...and dear Vessia," Renni began, "truly, I am...but I desperately need your help...Ronin's, that is." He smiled sweetly to me, acknowledging that he knew the separation would be a bother to me. He seemed genuinely sincere.

"I beg you for a favor, great Ronin."

Ron appeared surprised, but gave him a nod. "What can I do for you, your Grace?"

"Go to the fringe of Balcor and handle a disturbance in Shepherds' Walk. More highwaymen and cutthroats, from what I've heard, yet they have proven to be quite elusive. They are from a neighboring country, crossing into Balcorian lands and raiding through the hills north of the Moshaire River delta. There are approximately thirty men in their group, and they have been extremely ruthless. I read that they have even cannibalized some of their victims. They know the countryside well and are a fast-moving band, so that region's troops have been unable to corner them. But it shouldn't be a huge matter for _you_ , I wouldn't think."

It had been a long time since Ron had been called on for that type of duty...since Arethnii had been superseded, in fact...so he didn't know exactly how he should respond. Ron had never spoken with Renni about his wish to stay out of the affairs of the city, assuming his mother had discussed it with him, but he tried to decline just the same.

(He had never openly rebuked Renni's type of governance, choosing to keep his opinions to himself out of respect for Arethnii, but I knew he cared little for it.)

"Your Grace, I am honored that you would think of me," Ron began, but then paused.

"However?" Renni nudged him to speak up.

"However, might not this be a task better suited for one of your captains...or perhaps Conith?"

Renni nodded.

"Yes, actually, it would. Unfortunately, this particular area is not exactly in my military's jurisdiction, which could cause...friction. But the name of Ronin Alsone..." he said with a warm smile and his hands spread welcomingly, "well that transcends those kinds of barriers, doesn't it? And to be completely open about it, I have...at my council's request...been attempting to better our relations with our neighbors. In fact, I am actually trying to do the king of Balcor a service, toward that very end. They haven't the skill, quite frankly...to take care of it themselves.

"I wouldn't even have known about it if he hadn't written to me in distress."

He gesticulated just then toward an open letter at the stand next to his grand chair.

"As for Conith...yes, you are right. He very likely could have handled it...and would have been discreet, I'm sure...but I have already sent him on another mission...one that is much farther away.

"Now I know the agreement you made with Mother, and I certainly wouldn't _order_ you to go...not that anyone could, in fact." He grinned broadly and chuckled a bit, as if that last bit was so obvious that it was ludicrous to even consider. "But there are over a dozen peaceful villages filled with simple, unarmed farming and fishing families that could really use your assistance."

Ron stayed quiet for a beat, contemplating the potential fallout of interfering, even in such a minor (in the scope of history) dispute. It seemed straight forward to him though, and unlikely that it would develop into any kind of open-ended conflict.

"You may extend your family vacation afterward, if you like," he added, glancing from Ron to me, and back. "I know even your youngest girls are growing fast and will likely be going their own ways soon...and I wouldn't want to rob you two of that precious time."

Renni had his own young family by then and so Ron and I saw that offer as a sign of real maturity developing in the king. Therefore, for the sake of those innocent subjects, Ron acquiesced.

"Of course, your Grace. I will do what I can...and thank you."

"Take a hundred men."

Ron nodded, and we walked away.

We utilized the protection of the small army for some of the trip, and then we broke off to take a circuitous route to our little hideaway.

"I'll meet up with you at Cleft-Rock Mountain," Ron told the troopers.

Once our family had reached our little sanctuary farm and were settled in, Ron bid us goodbye.

"I'll be back in a three weeks or maybe four, Ron told us. Then he kissed each of the girls and me, and set off to his duty."

I NEVER SAW HIM AGAIN, FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!

Josylinia stared a moment at the page, and then looked up and panned the crowd. They all appeared stunned.

### Chapter Thirty-seven

### Ronin Alsone is Captured

### (My half of the tale)

Josy picked up the story two days later, when the weather was fair again.

One morning, eight days after Ron left us to attend to the king's errand, I awoke to sounds of many feet rushing toward the house at our secret retreat. I instantly knew we were in grave trouble, for no matter what might have happened to him, Ron would never have allowed anyone knowledge of our position. It was one of the strictest rules about the place. No roads in, no outsiders...not even the son-in-laws...total secrecy.

The first man through the door died there. Ariah was nearly a full grown woman of sixteen years and an excellent shot with the bow...and she was her father's daughter. The men behind that fellow held shields out in front of themselves as they barged through, but still three of them ended up with either an arrow somewhere in their bodies, or a knife. Kala and I did what we could too. Eight of them were grievously wounded in the short clash. We had all been well taught by Ron.

It was really no battle though, as more than twenty additional men had surrounded the place.

Those soldiers immediately wanted to extract vengeance for their troops' casualties, but the leader of the band stayed their hands...but just barely.

Three of his men had dragged Ariah out into the yard, but she was fighting like a yarsmot (shartae in the north, and a wolverine on Earth). One of them suddenly jerked back with a cry of pain, his hand held tightly to his face. When he checked his palm, he saw a lot of blood slathering it. With wild eyes and a loud growl, he struck her square in the face with his fist.

"You dragen bitch!" he screamed at her, spittle flying from his lips. He had a fresh knife-wound along his left jawline. It was cut to the bone.

She recoiled from the powerful blow and then shook her head hard to clear her thoughts. He stepped back, still cursing, with blood running freely out from under his hand as he tried to stem the flow. She looked up at him and laughed.

"You hit like a girl," she taunted.

He snarled at the young woman half his size and then he too pulled a knife. In a blink, he charged.

"I'll gut you, you little whore!" he vowed.

Ariah stood on the balls of her feet, her own knife clenched tightly in her fist, and she growled at her larger aggressor like a mother greel. The man slashed three times at her...left-right-left...and each time she danced just beyond his blade, but also, she struck back. Her motions were subtle and small, the exact opposite of his rage-fueled attack, and on her third strike he dropped his weapon. The tendons of his forearm had been severed.

His eyes stared at that arm as if it were someone else's...and it may as well have been because he had no more control of it.

Ariah pounced! As quick as a forest leopard, she dove in and raked her blade down the inside of his right thigh, stepping to the side again before he even knew what she'd done.

Blood shot out ten feet from him in fast pulses. He saw that stream, glanced down at his leg, and then tracked around and glared at Ariah...and then he fell face down in the dirt.

She watched him all the way to the ground with the unchecked fury of a wild animal fighting for its life, a bestial snarl yet upon her lips.

There was no doubt that she was Ronin's daughter, through and through.

"That's enough of you," another man hissed, yanking his sword free and stepping toward Ariah.

"Stop where you are!" the man who appeared to be in charge bellowed, but the angry fellow had already decided how far he was going to take it.

The leader snapped his arm up in a blink and drilled that man with an arrow from the crossbow he carried.

The enraged bandit fell at Ariah's feet and writhed on the ground for the next few borts before he too died. Ariah spat upon him.

Kala and I were on our knees with nooses tightened around our necks, and our hands were being secured. Four of the attackers then leveled their own crossbows at us.

"Lose the blade!" the leader ordered, staring at my baby.

Ariah wanted to fight on...to die right there rather than be taken and fall prey to whatever those men wanted with us. But she could not let her sister and me die because of her. She tossed the knife to the ground and stood tall. Two men bound her a moment later and placed her next to us.

The attack hadn't taken long.

"Why the flarge did you do that?" yelled one of the other bandits, pointing to the dead fellow the leader had shot. He was obviously distraught over the man killing his friend.

"Because it was necessary, you piss-hole!"

Then the leader looked about at the rest of the group.

"Do any of you idiots know just who it is that we have here...who this woman's husband is?"

Eyes jumped from one man to the next. Clearly none had the answer.

"Well that makes sense, I guess, cause if you did, I'd likely be standing here alone!"

He glared around at the motley crew of miscreants and tried to clarify.

"Let's just say that if one of them is killed, or ruined, in any fashion...well, you might as well go throw yourself off a cliff, cause it'd be a kinder end for you, that's for certain!"

"Bartcha dung!" one of the men spat out. "There's nearly thirty of us!"

The leader walked right up to that man and stopped mere inches away. They were all good-sized fellows, all armed, and all fierce-looking. The leader was not flustered, and they seemed to give him a great deal of respect.

"If that man were here...unarmed and in chains...he would still kill every one of you!"

He then looked around the group once more.

"I say he'd kill 'you' because there's no dragen way I'd be here if he were."

That declaration seemed to resonate with the main group.

"You act like we just snatched Pierci himself's family!"

The leader just shook his head in dismissal. "If you were only so lucky," he grunted.

He then walked over to Ariah. Two men had securely tied her hands behind her back, and kept her in place by the arms, but she still stood. He held his hand up when she began to squirm again at he approached.

"It is over, child," he told her. "You cannot escape, so please calm yourself."

He seemed to be assessing her face. Blood was draining down her cheek from where she'd been punched, but it wasn't bad. The man spun around again and addressed his men.

"You were all told the rules! No one gets paid unless they are delivered intact and undamaged! And I...for one...dragen-well intend to get paid!"

The men grumbled a short while until he reminded them that the sum of two years wages was at stake. They soon shook off their anger and gathered their dead and wounded, and then they tethered the girls and me...by the waist...to a ten-foot-long wooden pole that they placed at our left hips. We were spaced out far enough so that we couldn't touch one another. After that, they marched us through the woods to the main road and loaded us into a wagon that was nothing more than a large steel cage. Once we were in and the gate locked, heavy tarps were thrown down around the metal enclosure to keep us out of sight, and off we went. We knew not where to.

For three weeks, we rode in that stifling-hot wagon, bruised and bounced about constantly, stopping only at night. We had enough room to walk a few steps from end to end inside the cage, and we could stand upright because we were not tall, but we were also not allowed out of that barred prison for any reason. Of course, that might have been for our benefit with those vile men. We couldn't get out, but they couldn't get in either.

Food and water were passed to us twice a day, but beyond that, they paid no attention to us. There was a rough-cut hole in the floor of the wagon for us to relieve ourselves, but we were provided no means to wash. We felt as if we were pravorts on our way to slaughter...or worse.

Through rainy days and drought, we pressed onward with every moment of daylight, which we could only see through the gaps in the planks of the wagon's bed.

On day twenty, the talk between the men became restless and more excited, so we guessed something was about to happen, and it turned out that we had reached our destination. It was not at all what I had anticipated.

Around mid-morning, we stopped and the back flap of the tarp was suddenly thrown up and over, giving us our first glimpse of the world in those long weeks.

Instead of some desolate internment camp filled with malnourished, hopeless souls, or a formal prison facility...which is what we all expected...the sight before us was a simple, yet sprawling countryside farm in a land I had no idea where. There was a modest house, a barn, a woodshed, and several small coups and fenced enclosures containing animals...goats, bartcha, pravorts, and grentilles, all of which had stopped their normal activities to watch us.

We were ordered out of the wagon and sent to stand before the stone house by the fellow we still assumed was the leader. We were all grimy, bleary-eyed and matted, and black and blue from the rough jostling against the bars and the decking. Our clothes were saturated with our sweat and torn in most places from the splintered wooden bed. We smelled worse than the beasts that gazed upon us, and were beyond filthy, completely covered in the grit from the road that had sifted up through the bed across all those long hoz of confinement.

The leader then dismissed the band of thugs before joining us at the doorstep of the house.

"Now it is time for you to know what is happening, and why," he said.

We all exchanged quick, confused glances.

"First off," he began, staring right at me, "let me say that none of what's transpired has anything to do with you. It has everything to do with your husband..." then he faced the girls, "your father.

"Out of this entire group, I alone know who you all are, and I will be three hundred hoz away in a santari. None of these men here know more than two of the others...not even their names...not even where they're from. I don't know who hired me, or them. Everything has been extensively compartmentalized and done with unbelievable secrecy, so I assure you, there will be no rescue."

The girls and I were so bewildered and shocked that we said nothing.

"Now, for your orders.

"If you wish to stay free and away from working in the brothels, listen carefully. You are not allowed to leave this property, other than with an escort. If you do, the ones left behind will be immediately sold into slavery. Also, the man who was your husband and father has, by now, been captured and sent to a faraway penal colony of which I have no idea. And before you even say it, no matter how great a warrior he is...and I do know who he is and some of what he is capable of...he will submit, just as easy as that. He will because we have 'you', and there is absolutely no way he could possibly find this place."

I was flooded with adrenaline by then, my mind racing along, and still angry enough to want to fight back...to resist whatever this man wished of me. And I was smart enough to see the obvious chink in his plans.

"You think all those ruthless men will keep their mouths shut," I told him flatly, noting that they were already out of sight. "You'd be a fool. Word will get out about what has happened to us, and then one of those...those 'scum' will slip up. And my husband has friends and devoted followers in a thousand places he's never even been!"

The leader just smiled. He, apparently, was not a fool.

"Yeah," he said, "I was told you were smart...and everything you just described is no doubt possible...maybe even probable. However, there's an old saying. Perhaps you've heard of it? 'The only way to truly keep a secret between even two people is for one of them to die!'"

He glared long and hard at me for a few moments, letting that sink in.

My eyes flicked to the point where I'd seen the other men all crest the hill. They were apparently headed to meet with whoever was to pay them...all of them...and most likely in one preordained place. My gaze returned to the leader and the fire in my heart went out.

I knew we were doomed. There would be no rescue. They had thought of everything. He didn't even need to explain further, but he did.

"Now, just to be absolutely clear," he continued, looking from me to the girls. "Your husband and father will have similar survival arrangements. If he escapes, or if he gets himself killed, or if he refuses to comply with his duties, you all die.

"Now, back to you. You will each be given a new name, and you will accept that as your own. Your previous selves have just disappeared from this world.

"Don't ask where you are. Don't try to get word out about who you were or where you're from. Don't enlist anyone for help, or 'they' will die. Someone...I don't know who or to whom they report to...will always be watching.

"Also, one of you will write a note to your husband, or father...whatever...once a year, explaining that you are well and alive. You will all sign it so that he can see for himself that you yet live. It will be read by us, and if you try anything, he will be expertly tortured for weeks and then burned alive."

"Are we clear on the rules?"

We all nodded, and then he left. The moment he disappeared over the first hill, headed north, a new man came strolling up the road form the east. He turned into our little farm and approached. We were still standing outside, numb from the news.

"I am Heasil," he said. "I've been instructed about you and your restrictions. I will check in with you once a day. I will then check in with another...and so it'll go until it gets back to whoever is in charge. I have no idea who that is, so don't waste your time trying to trick it out of me. I don't know who you are or why any of this is happening. I just have instructions to keep an eye on you, and I am paid very well to be diligent.

"This is good land. You'll have to work hard, but you can make a decent living. You will not be threatened or harassed if you simply follow the rules. Understand?"

We all nodded once again.

He then turned abruptly and walked back down the road.

That is how our new lives began.

It has now been more than ten years since I last saw my husband, and only the most bizarre of coincidences brought this next bit of news to me.

**The Capture of Ronin Alsone** :

This part of the story fell into my possession by pure happenstance...or as Ron would label it; fate...beginning on a particularly cold afternoon in late winter, at the end of our ninth year of captivity, when a howling, bitter wind blasted across the fields of our farm.

We were all inside, hunkering down against the gale, when we heard the faint pleas of a man outside. We took precautions of making sure the fellow was unaccompanied, and that our guard was nowhere around.

(After the first five years of proving we could be trusted to keep to the rules, the guards had begun leaving us alone for a week at a time, so that they could enjoy themselves in the city that was a day's travel to the west; Burnt Tree Ridge. They weren't due back for three days.)

We let the man in out of the weather and got him warming by the fire. He was so cold that he shivered for two billots while we plied him with hot drinks and covered him with thick wool blankets. He was so bad off that I don't think he really saw us clearly until he'd fallen asleep and awakened several billots later.

When he did look up at me though, his eyes alit as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Lady Vessia!" he huffed, apparently astounded at even the thought of it. "Is it truly you?"

At first I was so shocked at hearing that name that I just stared at the man.

"Lady Vessia?" he queried again.

I immediately tried to quiet the man, simply out of reflex of living in such a state of fear for so long. Kala ran to the door and peeked out. Ariah searched through every window. No one was around.

"I'm sorry, sir," I said hastily. "You must have me confused with..."

"No, no," he replied, not allowing me to brush him off, "I know it is!" then his gaze swept the room, side to side...back and forth...and he fell silent. After a long pause, he began to speak again, but this time in a hushed whisper.

"There have been rumors, m'lady. About how you three...the family of 'The Great One'...just vanished on that dreadful day, so long ago. Those stories are each filled with plots to capture a man who could not be taken by any other means than the most cautious and meticulous subterfuge."

We all just stared at him, saying nothing.

He gazed back at me with a knowing look that told me how much he really understood.

"We can know nothing about where we are," I said softly to him. I wanted to hear what he had to say very badly, but I was truly terrified to listen.

I wasn't completely certain this wasn't some kind of elaborate test by our captors, but I couldn't resist. He convinced me of his legitimacy when he began speaking again though, for he told me a tale that explained everything I had been imagining for that long decade.

"My name is Verceth Minno, and I was on the mission with Lord Ronin that day."

I was so shocked that my legs collapsed and I fell backward, my rear end landing on the floor with a dull thud and a puff of dust. My eyes never left his though. They were transfixed with Verceth.

He was a young man back then and was so excited to be actually standing beside ' _The_ Ronin Alsone', that every detail of that entire, short campaign had been burned into his mind.

(I wrote it down just as he explained it.)

Ronin and his supporting troops reached the area they were to protect, but when they did, they found nothing at all was the matter. They spent two days jogging from village to village, checking for trouble, but received only confusion and denials.

"There have been no bandits, m'Lord," the village elders had told him at every stop. "We have called for no assistance."

At last, at the very furthest little clutch of civilized life before the true wilds began...twenty hoz beyond the border of Balcor...Ronin had walked into the center hut of the village called Raksi, and there he finally found what he was meant to find. But it wasn't a band of thugs and highwaymen. It was a single fellow; tall and lean, with close-set eyes that looked cruel. He lounged there like he was the chief, but he was not one of the villagers.

"Have a seat, Lord Ronin," the man said when Ronin had entered far enough for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

Ronin stood his ground, his gaze swiftly scanning the sparse interior. There were seats and benches all around...no doubt for group meetings...but no one else was present, other than a handful of Ronin's own supporting troops. Verceth was one of them.

"What is this?" Ronin asked, not knowing how the man knew who he was.

The stranger just smiled back at him with a hateful sneer.

"You are said to be the mightiest warrior in the whole of Erthania," he said snidely.

Ronin stared at him, searching his memory for clues to who he was.

"A man who has killed dozens...no, hundreds, if the stories are true...with abilities and skills that would cause most men to simply cower at your feet rather than clash with your sword."

Ronin was still staring at the fellow. "I am certain I have never seen you before," he told the man. "What is this...a charade? And if it is...for what purpose?"

"No, Great One...it is not a charade. And the purpose is simple, but allow me a few borts to enjoy the process, alright? "

Ronin merely looked on. He could tell that some game was being played...we all could...but chose to let it unfold.

"Let me ask you a simple question, oh mighty warrior, and _father_."

Ronin suddenly tensed, expressing a look on his face that seemed openly suspicious, and then, as if an unsaid understanding had been reached somewhere in his mind, it turned grim. His teeth clenched down tightly, the muscles at the sides of his jaws bunching vividly. His stomach had begun to twist.

"Who is watching out for your family just now?" the man asked with a nasty grin.

The shock of those words had a clear result. Ronin's veins were instantly filled with ice. The hair on his arms and neck stood on end. His mind raced at a staggering speed, filling in the blanks of what the stranger was not telling him.

(I guessed the truth of it immediately, Mistress Vessia," Verceth explained, "so I was certain that he did as well.)

The entire mission had been a farce...a ruse. He'd been lured away from his beloved wife...and from his two sweet girls.

"But they're safe!" his mind screamed back as his eyes darted side to side.

He was trying desperately to reassure himself. Verceth could see it plainly.

"No one knows where they are!" he was telling himself. "No one!"

(Even those who had escorted you close to where he'd eventually taken you all, Mistress, had no idea where you truly were. It was open, wild country...with no side roads for hoz.)

The stranger was watching Ronin closely, sensing the gathering anxiety in him. He then began to smile even more.

"Twenty hoz southwest of a town called Turtle Bend, at the western end of Redbud Cove, is a farming community."

Ronin felt his body swap instantly from cold to hot...his ire suddenly spiking. The flush of his skin turned blazing red.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed across his synapsis.

"There was a young woman there..." the man continued, "not so young now of course...who had once told a story about a miraculous warrior. This man had appeared in the dead of winter, from out of the woods, like he'd been sent from the Creator himself. This guardian angel had swept in and single-handedly saved her entire community from certain starvation when she was just a girl. His name was...take a guess."

Ronin was glaring at the man by then, his eyes ablaze with fury. He saw it all, as clear as the hut he was standing in.

"No? Not even one guess? Ah, well. They had all called him DanKor. Interesting name, don't you think?

"Anyway, it turns out that a group of bounty-hunters had actually gone hunting for an extraordinary warrior in that same location, many years ago now. None of them have ever been seen again. They were looking for a fellow with a different name though...a man who they called...you want to guess at that one? No? Too bad. I'm sure you could have gotten it. He was a fugitive from Nevari called _Ronin Alsone_.

"Well, I received word just today," he continued, holding up a tiny note written on fine parchment, ( _We all recognized it as the type of message sent by shorka...a trainable bird used for long distance communication_ ) "which reported a new chapter in that old story. Apparently, it turned out that the woman still lived there and...after a little _incentive_...knew almost exactly where this DanKor...Ronin Alsone...had lived."

"By now, your wife and two youngest daughters have been rounded up and hauled away."

Ronin's hand went instinctively to his sword pommel.

"Tell me who took them..." he growled in a hate-filled voice, "and where they're going!"

"Hold on there!" the fellow replied. His sneer had suddenly evaporated, and his air of superiority had gone with it. His eyes danced from Ronin's sword to his face. "You have to do what I say now...you understand? You need to calm down, mister. I'm just the messenger. I don't know who or where..."

The man never finished his sentence. His head was already falling to the dirt floor and Ronin was racing out the entrance, his dripping blade still in his hand.

We immediately fell in step with him.

It was midday when Ronin dropped into a fast run, headed back the way we'd all just come, and his destination was eight days away at a normal pace. Each of us...one by one...fell out of sight behind him in less than a billot. I was the last to see him, still a young man and in the best condition of my life, but I was spent and nauseous from the speed. He flew along as if it were nothing.

I waited until my fellows caught up some time later, and then we all set off in Ronin's wake...at a more manageable gait.

We stayed on course for Turtle Bend, and arrived there seven days later. We asked around for directions to the farm the stranger had spoken about, and half of our men went there while the rest scoured the town until we found someone with information that could fill in the rest of the story. That person turned out to be a woman showing recent signs of being badly abused. She caught wind of our inquiries and wished to help us track down our leader.

Apparently Ronin had carried on all afternoon, and all night...his gut-wrenching worry and fear pushing him beyond the pain and fatigue that racked his body. At dawn he'd broken away from the common roads and cut across the untamed lands for another two days of exhausting flight. That third evening, he approached the farm where Avarii and her family lived from the south, through the dense forest he'd once called home. He'd sailed straight through his own place, but it was empty, as he knew it would be. Those who he sought wouldn't be waiting for him there. They would be at Rock Falls' Garden. He arrived at the edge of the spring he'd helped divert so many years in the past; the one they said had saved them all. It was dusk by then.

Ron drank from the gushing water and caught his breath, and then waited until all the wondrous colors of daytime had faded into the muted grays of twilight before making his move. And when he did, he was equally as silent as that disappearing sun.

Drifting through the darkening shadows like one of the big jungle cats, his ears and eyes strained for the tiniest signs that would signal his stealthy movement had been detected, but no alarms were raised.

(Our investigators found the scene just as he'd left it, and they reasoned out what had occurred after later conferring with the woman.)

He entered the outer fringe of the village from the west and immediately deduced that blood had been spilled...in abundant quantities.

There were several soldiers patrolling the place, roughly looting the meager possessions of the inhabitants, and so Ronin stole into the nearest house to avoid a pair of them. Once inside, he got a glimpse of what had transpired barely four days hence. The small, one-room structure...no more than twelve feet across...was the tomb of four individuals. One was a woman who appeared approximately twenty-three, and the others were children...two girls and a boy...ranging from about five to perhaps only two. Their throats had been slit and their bodies piled in the center of their tiny home.

Ron's fury ratcheted up another notch.

He surreptitiously peered at the men strolling about the nearby homes and decided their fates in a blink of time, and then he slipped out again.

There was a fellow only twenty steps from Ronin, but he was at the edge of the forest and facing away, relieving himself in the bushes. Ronin approached him from behind and waited, his head swiveling about to keep tabs on his surroundings. The soldier finished his task a moment later, but as his head rose to check his own environs, something clamped onto his neck with crushing strength. He tried to cry out, but the pressure mounted so quickly that he couldn't even fully inhale. Then he felt his feet leave the ground as all his weight suddenly hinged on that clamping grip. His mind raced with the panic-stricken fears of a child...of insidious demons and horrifying monsters...as he fairly flew backwards until his body slammed into the supporting structure of the nearest building. He didn't reach for any of his weapons in his moment of panic...his fingers were otherwise busy; clamped onto whatever was latched to his throat. But nonetheless, the long knife in his belt flew from its sheath and then pinned him to the heavy beam he'd crashed into, right through his chest. As the life quickly sped from his body, he caught a glimpse of his attacker, and a more heinous, soulless, remorseless figure could never be imagined than the one glaring back at him.

He could almost feel the rage of those burning gray eyes, boring into him as sharply as the blade that now skewered his heart. In the final instant of his passing, he was grateful that his end had been so quick, that he had been spared any more time in the presence of the owner of those fiendish eyes. His face stayed exactly the way it was, frozen in death, and the horror of his last thoughts were clearly displayed.

Ronin moved off immediately and with absolutely no qualms or hesitation, headed toward the sound of his next victims.

There were three soldiers in the neighboring structure digging through the wares of the town's blacksmith, a man who Ronin had liked a great deal. He was a tall, rail-thin fellow, but he was as tough as the metal he worked and could swing a hammer all day without complaint.

One of the men was holding a torch up high so the others could see better, and they were busy rooting through some bins against a wall.

Ronin used the edge of his hand and struck the torch-bearer a single, powerful blow to the side of his neck, grabbing the torch at the same time. The strike collapsed the big artery there and sent the surrounding muscles into a quivering state of numbness. The man would have dropped heavily to the hard-packed turf, but Ronin gripped his limp form before it could, and then eased him down quietly.

There was a long metal rod buried in the dying embers of the forge, so Ronin slid it out of its cherry-red berth and shoved it through one of the two looters' ears. He gave off no sound of warning, but the hissing and stench of burning flesh made the last man turn about quickly, startled. His eyelids drew back wide at the revolting sight, but he too was soon looking into the gaze of the reaper himself, and never had a chance. He felt a sharp sting under his chin as an arrow snatched from his friend's quiver was shoved through his lower jaw and burst out the top of his head.

Onward Ronin went.

Time after time, similar gruesome, vicious, close-quarter deaths occurred in an ever decreasing spiral as Ronin worked his way toward the center of the village. Finally, when the leader of that band of cutthroats began to suspect that something was amiss, Ronin stepped out from a tight space between two of the huts. He held a bow in his left hand, an arrow already knocked on the string.

The leader of the fifty-man squadron whirled around when he heard the gasp of his nearby aide, and there he saw the quarry he'd spent so many years pursuing.

The reason for Ronin's return was the woman tied to a large pole mounted securely in the center of the village. It was Avarii. She was naked, and signs of rough abuse were all upon her body. Blood and other fluids were dried to the insides of her thighs, and she'd been thoroughly whipped. Her left eye was deep purple and swollen shut, but her right snapped over to lock onto him in a flash.

"No!" she cried, the fear in her eye clearly not for herself, but for him. "It's a trap!"

'Crack', sounded the back of one of her captors' hands as it contacted her face.

"Shut your mouth, slu...!" the man said before an arrow slammed into his skull and sent him tumbling to the ground.

The leader jerked at the quickness of the attack...the hair on the back of his neck jumping to attention.

A moment later he signaled another of his men to take up a new position. He was behind the woman and felt safe enough, so he drew his long knife and placed it against her throat.

"Hold your ground, scum!" that fellow growled at Ronin. "Or I'll take her head off!"

Ronin stopped. There was another arrow ready on the string, but his bow hung beside his waist as he gazed about.

It was Avarii who made the next move.

"Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh," she chuckled softly, while the thugs about her grew extremely tense. She knew by the calm way that Ronin took in the scene that everyone other than those in her immediate presence were already dead.

"What are you laughing at, old woman?"

Ron stared at her, his gaze filled with sorrow and regret.

"You should have brought more men!" she said, and then she giggled again. She sounded a bit deranged.

Ron gave her the tiniest smirk before returning his attention to the bandits.

Six men had hastily gathered close to their leader. They had not been in any of the structures Ron had cleared earlier.

"So," the leader said to Ronin, "you're the one!"

Ronin just stared back. He had his strategy already planned out.

"You're the famous, Ronin! You're the 'super-soldier' who humiliated my father...who killed...I don't know...how many Nevari warriors?"

Ronin remained silent, and didn't move.

"HOW MANY?" the son roared.

"I don't know how many eventually died," Ron replied calmly. He was breathing slowly, to the onlookers, completely unperturbed. "Where is my family?"

Ronin's attitude merely infuriated the man more.

"Then how many are you sure about?" he hissed.

"Two hundred and sixty-three. What has been done with my family?"

He just stared blankly at Ronin, too appalled at his unflustered demeanor. After a short pause, he continued.

"Well, now you are the prisoner of Brisalge Lassitor...and you will meet your fate!"

Ronin just glared back at him.

"You did all this to avenge your father's honor?" he finally asked. "You kidnapped my family and slaughtered an entire community of innocent people just to get me here?"

"These people were not innocent! They aided an enemy of Nevari!"

"I was never an enemy of Nevari," Ronin told him in a grinding tone. "I was a stranger in your land and defended myself when I was attacked. That's all. How many times must I say it?"

The young man was vibrating with rage.

"How dare you try to lie about my father? You were a spy! And now you are my prisoner! Lay down your weapons and submit to me or Mereslin will slit your whore's throat."

Ronin remained where he was, not moving.

"My family! Where are they?"

Brisalge smirked at him.

"You think you're fast enough to kill us all before he can get the job done?" he challenged.

Before those words had left his lips, there was a flash of motion...and then the howl of pain rang out.

Brisalge whirled around to see Mereslin's forearm was pinned to the post by an arrow, right below the elbow. The knife he was going to use to kill Avarii was at her feet. An instant later, another steel-tipped bolt skewered the man's throat when he attempted to break the arrow off and free himself.

"Zip-zip-zip-zip," sounded the bow in a steady cadence as more of the deadly missiles took to flight, and when all was silent again, only Brisalge and Ronin were left standing.

"You were saying?" Ronin asked through gritted teeth.

The young Lassitor stood his ground, but Avarii could clearly see quivering all through his body...and so could Ronin.

"The people you just slaughtered were no threat to you," Ronin told him, "nor to Nevari. They were simply bait to attract your prey...me...right?

"WELL, BOY!" Ronin roared. "HERE I AM!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" screamed Brisalge as he charged Ronin with both his swords slashing at the air.

Ronin parried his blades two dozen times, cutting the younger man immediately after each crash of their weapons. In barely two borts, General Lassitor's son lay crumpled in the dirt, his hamstrings and both elbow tendons cut, as well as twenty other nasty gashes. He could barely move, but he was not dead.

"Where is my family?" Ronin growled.

"I don't know," the young fellow whimpered. "They never said. They were afraid I'd tell you."

"Oh, they were right about that," Ronin assured him. He'd already surmised that the boy was not the true leader. If he had been, he'd have begun his demands with that as leverage.

"Now we will see just how long 'you' live," Ronin told the boy. "The scent of so much death no doubt has already been picked up by the creatures of these woods. It will be interesting to see which beasts get to you first. I'm betting on the chinches (large rats). They're aggressive in large numbers...and there're a lot of tracks all around this area."

Ronin then strode away from the gasping young warrior. He didn't have a mark on him.

Avarii was freed with two quick slashes, and she fell into Ronin's hands heavily. The feeling in her extremities had long since left her because of the tightness of her bindings.

Ronin caught her as softly as he could and then carried her out of that village of death.

A quarter hoz away, he left the road beside a bridge and laid her down in a shallow part of a large stream that cut through the mountains, meandering snakelike between the hills. There he tended her wounds and cleaned her body for a long while, trying to be as gentle as he could. She was in great pain as the blood began to flow again in her extremities, but she did not protest.

Afterward, Ronin wrapped her in his cloak, built a fire to heat some of his rations, and then he fed her as well.

When the woman had eaten, she showed better signs of lucidity, easing back around to a more normal state of animation, and so she began to thank Ronin.

"Do not give me praise, Avarii," he told her immediately. "If it hadn't been for me, you'd have been spared a great deal of pain and misery...and these fine people would have gone about their lives. Now..." he growled, but didn't add to his statement.

"It is the will of the Gods," Avarii replied as calmly as she'd once spoken to him when she was just a child.

Ronin merely shook his head...his mind filled with worry and dread and resolve. "So I've been told," he told her. Then he prepared for traveling.

"We must get farther away from here," he informed her before scooping her back into his arms. His ear was cocked at an angle, carefully listening to the forest noises. "Now that such a large number of soldiers are no longer patrolling the village, the scavengers are moving in."

Ronin glanced back once more, down the trail to the once peaceful village. His thoughts were clouded with anxiety about his family, but too, they were filled with grief for those poor souls back there.

It wasn't his fault that they were dead. He knew that. They were killed for fun...pure and simple. They were killed because a gang of morally depraved men were bored. They'd been sent to get information, and when they'd gotten it, they needed something else to do. They hadn't even passed along a message.

Ronin headed east, toward the main road. He needed to get Avarii to town so she could be cared for properly.

He'd taken just a dozen more steps before reaching a sharp turn in the trail, and there he saw something that stopped him again. It was a piece of parchment tied to a T-shaped stake, and the stake was driven into the ground at the very center of the route that led to Turtle Bend.

A banner across the crossbar read: "Ronin".

Ronin set Avarii down and retrieved the note. He then returned to the little camp he'd just left and fanned the coals back into life so that he might read it.

"Ronin, no doubt you have already dispatched the band of scoundrels I sent to find your home. It's no real loss. The boy was so filled with rage that I couldn't talk him out of trying to kill you himself. Obviously I was confident that he'd fail.

"My plan is much simpler and much less dramatic.

"I have your beautiful family far away in a location that will be kept secret from everyone you will come into contact with, so outsmarting them, coercing them, or torturing them will be fruitless endeavors. Your wife and daughters are of no concern of mine and I have no need or desire to harm them. They will remain free and in fine condition as long as you meet my demands. They will even write to you on occasion...at least once a year...to assure you that they still live; to make certain that you keep to the agreement I will now explain.

"Twenty men are waiting for you in Turtle Bend. You will surrender to them. They will put you in chains and you will go to prison for the rest of your life. I will not give you the satisfaction of even knowing why you are being imprisoned. The mystery is all part of the punishment. You will not try to escape, and you will not kill any more of my men, or yourself. These are my demands.

"If you do not submit and agree to these conditions, your wife and daughters will be given to my soldiers to do with as they please...and no, the troopers will not be allowed to kill them. They will become slaves and whores under my personal control for as long as they remain disease free...which usually lasts about three to five years. After that, they will simply rot away. Believe me, it is a horrible way to die.

"Think about it and give my men your decision."

Ronin walked into Turtle Bend two days later, still carrying Avarii. He delivered her to some friends of her family who had once lived in the village with her, and then he went to find the soldiers.

"That is all I know, Mistress. I am truly, deeply sorry. I failed him."

We hid Verceth when our guard came by for his inspection, but he hardly did more than account for each of us before leaving again, so it wasn't difficult. Afterward, we continued to tend our guest and watched him slowly regain his health and strength over the next two weeks. Then he left us before our guard discovered him, vowing to get word to Arethnii that we were alive. He said he knew where she was living. Of course, he could never personally bring word back without risking Ron, us...everything...but he did smuggle Arethnii's private journal to me and that has helped a great deal with the overall accuracy of this tale.

"Josylinia, all the scenarios I had ever dreamed up over the long years since Ron's parting were stripped away with that man's story. And I believed, without a doubt, that what the fellow had just told us was the complete, unredacted truth of it, as far as anyone other than Ron himself might know. That knowledge has at least given me some peace.

"It has now been many years since that visitor came. I am old and have taken ill. It's bad, and I have been bed-ridden for five santaris. Now I know my days are short. I have grieved and wondered and prayed for so long that it inspired me to write this all down for you, Josylinia Gitove, for I know that just as he was the greatest love of my life...you were the greatest love of his. And as I have just attested, imagining what happened to him was far worse than knowing.

"I'll never find out the full story of what became of Ron Allison, the simple Earth man turned into the greatest warrior in the galaxy, but perhaps, if the Guardian would grant us this one kindness, you will.

"Vessia Milicent Asaria Cordalis Alsone"

Josy continued to stare at the blank section of the rest of the page for several litas. Finally, she looked up.

"That's the end of the book," she said to all the people surrounding her, still hanging on her every word. "I can't believe it would just...stop like..."

"Wait," Mishea interjected suddenly, leaning in closely at Josy's shoulder. "Look...in the back cover. There is a folded piece of paper tucked into it."

Josy saw what she pointed to and then gently eased it out of the slot it had been nested into. It was a single page, folded in quarters...a letter.

Josy carefully opened it and her eyes flashed through the words in a heartbeat...and then her hand flew to her lips. She read it once more, slower, and then raised her head to gaze about the group again. They all waited, motionless...breathless.

She regarded the note once more, and read:

" _Josylinia Gitove Allison,_

" _This is Kala Alsone. I am the fourth daughter of the greatest warrior and the most heroic man who ever walked the lands of Erthania._

" _Vessia...my mother...has been with the spirits of our ancestors for six years now, and it has been nearly thirty since I last saw my father...yet before me he now stands!"_

" _We have been reunited for nearly a santari, and I have heard his tale in its entirety from his perspective. I am still stunned, as you might imagine._

" _His story is both fascinating and horrible, yet I know that Mother would have wanted you to know the whole of it. Unfortunately, it is not in this volume. It is in the next."_

"The note ends there," Josy told her audience, but her eyes were still scanning the paper.

"The next?" Karne queried, his voice setting dishes tinkling with its deep reverberations.

"That's what it says, Father," she added, frowning at the page. "But there's more...and it's different."

It took a few moments of hard concentration, but then her expression shifted.

"Sorry everyone, but the writing has changed again, so I had to adjust to it," Josy told the crowd in a voice quivering with excitement and anxiety. "This new part was added after that first section, and is...completely foreign to me...but...oh, I see. There's another part written in a different script that apparently translates that bit from its original form. This new edition appears to be something similar to a rough variation of present-day Caronian. Allow me a bort to decipher it."

Josy read the note half a dozen times to herself before she felt she had it interpreted correctly. Then she read aloud;

" _To the Goddess Josylinia, this message is from Isla Noonis Jospor, direct descendant of Ronin Alsone. It has been five hundred and seventy-three years since the books were written. I know this because they have been meticulously protected for all that time, handed down from one generation to the next. I am of the Kannatabi; one of the greatest tribes of the plainsmen people, and now the last one to have seen the two books together. We still worship Ronin's memory and keep to his code of honor, but a branch of his followers...from a place called the Piercellione Mountains...have recently made contact and have requested the volume that you have. This is an exciting point in the journey to carry his story to you, one that we have been waiting for for many generations, and I am both saddened and honored to see this day come. They are leaving the southern lands...two thousand in all...and are headed across the great mountains to search out his northern tribe...the ones from the Aredanz Mountains. They will be taking the first volume with them...the one you are holding. When they depart, I will continue the vigil alone as our only other keeper goes with them, but I am training my sons to carry on after me._

" _Over the many centuries, wars, disease, and hardships have caused the ability to read the language herein to be lost, and with it many of the tales. And I would give anything to be there when you read it, Goddess, but that is not my fate I'm afraid._

" _My father has given me these instructions for you, and so I have placed them in this volume for you to find...just as you now have. They too have been passed down for ages...orally...along with the books...one keeper to the next. These are the direct wishes from the original Ronin Alsone._

" _Josylinia. Go to the lands south of the Great Mountains and meet with Goshune and his people like I promised we would. They have the book with them for safe keeping, and they have been waiting for many centuries to hear the story. Please do this for me."_

### Chapter Thirty-eight

### The Trip South

Josy looked up at those around her and saw her own emotions reflected back. They were filled with astonishment, confusion, surprise, and denial.

"How could Ron have known where the book would be, hundreds...no...more than a thousand cycles later?" Larson asked.

That brought about much whispering and conjecture.

"Who are these people they're talking about? Goshune? Kannatabi?" one of the Aredanz men asked.

That prompted Josy to recite a brief overview of the time she and Ron had spent at the southern boundary...the northern edge of the impassable mountain range.

"They were a faction of people completely dedicated to the preservation of the legend of Ronin Alsone," Josy finally said. "I can only guess that the next book explains all this, and that he presumed they would have it now, since they knew a great deal about the story and were so adamant about me coming to meet with their leaders...their people."

"So what of this trip?" Karne asked abruptly, already seeing his daughter considering the journey in her mind. "Do you plan on actually going?"

Josy looked frankly at her gargantuan father and opened her mouth, but said nothing. She was overwhelmed with outside opinions before she could voice her own.

"She has to go!" several of the Aredanz warriors stated, as if it were not up for discussion.

"She cannot, of course!" her brother said. "The children are much too young!"

"It would be far too dangerous," Mishea interjected.

Josy heard each of them, and her mind took in every argument and ran possible reasons for and against them, but she was given plenty of time to think because several verbal battles immediately sprang to life.

She felt she'd come to a conclusion when she caught Terista quietly staring at her and smiling.

"What?" she asked, grinning back at Kaskle's cousin.

Terista tossed her head at the others, dismissing their chatter off-handedly.

"There's no sense in trying to give you opinions," she said lightly, attracting most of the others to listen to her. She was that kind of person. Everyone held her in extremely high regard. "You made up your mind the instant you read the note."

Josy just stared at her.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"I...but...you...humph! No," she finally admitted, "you're not wrong."

"But Josy...my baby-girl," Karne said, leaning forward toward his daughter, "I cannot go with you...you said so yourself. The passage is too small...and I would not feel comfortable with..."

Josy slid off her chair and to her knees at her giant father's feet. She then took his hands in hers (actually, just one finger of each hand).

"Father, I know you would worry terribly. I know it. But you must see that I have to go. I have to. I could never live the remainder of my life without finding out what the rest of Ron's story is...or, I should say...was. Don't you understand?"

Karne stared back at the gorgeous brunette with deep emotions rocking his colossal frame. She was his only daughter...and he cherished her very much. And then there were the grandchildren whom he adored. To see them roam outside his protection would be almost physically painful.

Terista stood sharply to attention, and all her commanders mimicked that move. The surrounding troops immediately did likewise.

"She will have the full protection of the Aredanz, Karne Gitove!" she proclaimed.

Every warrior instantly slammed their fists to their breasts in salute.

"Aaaooot!" they cried in unison, and then the air began to vibrate from their low-pitched growls. The ferocity in their glaring eyes was a true force to be reckoned with. It reminded Karne of the way Ron used to meet his opponents in battle.

Karne gave them a small nod of appreciation, returning their salute.

He then turned his attention back to his daughter. He was truly a brilliant strategist, so he knew when he was beaten.

"As you wish, Little One. We will begin planning the trip in the morning. For now though, we should all get some rest."

It took a week to get things ready. Sheyah wanted desperately to go with them, to meet her father's southern supporters, but Josy...who was now considered her legal guardian...denied her that request.

"Sweetie," she told Sheyah, holding her firmly on her lap, "It will be a very long, arduous, and...I'm afraid...perilous journey into unknown lands where we know little about the people there, or their customs."

"But the Aredanz warriors will be with us, Josy," Sheyah retorted. "Surely we would be safe."

"If it were just the danger, my darling; I might agree, for we will indeed be well protected. But the duration of the trip is just as much of a problem. We might be gone the better part of a cycle, and your studies would suffer for that long a break."

Sheyah's eyes slid back and forth a few times as she thought hard about how to counter Josy's argument, but she was far too bright not to see the inevitable. She hugged Josy hard.

"But I'll miss you and the boys so much!"

Josy returned her embrace lovingly. "And we will miss you too, sweet girl."

Mishea and Larson ended up staying at the farm, so things would continue running smoothly, while everyone else set out on the journey to the southern wilds.

Josy had a difficult time recalling the route that she and Ron had taken, since they had really just wandered for weeks. And she had paid little attention to the details of the terrain back then because she'd been on her pseudo-honeymoon, with vastly other interests pressing upon her mind.

She began to wish desperately that she might run across Flash while they were out there, but even without him, they eventually came to the unmistakable barrier that she and Ron had reached on their trip. The enormous peaks towered several hoz above them in a quiet, yet threatening way. It was truly awesome.

They headed east from that point.

At first it seemed an impossible task, to find the tiny crevice that Ron had accidentally stumbled upon that day, but she quickly found out that two hundred of the finest woodsmen on the planet being at her command was nothing to sneeze at. They located it on the third day.

They camped in the same glade that she and Ron had used, and after a long and tender farewell with her father, Josy set off into the cleft with a small pack on her back and one of her boys in her arms. Terista carried the other, right behind her...and behind them came the Aredanz fighters.

They had wanted to precede her, but Josy was afraid a conflict might arise if the Wolfpack saw soldiers flooding into their sacred valley before they saw her.

As it worked out, she was very much correct. The northern entrance to the valley opened up to reveal a hundred fully armed warriors, all brandishing weapons at the ready. They had heard the movement in the passage long before she appeared.

Josy jolted to a hasty stop when she stepped out onto the lush green grass, and for a brief moment, she was wracked with fear, but when the sun struck her face, revealing her blazing blue eyes to those savage, fierce men, it all changed.

"The Goddess Olina!" one of the men, a lieutenant, cried out.

Like a wind pressing through the tall grass of the open plains, the guardians of the northern pass bent and then dropped to their knees with their heads bowed low, pressing them firmly to the ground.

Josy eased out further, allowing Terista to join her, but held her hand up to stop the Aredanz men. Then she turned to face the southerners.

"Arise, mighty warriors of the Wolfpack! You need never bow to me!"

Goshune had been standing a hundred kez away...just inside the main tunnel's entrance...conversing casually with one of his captains, but when he saw the obvious wave of dropping bodies as his men knelt in unison, his eyes jerked over to the narrow avenue that led to the forbidden lands of the north. Then, when he saw what divine creature standing there, his heart leapt with a cheerful surge of excitement and he rushed forward immediately to greet her.

At the moment she saw his familiar face, she truly relaxed and smiled grandly at him.

He grinned wildly and then immediately began to apologize for his men threatening her and her friend.

"Godde...I mean, Josy...(remembering that she preferred him to use her less formal name) we have been growing increasingly worried that something might have happened to you and Ronin. We were considering going north to find you."

Then his eyes spied the bundle strapped to her, the one with her arms protectively cradling it.

"Ah," he sighed heavily, still smiling grandly as he stared at the squirming little person struggling to peer out of his cocoon. "I see that something has indeed happened!"

Josy looked down and grinned all the more, her heart filled with pride and joy.

She then stepped aside and motioned with her hand to the child that Terista bore.

"Two somethings, actually," she told him happily.

"Oh, well then...the Creator has blessed us all, Goddess," Goshune told her, bowing deeply. Then he glanced about, seeing three male faces peering back at him from the tight confines of the northern cleft. He recognized none of them.

"And Lord Ronin? He is not with you?"

Josy's face swiftly morphed from openly cheery to an obviously subdued smile. The light in her eyes faded instantly to a hollow, mournful gaze.

"No," she replied solemnly, taking a bit tighter hold on her bundle. "No, I'm afraid he is no longer with us."

"Oh," Goshune replied...his own face turning stern. "Forgive me, Godd...Josy. I did not mean to stir..."

Josy just waved him off and smiled again.

"Fear not, Goshune. I am just sorry he couldn't be here to make the trip. He truly wanted to...I know he did. He's always been so curious about the lands south of here. I think he badly wanted to explore them with you and your people."

"It would have been my greatest honor."

"Now," Josy said, trying to press past the gloom that always came over her when she spoke of Ron, "I have a request of you and your troops."

His eyes flashed to the men behind her again...the ones yet to fully reveal themselves...and then back to her heavenly gaze.

"I need you to allow my friends to accompany us to your gathering. Would that be possible?"

Goshune hesitated. His entire being wanted to immediately deny passage to every outsider...yet he was ordered to escort Goddess Olina to his leaders. In fact, he had been given ultimate authority to do whatever was needed to assure that happened. However, he had expected it to be just Ronin and her.

"How many 'friends' are you talking about?"

Josy's expression changed again...this time to a pleading, pouting guise. "Two hundred," she admitted sheepishly.

Goshune was dumbstruck. While he knew that fully a thousand of the tribesmen's finest soldiers awaited them on the other side of the long tunnel...and many more times that at the gathering...his own band was less than fifty.

"I...that is...we...would inquire as to just who these men are?"

Josy pivoted to regard Terista, urging her forward to stand next to her.

"This is Terista, Captain of the Hellcats, an elite branch of fighters from the Rokore Clan of the Aredanz Mountain Folk. She is the commander of this group of warriors who represent each of the five clans."

Goshune regarded her openly, as one warrior to another. She was as tall as he, with strong, bare legs, and wide, rolling shoulders. She was just a woman...a lessor creature on his side of the mountains...yet he felt he should not dismiss her outright, simply for that fact alone. His spy had reported that soldiers in the north sometimes employed women...and that they were more than competent, and extremely fierce.

"The Rokore Clan, you say?" he asked. "One of the five clans of the Aredanz Mountain Folk?" He had obviously heard of them as well, so intertwined with Ronin's tales were they. "My shaman has spoken of that particular name. The legends say that Ronin himself founded those groups when he went north from our side of the Great Barrier, more than three hundred generations ago."

"That is the story," Terista confirmed. "And I should know. I am the Keeper for our clan."

Goshune's eyes opened wide at that.

"Truly?"

She nodded, gently rocking the child in her arms as they spoke. He too was looking about with open wonder.

"Of course," she added, "that person was obviously a descendant, or someone of indomitable stature, abilities, and fortitude who merely assumed the role of Ronin at the time."

Goshune then gazed at her as if wondering if she were merely toying with him.

"If you are the Keeper, then you must know the nature of Ronin. That he can be killed, but he cannot..."

"Die?" she finished. "Yes, of course. It is a metaphor to explain that his memory can never die as long as those who come after him take up his credo and keep it alive."

Goshune had heard such things before, yet he did not agree.

"No, Terista," he said easily, meaning no insult. "That part of the legend is true. If a warrior great enough to defeat him were ever to be born...or a beast fierce enough...then the great Ronin could be killed. Otherwise, he lives on. And since no such person or creature has ever lived on Erthania, he is...I apologize, Goddess... _was_ still among us. I suppose his day must have finally come, which deeply saddens my heart. Anyway...that is what I know!"

Terista had heard such devout believers before, and so she did not disregard his viewpoint openly. Instead, she just inclined her head out of respect, and said nothing. It would be up to Ronin's wife to illuminate the southern general as to what had actually occurred with Ron.

Goshune accepted that as a show of mutual esteem, so he returned his attention to Josy.

Josy took it upon herself to add to the conversation.

"Well, just to be fair, he was never defeated in combat here either. He vanished, after defeating a great and terrible foe, out in the heavens."

Goshune stared open-mouthed at her. "Truly?"

Josy nodded with watery eyes.

"Vanished, you say...not killed?"

Josy couldn't deny his picking up on that little tidbit.

"No...but he was taken by the Creator just the same...and is just as gone."

"I am so sorry, Josy. That is truly hurtful, and greatly disappointing news. And I'm certain that the sickening ache in my stomach at his loss is no doubt absolutely nothing compared to what you have had to face. And toward that, please accept my most heartfelt condolences. But we are all here at the Creator's whim...and must bend to his will when it suits him. That is one of the sayings from Ronin himself."

Josy smiled at his unwavering devotion to a man he never really knew, and barely met. However, she returned the topic to the present.

"At any rate, Goshune, commander of the Wolfpack and guardian of the northern gate, what about my request? Could you find it in your duties, and in your heart, to allow my escort?"

He gazed at her for several litas, and she could see that he was thinking hard.

"I would much prefer that you come alone, Josy," he said.

"That is not possible," Terista said flatly, her inclination to acquiesce was instantly and completely gone.

"It would be much easier for all concerned, Goddess," Goshune continued, his eyes flicking to Terista and back. "The way through the mountain is long and we have limited provisions."

"We have planned for this trip, commander, and carry all that we need to make it through the long dark," Terista interjected. "And we have sworn to give our lives to the safety of Ronin's wife and children. She will _not_ go without us."

Josy saw the rapidly escalating tension building to a head, so she jumped in.

"Goshune, are you aware that your people have a book that is said to tell the tale of Ronin's life?"

That did the trick. His focus shifted instantly.

"How do you know of this?" he asked. "It is the most carefully guarded possession in all the tribes. It has even been the focus of wars, to ensure that only the bravest, most fearsome, and most devoted tribesmen be the ones who watch over it!"

"I know about it simply because it is not the only one."

Goshune was visibly stunned. His expression became void of all outward indicators.

"Terista here, has brought the other to me, just a santari ago...your book's predecessor."

Goshune still had a mask of shock across his face. The men closest to them also seemed to be frozen in place, bewildered.

"But," he finally said, "how can this be?"

"To your knowledge, how many times was your book transferred in the past...from one tribe to another?" Josy asked.

"Six," he replied.

"Over how many cycles...er, years?"

"Roughly eight hundred."

"And during those periods when the book was not in your tribe's possession, do you think it possible that the knowledge of a second book might have been lost...or intentionally omitted?"

That got Goshune thinking even harder.

"I...I suppose...that might be true. A great deal of secrecy surrounds it, and since no one can read it, the only real focus is involved with keeping it safe, for when the Goddess...that is; you...arrive. It has been kept and passed down through the ages as our gift to her from her great love. So, aside from the stories our keepers share, very little is really known about what is inside."

"And possibly," Terista added quickly, "part of that secret was put in place to keep anyone from venturing through the passage to the north, in search of the second volume?"

Josy stayed silent for a few moments, letting him digest that thought.

His eyes finally grew markedly focused again after a bit.

"Would it be possible for me to see it?"

Josy smiled. She had attained the exact leverage she needed.

"Not only will you be allowed to see it," she announced loudly, so many of his fellow soldiers might hear better, "I will read it to you all! If...you will accommodate Terista and her men. You see...they are really 'your' northern guard, for they have kept watch over it for the past six-hundred years...since Ronin left your side of the barrier."

That single statement went a long way toward easing any rifts that might have been developing between the two warrior groups.

Goshune nearly fell over himself in his wish to be gracious.

"Yes-yes-yes...of course, Goddess! Yes, of course! Bring them through! Come! Come!"

He then waved his own men back, and as they drifted slowly out of the way, the small Aredanz army filtered into the sacred valley.

It took several borts to get them all out into the open, and the air began to feel tense again as the number of Hellcats quickly eclipsed that of the Wolfpack, but when the book was placed in Goshune's hands, every one of the southern army forgot all about them.

Goshune was trembling as he reached over and opened the large book...and when he did, he gasped.

"It is true!" he cried to his men. "It is real!" He had seen the one kept in a place of ultimate honor in the elders' assembly tent.

His men let out a powerful cheer at that announcement.

### Chapter Thirty-nine

### The Long Dark

They decided to stay in the valley for the following three days. That gave Josy a break from the long march, and the Rokore clansmen the opportunity to explore and hunt. Josy brushed up on the plainsmen's dialect with that emersion period, but still needed Goshune's help translating the story from time to time. She read as often as she could while still caring for her babies, and the members of the Wolfpack were overwhelmed with gratitude to be the first of their people to hear the incredible story.

Goshune apologized to her again, for delaying her trip, for questioning her decision to bring the foreign soldiers, and for the fact that she would have to begin again when they reached the great gathering in his homeland.

"It is no bother, Goshune," she told him. "I am happy to do it."

It took another two weeks to reach the southern opening of the long, narrow, twisting passageway through the mountains, and on many occasions, Josy couldn't imagine how anyone had ever navigated it on their own.

"Whoever it was," she concluded, "They must truly have been an heir of Ron's, for who else might have the will power, the tenacity, and the sheer stubbornness to accomplish such a complex, tedious, and dangerous task?"

Along the way, some of the Wolfpack shared a few of their favorite stories about Ronin's fantastic feats of accomplishments. They spanned some four hundred years of the plainsmen's history.

The first was the time when Ronin initially contacted the wild plainsmen of the prairie lands.

One of the more seasoned warriors of the Wolfpack stood up to retell the legend while they were resting before bed one night in one of the larger rooms of the caverns. They were deep inside the mountain on the second day of the trek.

Josy was provided many sleeping furs from the ecstatic men, trying to give her the comfort they felt she deserved, even in the sparse confines of the tunnels. She set her boys beside her and reclined against the wall to listen.

"It is said that after many years of living in the stone structures of the city-dwellers, Ronin grew tired of their petty, pathetic lives, and so he simply turned his back on them and walked out into the grasslands. It was far to the west, at the very foothills of the Basainta Mountains...the most western end of the grassy plains.

"He feared nothing...not the lions, nor the leopards, nor the wild, horned beasts that roam the prairie. He didn't have fear of the plainsmen either, who even then were ferocious, wild men that drew terror and dread from all their enemies. He was free, and he would go where he wished.

"Seven days into this untamed wilderness, Ronin marched, until he came across a band of horsemen on a hunting party. They were of the Akyla Tribe; a fierce and aggressive clan who viewed all outsiders as mortal enemies. As soon as they saw him, they turned their mounts and charged his way.

"Twenty men..."

"I heard it was fifty!" cried another soldier of the Wolfpack.

The storyteller made a rude hand-signal at the fellow and continued.

"Twenty mounted men came thundering down the hill at his solitary figure, breaking into a circling band at the last, their ponies surrounding him in two counter-rotating groups.

"Ronin just stood his ground...his demeanor unwavering...calm.

"The horsemen felt so superior that they merely laughed and toyed with him...first, throwing knives at him, in the attempt to score points of accuracy."

"It's a game we horsemen play called; pendahar. The goal is to call out the location on the victim's body, and then strike there. The first to make a toss went for Ronin's right shoulder.

"Ronin simply twisted and let it pass, yet his own response put that rider on the ground, for Ronin's knife struck precisely where the rider's was supposed to.

"Four more men attempted a similar attack, and all of them received the same counterattack.

"Ronin still stood there, unruffled...calm.

"Next, the men grew irritated and decided to end the game. They fired many arrows at him, yet none struck its target. In movements too fast to comprehend, somehow, he batted each aside with a blade so dark it appeared to be a sliver of night cutting through the light of day.

"Frustration grew in the circling riders, but before they did anything else, Ronin spoke.

"'I would like to meet with your leader, or your elders,' he told them in their own language.

"The riders laughed. And then one of them made the mistake of pulling a spear from his saddle-sheath and hurling it at Ronin...from the back.

"Ronin was watching the men in front of him, and he saw their eyes flick to the fellow making the throw. It was as if he'd read their minds. He spun about and caught the speeding missile in mid-air. The men again were astounded by his abilities...but then he was armed with a long, hard, metal-tipped shaft of wood!

"Ronin broke into motion in a blink of time, attacking his would-be tormentors with their own weapon. The first man took the spear tip through the calf. The second caught the shaft of it across his stomach, clearing him from his saddle. The third felt his shin shatter when the dull end of that device slammed into it. The screaming and the violent, recoiling actions against their reins fouled several riders, and in just half a bort, two-thirds of the horsemen were on the ground.

Ronin struck two more of the horses on the back haunches with the spear shaft, causing them to rear up and fling their riders to the grass.

"On and on he went, destroying those men as they fought him, fought to regain their mounts, and finally...fought to get away.

"Ronin left the men where they'd fallen. Some were in great pain, but most were unconscious. He then tied ropes to each of the horses and rode off on the lead pony, following the tracks that the warriors had left.

"Half a day at a slow walking pace, Ronin crested a hill and saw the Akyla gers spread out along a river. Two scouts rode fast to meet him, but when they saw the horses he had tethered in a long string, they pulled up short, some twenty kez from him. They were deeply surprised because they understood exactly who those beasts belonged to and couldn't fathom why this stranger was riding one and leading the rest.

"'I would like to speak to your leader, or your elders,'" Ronin told them. He showed no fear. He was totally calm...as if he were just visiting old friends.

"'Where are the men that were riding these horses,'" one asked.

"Ronin just tossed his thumb back over his shoulder.

"'Follow the tracks. They're back about fifteen hoz.'"

"The sheer audacity of his approach kept the scouts from accosting...or should I say...trying to accost him.

"They were so confounded that they led him straight into the village where he met with the chief; Wagasanis Compenei...a legend of our peoples in his own right, for he had the wisdom to see Ronin for what he was...a new beginning...an inspiration."

The soldier then sat down again.

"That's it?" Josy inquired, confused that they had accepted him that easily. "He just...joined the tribe?"

The fellow laughed and glanced around. Everyone there already knew the story, of course, so they chuckled as well.

"Well no, Goddess. They put him through every test of manhood we've ever heard of...bravery, marksmanship, strength, tracking, hunting, fighting, and swordsmanship."

"And I suppose he passed?" she pressed.

The men all laughed heartily at that.

"He's Ronin!" five of them said in perfect unison.

Josy had to snicker at that too. "It _was_ a silly question, I guess," she agreed.

"What about the water-wars?" another man said.

They told her about the brutal campaign of one tribal leader; Mainchun Hardaway. He had under his command a vastly superior force than the clan Ronin was living with at that time; the Banchiu. Mainchun used his army to forcibly take over a huge section of the central prairie during one of the worst droughts in their history.

Ronin took eighty-two men and waged a guerilla campaign against a force of three thousand, and did so much damage that within a santari, the larger group...the Meerchini...had vacated sixty hoz to the east, leaving the smaller tribe alone.

Every night that Josylinia would read to the men, they would be so exhilarated that afterward they would again share one of their own favorite stories of Ronin's prowess.

"Tell the one about Ronin riding the ceatary, Trovis!" called out one of the younger members of the Wolfpack.

Trovis stood up eagerly. He was a tall man, wide in the shoulders and thickly muscled. His head was shaved close on the sides with a single, narrow mane of hair falling to his mid-back, tied in a braid. He was also reputed to be the finest bowman of the group.

"It was during the long and infamous campaign against the Moresji."

Every member of the Wolfpack let out a quick grunt of distaste at hearing that name.

"To the plainsmen, Goddess," Trovis explained, "they are the only people we ever feared. They lived in a country at the eastern border of the great prairie. They were vicious men, with impressive weapons, excellent armor, sound military skills, and a seemingly endless supply of soldiers and horses. They invaded and raided the peoples of the plains many times, back in the long-ago days...the days before Ronin Alsone. Just as the southern cities once feared our incursions into their lands, we feared the Moresji. In fact, three entire tribes...large ones with many fine warriors...were completely slaughtered by them just to show their strength...to make the rest of the clans afraid of further conflict. The Moresji incorporated four hundred hoz of our grazing lands into their realm, just so they might expand their own herds of horses.

"Once the 'Great One' did join our tribesmen, however, things took a turn."

The grim warriors all let out a small huff of breath with a wry smirk upon each of their mouths.

"The Moresji constantly sent out scouting parties to keep track of the tribes' movements, to better plan whatever raids they saw fit to attempt. They felt confident in those bygone days that the nomads had been tamed. However, what they did not know was that Ronin was part of the Seonar Tribe at the time, and they were grazing in the area. He did not accept the rights of the interlopers. His view was that the prairies were a gift from the creator to the plainsmen!

"Encroaching troops immediately began disappearing. Not just one or two, mind you. No...that would not do. Not a single Moresji spy ever returned to their lands, and hundreds of horses came up missing. Their leaders saw that as intolerable, as you might imagine, so they began a new campaign entirely. Instead of scouts, they dispatched large detachments of mounted troops...two hundred, then five hundred...even an entire legion. It made no difference.

"After nearly a year of small skirmishes...a year that saw all intruding forces utterly obliterated by the plainsmen...a new tactic arose. They decided to flood the prairie with their scouts. Hundreds of them were dispatched from a swath of ground more than two hundred hoz in breadth.

"Their plan was simple, yet extremely dangerous for those men; find out what was the cause of their losses. And to give them due credit, the scope of it was so grand that it actually worked. Some of those individuals made it into and out of the grasslands, and at least one identified Ronin as the culprit of their misfortunes, along with the general area where he could be found.

"Once that was established, a huge army rode into the southeastern prairie and attacked the much smaller tribe of the Benatti, who were only fifty hoz from the Seonar gers. Ronin got word of that army and reacted. With only a small band of four hundred warriors at the time, he sent a messenger to carry word to their chief about what was happening, and then set off after the army. That night they wreaked havoc on the Moresji force of two thousand and scattered their horses, but their leaders were ready for that and a much larger army was positioned to spring their trap. At daybreak, Ronin's men were heading back to rejoin the tribe. They were weary from battle, their mounts plodding along slowly, and so were not wary or prepared as they normally would have been. In moments they found themselves half surrounded by fresh, angry Moresji. They were quickly overwhelmed and fell to an army of over five thousand. Ronin and a small clutch of his men hacked their way through the attackers and broke north, running their ponies as hard as they could go. They all knew there was no escape in that direction, but they also knew it would draw the enemy further away from their families, giving their chief more time to make ready for a counter attack.

"Well, less than four hoz away, they reached the Kilpeshath Gorge...a rip in the grassland five hundred feet deep and two hoz across. That is where the Moresji caught up with Ronin and his three surviving men.

"Ronin sent his men over the cliff down ropes, hoping they could somehow make their way to the bottom, but the ropes, even all tied together would only make it half way.

"As the enemy closed, the 'Great One' stood alone against the Moresji. He was at the very edge of the drop...blades bared in the morning sun...when he let out his fearsome call to battle, challenging the four thousand mounted men who now surrounded him to step forward, if they dared.

"At that moment, however, Ronin heard his men call up to him that they'd made it to a shelf of rock and he could follow. (They knew naught of what he was currently facing, you see.) The rope was at his feet, secured around a shard of stone they'd used as an anchor. He merely bent and yanked it free, letting it fall to his fellows below, so that they might have a better chance at escape.

"When he did that though, he caught movement some twenty kez to the east, and twenty feet below the lip of the gorge. A great ceatary had been roosting there and had been awakened by his fearsome call. It was just then stretching and looking about...its head swinging left to right.

"Ronin broke into a run so fast that the Moresji fighters hesitated, not understanding what he was doing. They assumed he'd gone mad and was leaping from the cliff to avoid them. They even laughed at his cowardice...for a brief moment.

"Their laughter died away instantly when they saw the giant bird...its wings spread wider than five horses put end to end...soar away with Ronin on its back. He guided the majesty creature down into the canyon and landed the huge avian at the gathering point of twenty tribes, slid off the winged beast, gave it thanks, and then strolled calmly right into the meeting. The clansmen were so astonished that they instantly rallied their total of eight thousand warriors to Ronin's command and destroyed the smaller Moresji army, chasing a mere few dozen survivors back across their own borders.

"After that, the Moresji gave up trying to hunt down Ronin. He was seen as divine...a wizard...the devil...or some other invincible villain of their people. They still fought, but as word spread about just who it was they were pitted against, their efforts became less than dedicated. After another two years, that four hundred hoz section of ground was back under tribal control."

Josy was absolutely amazed. "He actually _rode_ a ceatary? That's true?"

"As I live and breathe, Goddess."

Josy just sat there stunned, trying to wrap her head around that.

Two nights later...again, after she'd read from the sacred book...a new man offered her entertainment. His name was Hartore. Josy had noticed that the innermost group of warriors around her each night were different members of the Wolfpack, apparently taking turns being close to her...close to the person they saw as their deity.

Hartore was a sturdy looking fellow with a broad, rounded chest and thick arms. He had a full head of long, raven hair that flowed freely down his shoulders and back, and wore some kind of bird's claw in each of his earlobes. He was bristling with energy...obviously quite excited to tell his story.

It was one of the many tales that had occurred during a period sometime before Ronin had even joined the plainsmen. The storyteller stood before Josy in the flickering torchlight and began his narrative.

"He was living in the high mountains, in a land far to the east of the kingdom called Leaness, in a remote area that encompassed three long valleys of rich farmland. There were nearly five hundred families spread across sixty hoz of valley floor, and they lived in peace and harmony, growing everything they needed and bartering with the outside world for certain things they had no resources to make for themselves.

"Their lives were hard, as was the work, but they were content, and war was the farthest thing from their minds...until...

"A self-proclaimed king from an area nearby the valleys decided that those people and their bountiful lands would suit his needs well and decided to take them. He sent a force of one hundred armored soldiers to notify the farmers that they now served him...and that all their produce would be doled out as he saw fit. In one fell swoop, they had affectively been turned into his slaves.

"The location of the fertile farmlands however, could only be reached by way of a narrow pass along a fast-flowing river. That river was the combined runoff of all of the three valleys' rivers, each having its own natural spring and snowmelt source. The pass was two hundred feet downgrade from the level the farms were at, and the waterway had cut deeply into the rocky mountainside over some thousands of years.

"Ronin was not known to the farmers at that time. He was living amongst them with his family, using a different name...Eesew. Everyone knew him as a quiet, simple farmer and hunter who'd been with them for many years and had never given trouble. He was a good worker who kept to his family and to himself, and everyone liked him...but never a weapon had any of them seen the whole time he'd been there.

"The hundred troops barged into their little haven and took what they wanted by force, dispatching anyone who stood against their might. Ronin was out in the woods, hunting, when he heard the commotion and came running.

"It is said that when one of the attacking soldiers speared a ten-year-old boy who'd swung at him with a stick...just defending his families food stores...the man everyone thought they knew reacted in a very uncharacteristic manner. He raced over to the boy who lay bleeding from a horrible gash to his stomach...one that would surely take his life. And after he watched the tiny child die right in his arms, he leaped among the soldiers and slew two dozen of them with their own weapons before the rest retreated.

"Eesew then carried the boy out to the local burial grounds and laid him to rest with his parents' looking on. Everyone had been utterly amazed by his prowess, but he had said not a single word about the ordeal.

"The next morning, the villagers watched the same man walk away downstream, in the wake of the soldiers, but he was no longer a simple, likeable farm-hand. His body was bristling with weapons...half a dozen knives, two swords, a long spear, a bow with fifty arrows, and an odd-looking black staff strapped to his back by some strange, metal harness.

"Two weeks later, the king's retaliatory army marched toward the valleys.

"Three teenage boys who were returning with their fathers from a trading excursion saw and heard the army the king had sent.

"Seven thousand men were advancing to slay them all.

"At their fathers' commands, the boys raced forward to warn the other farmers...to tell them to run away and hide.

"Emissaries were sent out to try and negotiate some kind of truce with the king's men, but they never made it to any meeting. They did however see what happened.

"There was a long, suspended bridge that spanned the narrow gorge, a hundred feet above the river, connecting two of the valleys' upper plateaus. It was the only shortcut between them, and saved a day's arduous walk. Eesew stood upon that bridge, gazing fixedly at the approaching army. When they were within range, he sent them a warning in the way of an arrow slamming down in the hard-packed dirt pathway, six inches in front of the king's point-man.

"They stopped immediately and looked up to see his lone figure, high overhead, and then he spoke.

"Go back to your king and tell him these people have nothing to offer them. They will not submit.

"Take this message and go...or stay and die!"

"How dare you defy our king!" the leader of the advancing force returned. "You have no army. We will crush you all and execute any who will not comply!"

"Then it's war you seek?" Eesew shouted back. "That suits me just fine!"

"Their archers fired at him, but he didn't even shoot back. He merely jogged to the end of the bridge and then raced along the ridge, headed east...further downstream.

"A hoz and a half along, he located a huge boulder that had been weathering for centuries. It sat precariously upon the edge of the mountainside, supported by some smaller stones, and it was at them that he attacked.

"Swinging one of the largest mallets the valley-dwellers owned, Eesew began to hammer at those base rocks. The sound carried for hoz, echoing through the narrow cleft in the mountain like thunder, until it was even heard in some of the valley farms.

"Several curious souls investigated, so the final event was seen by many.

"After half a billot of back-breaking work, the huge boulder began to shift, and on Eesew went, attacking it like a madman. When it finally let go, an enormous section of the rock face went with it. Eesew had tied himself off to a tree at the summit, and so avoided going down with his prize, but it was harrowing still, as you might imagine.

"The slide completely blocked the trail out of the gorge, eighty feet high. But also, it blocked the river as well! It was late spring and so the water was running fast. That icy fluid racing downhill suddenly had nowhere to go, so it began to back up, filling the narrow gorge very quickly.

"It took only borts before the tail end of the army of hardened soldiers turned into frightened, panicked men. They were packed into that constricted trail tightly, all wearing thick, heavy leather armor. Many of them had never even learned how to swim...and the water was cold, fresh snow melt. They all drowned, either trying to stay afloat or attempting to climb the steep, sheer cliffs.

"It's believed that some actually survived long enough for the force of the water to finally push the rock dam clear, but then they were carried away in that retreating flow.

"The loss of so many of their brave countrymen caused an uprising in the kingdom, and so the ruler was soon overthrown. The next king, having almost no army at all, decided to take a starkly different tact and never sent another force to bother the peaceful valley folk.

"Seven thousand men died at the hands of one.

" _That_ was Ronin Alsone."

Josylinia was both amazed and frightened by that tale. So many men had perished. It was horrifying. But it was also clear that the warrior...this Eesew, or Ronin...had tried to avert it. That did sound a great deal like Ron to her. And too, Eesew sounded a lot like Itsu...one of Ron's aliases. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but wonder about how much of that tale might have been embellished simply to enrich the telling of it.

That all whirled around in her mind as she drifted off to sleep that night.

Josy finished reading the book for the second time only a day before they made it out of the long tunnels, and when they could finally breathe open air again, they all rejoiced like it had been years.

It was nearly midnight when they stepped clear of the caverns, and the weather was heavy with rain, but she and her Piercellione escorts decided to sleep outside nonetheless, so they built a hasty camp. To them, a damp tent was vastly preferred over the cold, dark rock of the tunnels.

At dawn on the following day, the weather had passed and Josy found out that the Wolfpack had been busy during the night. After tending to the needs of her hungry boys, she stepped out into the dewy, chilly new day with eager anticipation of seeing an entirely new world...the near mythical land south of the great mountains.

But what she witnessed was much more than that. It was truly overwhelming.

After spending two weeks in the cramped space of the stone tunnels...and having lived all her life in hilly, tree-strewn country...the openness of the plains was nearly unfathomable.

Under a cloudless, deeply blue sky, the vastness of the green prairie seemed literally endless. It was almost too much to take in all at once...like your first trip high up in a plane and seeing the curvature of the Earth. But that wasn't all.

Spread out across the gently waving prairie grass were thousands of individual white mounds, each looking alike, yet each minutely different...and each having a thin trail of smoke emitting from them...their cooking fires, do doubt. They were the gers of the plainsmen people...and they were scattered across the rolling ground by the thousands, half encircling a large lake.

That alone would have taken her breath away, yet what virtually eclipsed that scene was the one in the foreground...the plainsmen and their families themselves. They had received the news of Josy's arrival in the night...an event that they had waited for for centuries...and had gotten up in the predawn billots to assemble out on the open land.

Facing Josy in the early billots of that burgeoning day was nearly the entire group of people that lived on the plains, from a hundred and thirty-six different tribes...more than five hundred thousand souls in all!

Josylinia was moved to tears at the sight of it...never in her wildest imagination envisioning so many people would collect together to bear witness to a single other person.

After the sheer astonishment faded, all she could gather in her thoughts was how intensely powerful Ron's presence must have been to incite such a tremendous following. It was completely mind-boggling.

She scanned the masses once, left to right, all the way across, and then her focus returned to the center. An ornately decorated group of men had been sitting there moments ago, just a hundred kez from her tent...undoubtedly prearranged dignitaries from the most powerful tribes. When she emerged, they'd firstly stared at her, as if so surprised they couldn't move, and then they all leaped to their feet...but only for a moment. Their eyes locked onto her again as if she would vanish should they look away, and then they fell to their knees with their foreheads to the grass, just as Goshune had done. The multitude behind them did the same.

The breeze suddenly disappeared, so many bodies so close together, all moving in concert, had literally stopped it cold.

"No," Josy shouted sweetly. "Please! Don't kneel. That is not necessary."

She quickly glanced about for Goshune, finding him off to her left, his body also in the submissive attitude.

"Goshune, please tell them!"

"I cannot, Goddess," he replied without moving. "They are our most highly exalted leaders. I cannot place myself in greater standing than they. You should go to them, and tell them what I taught you."

Josy was frustrated at all the worshipping demonstration, but she resigned herself to accept their beliefs for the moment and strode forward.

Terista was a few steps behind her by then, having heard the voices. She'd been gathering her weapons and gear for what she'd assumed would be a long travelling day to the 'Gathering'. She too was taken aback at the phenomenal sight. She started to follow, but Josy turned around.

"Terista, would you please stay with the boys? I would feel better if you did."

"As you wish, Josy."

The dignitaries finally lifted their heads when she'd reached a mere few strides from them.

In their language, she said; "Great leaders of the Ouvar (Plains), please rise and speak with me."

The men gladly arose then and smiled timidly back at the stunning woman.

"Would you permit Goshune to translate for me?" she asked sweetly.

"Of course, Goddess!" Pilaris Nilei, leader of the Isharie Tribe replied, beckoning Goshune forward.

She continued to speak in their language, having practiced a great deal during the trip through the tunnels, but she didn't want to say something incorrectly and cause a problem without him backing her up like a safety net.

"This is completely overwhelming, Great Leaders. I was not prepared for so warm, and so large, a welcome. You have gone to such lengths! I have no words!"

They all smiled grandly, to see that their arrangements were pleasing to their goddess.

"You are so very kind, Goddess Olina," Qarta Vool said humbly. He was the second highest ranking of the tribal leaders, therefore he had spoken second.

They exchanged introductions and pleasantries for a long while, descending down the hierarchy of the tribes, and then they bid her walk with them to the center of the immense group. At a clap of Pilaris's hands, five female porters rushed forward and were assigned to Josy's needs. They were each young and lovely, and extremely eager to assist. They quickly gathered up all of Josy's belongings as well as the babies', and stuck to her side like living shadows.

The following week was nothing short of a non-ending string of parties, luncheons, introductions, and celebrations. Josy was escorted all around the entire sprawling venue, until she had graced every tribe's center tent...the gathering point of their particular clan. It was exhausting, even for Josy who had nearly unbounded patience, and she was terribly relieved when that was over and they really began to speak to her. That took place in the massive tent they'd erected near the lake that all the tribes had assembled around.

Josy learned about the rich history of the plainsmen, from the earliest groups of herders bravely heading out into the open grassland, through the many rises and falls of power, to the time of Ronin, who did more to unify the tribes than had ever been done before. Those historical accounts were kept in two manners. The first was the spoken word, handed down by the Keepers of each of the tribes...a very high honor. The second was in a visual format of glyphs that were drawn out on Ylratch (giant buffalo) hides, and painted ornately...and were so well done that almost no help was needed to interpret them. They carried on to the time when Ronin's Piercellione loyalists arrived from their beloved mountains with the two books, and shared his incredible stories with the horsemen. They also explained their daring plan to explore the unknown lands in the north...lands that only the Great One had ever seen...and Ronin's edict that they never follow him. "Those rainforests have no place for your animals to flourish and your people to spread out," he'd told them. And the stories continued all through the centuries to the present...to the event that was now taking place...the arrival of the Goddess Olina.

They had many different skins that were covered with other drawings too, depicting each ruler and what they had been known for. Countless wars had been fought, mostly for horses or grazing rights, but many were against the intrusion of some foreign enemy on their ancestral lands. She found out that even though the city-dwellers in the south were hesitant to press north, the eastern and western lands were another matter, just as some of the storytellers had explained. They were ruled by powerful kings with massive armies that would raid across the plains for horses, women, and slaves.

Ronin had led the first truly successful reciprocal incursions into their lands, forcing them back deep into their own territories and giving them great pause toward ever returning to the plains.

Once he had convinced the plainsmen to combine forces for the good of them all, they had razed half a dozen cities to the ground. It had been a long and brutal campaign, but the plainsmen had guaranteed their own freedom and survival by doing it...and to the mighty Ronin had they given all the credit.

Ronin had even bartered with the Nevarians at one point and arranged a cooperative use of the lands near that city-fortress. In exchange for the city folk planting an extra two hoz of prairie land...separated by a hoz from their own crops, and for the sole use of the plainsmen...they could enjoy their own harvests in peace. And after a hundred years of that successful relationship, the two societies actually began formal trade.

At last they got around to the all-important books. By that time, Josy was much more comfortable with their language, so when she read it to them, she was able to do so flawlessly in their common tongue. (And the Piercellione warriors has also gained enough understanding of it so they were able to follow along it as well)

When she did read the text, they sat about so focused on her that they would often have gone on for billots without stopping. Unfortunately, Josy's little ones could not endure such periods devoid of attention, so everyone got regular breaks.

At long last, when Josy had completed the first volume once again, and many billots of discussion and speculation had made the rounds, they moved on to the second, final volume.

Now it was Josy who was nervous.

This was it. This was the last chapter of her beloved Ron...and her hands trembled badly as she opened the large manuscript.

The first thing she noticed was that this volume was substantially thinner than the previous one. Therefore, she also found fewer pages and thus she assumed she was much closer to the end. That made her anxiety spike even more.

The second was that inside the cover was a hand-written note. It was not an unfamiliar script that Josylinia saw. It was Ron's. She was absolutely certain of it.

" _My dearest Josylinia,_

" _It has been many, many cycles since we parted on that fateful morning, and much has happened in that time. I pray that you get to read this story one day, as it was compiled solely for that purpose...and I hope it is not too difficult for you, for I would never wish to cause you distress, or to bruise your tender heart. But also, I wanted you to know that even after all the years that have passed, your face is the one I still see in my dreams at night. I have missed you more than I could ever explain. I hope you are well, and that you can move forward._

" _All my heart and soul are yours, my darling,_

" _Ron_ "

She did not read that note to the tribesmen. That was for her alone.

### Chapter Forty

### The Mine at Hallerton Mirta

NOTE: This part of the story is a compilation of Father's experiences, and seven other men's descriptions...those who knew him during his long incarceration period.

" _Brace yourself, Josylinia!"_ Kala warned her.

Once Ron was shown proof that his family had indeed been taken...certain trinkets that Vessia and the girls had worn (a necklace and two bracelets)...he submitted to being placed in heavy chains.

At that time, he was certain that if they never produced further assurances that his family yet lived, he could escape any prison they could devise.

He was then marched northwest from Turtle Bend for three santaris. He had no idea where he was headed, nor what he was to face when he got there, other than misery.

The first letter from Vessia came about halfway along that trip, and it explained that she, Kala, and Ariah were indeed safe and unharmed. That was about it, unfortunately...but it was enough for him to focus on his own survival.

He was alone with the soldiers for the first santari, but then became part of a long line of denigrated men who each appeared to be walking to his death.

Ron was kept separate from all the others...guarded constantly by four men with loaded crossbows...and was not allowed to talk to anyone while on route. It mattered not to Ron. He had nothing to say.

The men in the train of jingling, dragging metal links made a sight that was shunned by all who they passed along the way.

When they went through a village or city, everyone there would turn their backs to the faces of those men and clear the streets. It was as if they were vermin, or some kind of disease that no one wanted to see. When a caravan would pass them, either going the same direction or opposite, the prisoners were forced off the road and into kneeling positions.

Ron did not fight his orders to obey. His mind was filled with worry about his family. He held his head up and his shoulders were squared, but he was a beaten man. His orders were plain; comply, or they suffer unimaginable fates. It was an easy choice. Pride was never that high on his list anyway. What did he care how these guards perceived him...or those he passed?

At last though, following the final leg...crossing easily fifty hoz of flat, barren terrain...the eventual destination loomed straight ahead.

All Ron could really see from the distance of two or three hoz was a cloud, but it wasn't a cloud made of water vapor naturally coalescing in the atmosphere. The colossal, billowing sight before him was in no way a beautiful, wondrous phenomenon that one might gaze at in humble awe of nature's creation. No, this towering white column, reaching easily five thousand kez into the air and drifting on the gentle east wind, could only be the direct result of man's influence.

He could tell the place had been in operation for many years simply by the results all around him. Downwind, the settling bits of fine dust had covered up much of the jagged features of the rugged landscape and created subtle, undulating dunes ten feet thick...and they appeared to go on for many hoz. To the north, he spotted the distinct outline of hilly country...not mountains, but definitely some sharp rise in the terrain. He guessed they were dactrais away. It mattered little, for he knew he would never see them up close.

As the caravan approached, Ron saw no sign of any fences or guard towers...nothing that would suggest a prison camp lay there. That surprised him, but he was too exhausted from the long march to truly ponder it. He had been fed little, and watered less.

"Here are your newest recruits!" the leader of the slave caravan told the two dozen men who strolled out to greet them.

From his new vantage point, the cloud didn't appear as dense as it had from the distance, and he could finally see what was causing it. Across a space before him that spanned more than a hoz, and to the sides at least twice that, was a mine...or more precisely...a quarry. He could see a tremendous hole six or seven hundred feet deep, with spiraling ramps or roadways descending all the way to the bottom. And every level along the way was filled with toiling men.

The prisoners that Ron arrived with were lined up side by side in rows of fifty...twenty rows in all...for a total of a thousand men. They stood there swaying from exhaustion and looking all around at their new home. Many wept.

One of the quarry's overseers stepped forward and spoke to the group of hapless souls.

"My name is Talvice Oon. I am head of security of this facility known to the outside world as Hallerton Mirta. We mine the finest marble in the known world. Every capital city of any real note has our product garnishing its most prestigious locations, and every citizen of substance has statues and decorations made of it in their homes.

"You men have all been sent here because of crimes you have committed or debts that you owe. You will each be branded immediately with a symbol that will identify you and your sentence to your new masters. Then you will be inspected by the task masters and sent to your designated areas. There your service will begin. For those who owe taxes or debts, you will begin to pay down those amounts at the rate of one pecta a week...for acceptable service."

Many of the men around the throng released moans of despair at that because none owed less than a thousand pecta. And with a year being a hundred weeks long, the minimum sentence was ten years.

"However," he continued. "Every week with unacceptable service adds two weeks to your sentence."

The men who were still somehow hopeful to leave that place one day dropped their eyes to the ground at that. They'd always heard that no one ever returned from Hallerton Mirta. The chip in Ron's brain translated the name to 'Hell's Gateway'.

(Josy realized that no one understood what a 'chip' was, so she just translated it a bit differently for them.)

Each row of men was ordered to follow a different individual, and they all marched over to an area nearby that had multiple fires burning. Some were for cooking...where vast bread ovens lined the ground for a hundred kez, and boiling clay vessels steamed away with some onerous smelling broth bubbling inside them...and some were for working metal.

The lines of men headed straight for the metal area. As they approached, they saw that the awaiting smithies had been divided into four stations, each with multiple irons already hot in the coals. It was obvious that they had made preparations well in advance to accommodate the new recruits arriving at the mine.

Soon the air was filled with the sounds of men screaming in pain and the stench of burning human flesh as a three-inch-tall, two-inch-wide insignia was scorched into the left shoulder of each.

When it came to Ron's turn, he took it in silence, unflinchingly, his jaws clamped down tight. His gaze was ahead, taking in the far-reaching expanse of the place. It was truly impressive.

Ten thousand men worked that quarry, and they were housed in tents that created a ring completely around the perimeter of the facility. Each tent held twenty thin straw mats arranged so closely that when the laborers slept, their shoulders touched. There was a deep latrine outside each tent...a single open hole that was ringed with urine and dried defecate.

After the branding phase, the men were separated into their groups and their chains were removed to allow different ones to be hammered onto them. Each set of shackles consisted of a rusty iron collar about the neck with a length of equally corroded chain running down their chest to a large ring. From that circle ran a pair of chains to an ankle bracelet on each leg. It was adjusted to fit each man so that he might stand erect only if he walked in short steps. To take even a moderate stride forced the individual to hunch down for enough slack...so there was absolutely no way they could run. Their hands though, remained free to work.

However, when it got around to Ron, he found out he'd been given special attention.

"Hold!" a large fellow called out to the smithy when the final rivet had been hammered onto his ankle clasps. He had been shadowing Ron from the branding stage. His name was Dorall Siege.

Ron noticed too, that the links of his vertical chain were not attached to a neck collar.

"This one is of particular interest," Dorall added. "Strike the upper chain from his set."

It took only a single blow, and the chain fell away. The fellow then looked back over his shoulder and motioned at two men, urging them to hurry.

Ron's gaze followed his.

They were carrying something between them that appeared to be of considerable weight, as they lugged it with two hands each, and were obviously straining. After they drew closer, everyone nearby saw what it was and their eyes grew wide. Ron clamped his jaws down tight again.

"Kneel!" the big man ordered Ron.

He wanted to fight badly...not out of pride, but out of pure animal instinct. He wished to remain free. It was that simple. Every neuron in his body screamed at him to refuse...to take the chains already on him and kill every one of the masters who dared bind him like a beast. But that would have one outcome of absolute certainty. Vessia and the girls would be brutally raped, then tortured in a public venue, put to death, or much, much worse.

There was no way he could find them in time to stay that order as he had no idea where they'd been taken, and he knew that whoever had orchestrated his capture was awaiting word that he had reached his destination and begun his penance. And undoubtedly that courier would be a bird, just as before, so there would be no way for him to follow it. It was a perfect plan.

Ronin's body was shaking with indignation, hate, humiliation, and rage...but with all that swirling inside his mind, he slowly sank to his knees. He did not bow his head though, and instead, glared at the men who moved forward to install the device.

It was made of bronze, was about four feet long and a foot wide...and it was a good three inches thick. By the way the men carried it, Ron guessed it weighed as much as a large man.

There was a hole in the center of the object, and when it was right next to him, the pair of men held it still, breathing heavily, while Dorall pulled a hinge pin that allowed it to separate in the middle and swing open. The group then slipped it around Ron's neck and closed it again. Afterward, the smithy brought up special tools...a heavy iron bar, a hammer, and a set. Ron had to turn his head to the side hard and lean back against the rim of the device while the smith and his apprentice hammered the ends of the hinge pin into shape. Once that was done and they stepped back, Ron felt for the pin. It was well made and didn't protrude at all, fitting flush with the heavy metal on either side.

It was a yoke.

At that point, the pair of workers finally released their hold on the thing and Ron felt the true weight rest on his shoulders. He had guessed wrong. It was immense, even for him. He figured his estimate had been off by easily a third. The single positive aspect of it was that it had at least been shaped well to fit the contours of his broad shoulders, and didn't dig into the muscles of his neck, but that was the extent of its ergonomic structure.

He struggled to his feet to get a better feel of the yoke. One thing was certain. It was clearly designed to crush him gradually over a great deal of time.

Ron was suddenly reminded of the forensic exams he'd seen done on the skeletons of peoples from ancient times on Earth...the laborers especially. The study had been about how their bodies had broken down in their brutal lives, to wear every joint and vertebrae into a collapsing state before they died painful, even agonizing deaths at a very young age.

His chest began to rumble while he examined the device further.

The entire contraption protruded beyond the width of his shoulders and had a thick, heavy hook on either side, obviously built for carrying something, and as Ron recalled the workers he'd already seen, he realized it was likely buckets. In the primitive setting of those time, that was a very common mode of transporting small amounts of materials over short distances.

He instantly rationalized that the addition of any more weight to his newly added burden would simply crush him further and faster, and it made his chest vibrate all the more. It wasn't from fear or worry either...it was simply anger. It was a hate-filled growl.

Ron did notice that there were two short rods protruding from the front of the yoke and positioned so that if he gripped them he could manipulate the balance of the contrivance to control it, so that's what he did, immediately feeling it's response to his inputs.

"Okay, then," the smithy said to him. "Hold that right there."

Ron's brow furrowed at the fellow as he watched the man retrieve a few more small items from a box beside his work station. A moment later he saw them, and at first glimpse couldn't understand what their purpose was, but when one was in place and being drawn down with two bolts, that's when his anger really turned to worry.

"Wait a bort!" Ron snapped, twisting away from the working man and stepping back. "What are you doing?"

The smithy fell back as well when that huge slab of metal swung close to him, especially since it moved so swiftly.

Ron then tried to pull his hand out of the clasp that was already snug on his right wrist. It would not slip free and so his focus swapped to the bolts that held it, his left hand quickly attacking them. At that point he was fighting on two fronts, manipulation of those crude fasteners and the shifting balance of the heavy yoke, so he staggered a bit in his struggle, his attention firmly on his newest plight.

That allowed his new masters time to get a noose on him, or actually three. The guards who'd been hovering at his sides had swapped their bows for ropes while he'd been preoccupied. When they all cinched tight, two at the side and one from behind, Ron was instantly strangled.

Those insidious tools were like the ones zookeepers use to control a wild animal they didn't wish to get too close to...a stout rope inside a long tube. And just like any beast, Ron went crazy!

Firstly, he twisted in a violent move to the right. The hook on that side snagged the tubular device running beside it. The power of that motion combined with the weight of the heavy yoke to create a momentum that threw the large, burly man to the turf hard, but the fellow held on, rolling across the stony ground in a fast tumble.

The smithy and the mine's jailers all fell back in a rush, stumbling away from their latest prisoner who'd just twirled faster than they would have thought possible, especially with such a massive burden upon him. Once out of reach, the rest of the security crew scrambled to get their crossbows up and loaded.

The other two men holding the nooses were hauled forward with Ron's initial surge, and fought desperately to regain their own balance, but it was like being attached to a full grown greel, and they felt they might be in about equal peril. With every twist and yank though, those braided cords of hemp grew tighter still, cutting off Ron's air supply, yet on he fought.

He was struggling madly by that time, his right hand still bound to the yoke and his left clamped onto the first noose weapon, but it was only a matter of time. He had no real chance of escape...and when his lack of oxygen made his vision double and his strength lapse, the three men took advantage and tugged with all their might. Down he went to the flat of his back.

His head whipped backward hard and struck the ground with enough force that his vision blurred to black and his thoughts scramble badly. By that time he was running desperately low on oxygen, gasping and kicking in blind panic. His free hand tore at the three ropes crushing his windpipe, but in the end he faded into darkness without much more of a struggle.

When he awoke some ten borts later, he coughed and gagged his way back to consciousness over a span of a couple more borts. His throat screamed and he had to fight hard to get himself under control to calm his breathing. And when he did at last regain his faculties, he found both his wrists were bolted to the yoke.

The jailers were some distance away by that time and only the smithy was left nearby, but he was ignoring Ron completely.

From his prone position, Ron immediately took stock of his new restraints. It was inconceivable that his captors would so burden him, but it was also painfully obvious that they had, so after a few extra borts of exasperated rage had coursed through him, he started to think again. That was when he began trying to figure out how he could even get to his feet with the huge weight he now had secured upon him...and it wasn't a simple problem.

He tried to sit up, but the counterweight of his muscle-bound torso and the yoke was much too heavy. He tried to twist to the side, but the extra length of the yoke's hooks dug into the turf far from his body and so his leverage was poor. Finally, Ronin kicked off with his feet hard and tumbled backward. It was a terribly awkward maneuver with the yoke attached, and it forced all his body weight...plus that of the yoke...onto his neck and head, but he managed it and ended up face down on his knees. Dust and debris swirled into his already struggling airway and left him gagging once more.

When his coughing and wheezing attack wore off though, Ron hefted the massive yoke up to an erect kneeling position and then he stood once more. He took the next short bit of time to adjust to the metal device and find his balance.

One of the jailers saw that he was awake again and nudged Dorall, who turned and casually strolled back.

Hoarse and strained, Ron asked him a question.

"How am I supposed to live like this?"

The man sneered back at him.

"I don't know...and I don't care. This was my order for you, and so you'll just have to figure it out."

"I won't even be able to get my pants off, or wipe my own ass!" Ronin pressed. "This is insane!"

The jailer raised his eyebrows at that, in total agreement.

"I see your point."

Then he pulled out a short knife and cut the clothing from Ron's body, leaving him totally naked.

"There," he chuckled, "problem solved!"

Ronin glared back at the man with hatred in his eyes.

The jailer stopped his attempt at mirth and gulped. He'd seen how easily Ron had thrown his friend to the ground even at the end of that choking noose, and he suddenly didn't want to be near him anymore. He stepped back quickly and pointed to the east.

"Go to that station and they'll put you to work."

"Water!" Ronin demanded.

"What?" the man asked, his face screwed up in disbelief.

"If you want me to work, I need some water."

"Screw you, shit-bag! I'm..."

"You're here to make sure I suffer for a very long time, at the order of a man of vast importance...right? If I'm going to last any time at all, I'll have to have some dragen water!"

Ron saw the wheels turning in the man's head. The smithy working ten feet away tried to ignore the exchange, but Ron saw his mouth tweak into a quick smirk when the guard scooped a bowl into his water barrel and set it down on the workbench.

"There's your water, piss-hole! Drink up and get moving!"

Then he stormed off to a different area.

Ron couldn't use his hands of course, since they were locked some eighteen inches apart and a full six inches from his mouth, so he simply sank to his knees again and lowered his face into the bowl, sucking up the badly needed fluid as best he could. When it was nearly drained, he grabbed the edge of the container with his teeth and lifted it, guzzling down every last drop. Then he dropped the bowl back where it had been and walked off.

The area he'd been sent to was where some of the larger blocks...ones previously quarried from the hillside...were being sawn into uniform shapes of varied size. That was necessary for inspection and dedication. The inspection confirmed the quality of the stone...how many cracks, hollow pockets, or other defects existed along its length. That was how it was thereby dedicated to the various markets, and on to needy buyers.

The saws were widely varied in size, from six feet in length to ones that were enormous, standing over ten feet high and bridging thirty feet. The small ones were operated by men on either end of a rigid blade pushing and pulling it through the rock. The larger ones were driven by a gigantic wheel that took twenty men to operate. That rotating drum powered a massive piston attached to the cutting blade, so that as the wheel turned, the saw moved back and forth over the virgin block. Roughhewn boulders were thereby converted into usable, marketable merchandise.

As Ron approached, he saw a line of a hundred filthy men moving slowly away from, and toward, both ends of the sawing area. They each wore a wooden yoke across their shoulders and buckets hung from them on ropes that left about six inches of clearance above the ground.

Water constantly poured over the milling stones as the saws ate into them and that water was collected, along with the grit removed in the sawing process. The slurry gathered in a sluice and dumped out at the ends, where pairs of other hapless souls stood at the ready to shovel the thick mixture into the buckets. Since his own yoke was fitted with hooks too, that bucket brigade was where Ron assumed he was headed.

Ron saw the line end at what appeared to be a crevasse in the ground a half hoz away.

As he gazed along that extended procession, the men all held the same sign of hopelessness upon their faces. They were all hunch-backed from the endless ordeal, and their skin was like leather from constant exposure to the elements. Some were fully clothed, but most wore only filthy rags about their hips, and all were barefoot.

For the first time in his life, Ron felt utter despair.

"How could I have ended up here?" his shattered mind kept asking.

One of the overseers glanced up at his approach and stared at him with a look of complete disgust upon his countenance. He scanned Ron's naked figure, noted the clasps at his wrists, and then gave the bronze yoke a slap of his hand before shaking it, gauging its weight.

"Holy Mother of..." he blasted at Ron. "What in the Guardian's name am I going to do with you? How the dragen shart are you going to help me with that cursed block around your neck? Shart! You can't even wipe your own ass!"

Ron just stared back at him, offering no solutions to his query.

The man finally shooed him away with his hand. "Get in line, you worthless dragen whore!"

Ron felt nothing concerning the insults, and merely stepped over to the next position.

When he got to the sluice, a trio of workers that were staring at his approach in a tight huddle quickly broke up. One of the men there hurried over and retrieved two five-gallon wooden buckets and slung them onto Ron's yoke. He'd taken them from a large stack of buckets that sat off to the side. Apparently that was where they were kept at the end of each day when all the work was done.

"Stand here," the man instructed, fully aware that Ron was a newcomer simply by his outward appearance. A naked man wearing a huge bronze yoke wasn't something likely to go unnoticed for long in that particular environment. And too, he wasn't completely coated with marble dust. "Set the buckets on these pads," the fellow continued.

Ron did as instructed and the two men opened a foot-wide gate on each side before scraping a plug of the thick slurry into each of the buckets. It was a quick, efficient process that took barely five litas, and then Ron hefted the load and moved away.

It was heavy, which he knew even before he moved the buckets because he estimated each bucket weighed about ten pounds empty, as they were thick, sturdy units. If each was filled with water, they would weigh another forty-plus pounds. However, he guessed that since water was only about twenty percent of the concoction...the other eighty percent being marble rock dust...then each bucket probably weighed in at somewhere closer to eighty-five pounds.

The overseer watched Ron stroll away and his eyes widened. Then he nudged his partner and pointed at Ron's retreating form.

"Hey, Wallt. I bet you that fella doesn't last a billot before he's face down in the dirt," he said, snickering.

Wallt stared for a few moments at Ron's back. He saw no sign of undue stress in his stride, but he also knew he was looking at a fresh, new man. Still...

"I don't know, Farstir. I was there when that dragen yoke was delivered and I heard what the guy said about who it was made for. He's supposed to be some kind of extraordinary prisoner. They said he killed a hundred men in one battle and could snap a man's neck with one hand. That's why he's been put in that dragen metal yoke. They say he fights like a wild animal, and is strong as a gistoar." (A gistoar is an Erthanian buffalo larger than a full grown Caronian bartcha)

"That guy?" Farstir asked, his thumb pointing back at Ron. "He don't look like all that."

"Yeah," Wallt said, "I know what you mean. He ain't that big. But just the same, I'd leave him be for a while, just to be safe."

Six billots later, Ron's shoulders were stained with blood from the yoke wearing blisters on his skin that had quickly burst and dug deeper into his flesh. That raw surface, of course, gave way to even worse chafing from the grit that found its way into the wet, bloody space. That misery was compounded by the searing pain that his back felt from the day's exertions, not to mention his feet which were also worn into bloody pads of pain-racked torture. It took everything he had to keep moving.

As the sun pressed down upon the western horizon, he picked up his last load for the day and headed off.

The unloading station was a simple contraption mounted to a cantilever platform that was built out over the edge of the abyss. The mechanism caught the heavy buckets securely, and at a press of the worker's foot, pivoted over and dumped them into the crevasse.

Ron had plenty of opportunities to gaze down into that deep tear in the ground, and gauged it to be at least six hundred feet deep, a hundred kez long, and sixty feet wide. He briefly wondered about what had made it, but it was obvious. The plateau where the mine was located ended a hoz further on, and the rift was clearly an extension of that encroaching, crumbling cliff face.

Several times he considered how easy it would be to end his suffering. Just a step into that void would do it, quick and easy. But he'd been warned. If he died...for any reason...so would his family.

At least there was a water station along the route back that was operated similarly to the dump stop. Ron just had to step up to it and press the foot pedal, and water would spew out from a shallow trough at a height he could catch in his mouth.

As darkness approached, a series of horns blared across the open pit of the mine and called the day to an end. Each of the yoke-bearers was allowed to deposit their buckets and yokes at the worksites...all, that is, except Ron. The buckets were taken, but that was where his relief ended.

### Chapter Forty-one

### Acclimation

Once freed to roam as he wished, Ron stood still and panned the area, watching the experienced men move about, looking for the rhythm that all places inevitably develop. Almost to a man, they went straight to the latrines and then headed toward the mess area. Ron copied them. As you might imagine, the latrines were horrid, stinking pits in the ground...but Ron merely did what he needed to and headed off, following the others.

The food center was at least a good distance away.

Although the smells escaping from that place didn't exactly excite men's palates, it was nevertheless quickly filling up with prisoners as they all filed into lines for their evening meal. That's when Ron really became concerned. With his hands locked in place as they were, he could carry neither a plate, nor a bowl, nor a cup to drink from.

The food turned out to be some kind of thick, unrecognizable gruel spooned into a bowl, paired with a large piece of stale, course bread. Ron watched those ahead of him and tried to figure a way around the problem. When his time came, he had devised a plan.

The cook's helper filled a bowl and held it out, his eyes glancing at Ron's unique restraints. He didn't know what to do. However, the upper surface of the yoke was flat and wide beside Ron's head.

"Just place it on either side here," Ron explained, his eyes and head indicating the two positions. He then bent his knees into a squat low enough to give access to the man's reach. That simple act was excruciating to his tortured figure, but it had to be done. From there, he walked off behind the worker ahead of him.

There were no tables offered to the prisoners, so they all sat about on the ground. That, unfortunately, wouldn't work for Ron so he headed over to a spot where a large boulder had been dumped. He dropped to his knees and tilted his yoke until the food slid onto the roughly flat surface of the rock. Then he shoved his face into the bowl and gobbled the meal down.

It was a horrible, slimy, mushy compound of some sort that resembled nothing he'd ever tasted, and it had some lumps in it that he didn't even want to guess at, but he gulped it down nonetheless, alternating it with large bites of the flat, cold, hard bread they'd all been given. The bread and the gruel were both sprinkled with a healthy layer of dust from the mine too. It was inevitable, he gathered.

Water was supplied with the meal, but since there was no way for him to carry a cup without spilling it, he merely drank from a nearby stone trough...the same one used by the animals. It was ten feet long, about two wide, and was a foot and a half deep. The upper lip stood some three feet off the ground by means of a stout assembly of wooden supports that placed it at the perfect height to accommodate the beasts of burden that were utilized in the quarry.

While he was drinking...and his nude body was hunched over the edge of the stone basin...a group of five men approached him from behind. They were guards. Each worked a different section of the overall mining complex, but they often swapped areas to keep the boredom from getting too annoying, so they all knew each other. Ron had seen them bunched together at a table eyeing him and laughing while he'd eaten, and he guessed they'd be making some kind of introduction sooner or later.

He let them draw near without reacting, following their movements with his ears. His back was screaming from the long afternoon's labors and leaning on the trough gave him a much needed respite. When they were right up next to him however, he stopped sipping the water and spoke.

"Whatever you're thinking," he said in a calm, deep voice, still facing away from the men, "I caution you to reconsider it. I'm tired, sore, and irritable, and I just want to rest. I don't want any trouble."

A quick round of chuckles swept through the group at that, and then one of them slipped right up behind Ron and put his hands on Ron's hips.

"There's not going to be any trouble, Sweet-meat. You just need to..."

Ron had his entire body's weight leaning over-center on the four-inch-thick edge of the trough, to counter a particular move he'd already thought out.

(As they were approaching, he'd pretty much surmised just how those guards' announcement of their superiority was going to go.)

Both his heels, encircled by thick steel shackles, suddenly shot straight up before the man could finish his statement.

Ron's ankles struck the man squarely in the groin with enough force to lift him a foot off the ground before returning to their previous positions. The fellow huffed out a high-pitched chirp of pain, and then landed with no air left in his lungs. He immediately wilted to the dirt in profound and absolute distress, his hands now cradling his soiled privets.

The remaining four men gasped at the blow, but they had expected some kind of resistance, so two of them quickly lunged forward and grabbed Ron's legs, lifting hard enough to force his head down into the trough.

"You dragen shart-hole!" one growled as the heavy bronze yoke disappeared under the water's surface.

They had their victim in the perfect position...one of complete control...or so they thought.

They had no idea who they'd just attacked however...but quickly found out.

Ron had expected that precise reaction as well and so he'd prepared for it too...so much so, in fact, that he even positioned himself to invite that preferred retaliation after closely examining the trough and how it was built. He just needed them to take the bait so he could carry out his plan.

When the yoke went up to his shoulders into the basin, it struck the converging planes of each side, stopping instantly...and luckily before his head could slam into the bottom of the shallow tank. When that happened, Ron used the coiled power of his mid-section and snapped his torso as hard as he could, like he was completing an aggressive forward roll.

The men who held tightly to his legs were expecting the opposite reaction of course, so they were braced in the exact wrong way. Therefore, when Ron surged away from them instead of toward them, they were catapulted up and over the two-foot-wide trough and tossed another ten feet where they landed roughly on the hard-packed turf. And, since they had such a firm hold on Ron's legs, their own momentum gave him the needed assistance to pivot right out of the water basin and into a crouched stance on the other side of the trough.

After a strong shake of his shaggy head to clear the wet hair from his eyes, Ron set off after the two guards, his steps kept small but quick within the confines of the manacles.

(He'd been chained before, for six santaris during the Retribution Games, so he'd already made his mental adjustments to accept those constraints.)

Meanwhile, the men's other comrades still stood next to their crumpled leader, frozen after that miraculous maneuver. When they saw him spring forward though, apparently attacking their two buddies, they each glanced at the other. They were seriously reevaluating their perception of a 'superior' position.

"Get him!" the ring-leader coughed at his men, still curled on the ground.

Fear of what that man might do to them when he recovered got the pair moving.

Ron caught up to the nearest guard as he rose from his sprawled landing, and when they clashed, wild growls emanated from Ron's throat. He couldn't use his hands of course, so he just slammed into the foe with the full weight of his heavy yoke, like a bull pravort ramming a rival.

The man wasn't small by any stretch, and dropped into a crouching stance instantly when he saw Ron's charge, but he wasn't ready for that collision. Even exhausted from a horrendous day of hard labor, Ron was quick. And when he closed, he imitated an enraged mountain goat by lunging downward hard to add gravity's influence to his attack. The other man (later finding out his name was Bane Missa) leaned in and met the charge, but he may as well have attempted catching an enraged tresdour (moose). With the extra mass of the yoke added to his already solid physique, it created a dreadnaught the fellow had no chance of stopping.

Bane felt his shoulder collapse, felt a spiking, blazing stab of pain through his chest, and then flew backward violently. When he landed, his head slapped the dirt hard and knocked him out cold, even before his body stopped sliding.

Ron went down as well, unable to check his inertia, and the yoke bruised his shoulders and neck soundly, but he was in the fighting mode by then and so pumped up on adrenaline he wouldn't feel it for billots. He snapped himself upright in a blink, right next to Bane's body, and stutter-stepped his way back to full control. Then he whirled about for the next opponent, and on his face was a stare few living men had ever seen. He was set to kill.

At that point, Ron faced three of the original attackers, and he just snarled at them.

With their apparent advantage of numbers, the trio rushed forward. Ron did too.

They were too close to get a great deal of speed going, so Ron slowed at the last and let the two on the outside grab his yoke while the center man threw a tremendous punch to his stomach. Ron easily foresaw what was coming though and took it just so he could be as close to the man as he could get. The shot to his gut was powerful...and painful...but not debilitating.

Ron's experience in hand to hand combat was extensive though, and he proved it the following few litas. He knew that the men grasping his yoke would expect him to fold up and drop his weight, the typical result of such a devastating punch, so that's what he did. However, when he felt them swap from holding him still to holding him up, he used their own assistance to lunge up and forward.

How could they have anticipated that? Who could withstand that brutal punch and still retaliate so fast?

Needless to say, it came as a complete surprise when Ron leaped forward and head-butted the center guard right square in the nose. That blow sent him backward so violently that to the hundreds of spectators that were now on their feet and glued to the battle, the man appeared to have jumped. But then he landed flat on the ground, totally unconscious, his nose ruined and his face splattered with blood, and they knew that he hadn't. Ron figured both his orbital sockets were cracked as well.

Ron's vision blurred for a split lita, but he was expecting that too, so his next move had already been factored in by the placement of the two fellows at his sides. They still fought with his metal yoke, trying to rein him in, so he used their grappling technique against them yet again.

Ron dropped his full body-weight to hang on the yoke once more, forcing the men to grip it all the harder to maintain control. That's when he kicked out to the left.

Both of his bare, torn, and bloody feet slammed into the right side of the knee of the man there. With the crunching report of torn ligaments and shattered cartilage, that joint bent sideways and the man screamed, instantly more than happy to relinquish his hold on Ron's massive collar.

That left the final assailant.

Ron couldn't stop his body from falling to the left after that last move and his weight drug the final fellow down with him, forcing him to bend sharply at the waist. When the end of the yoke struck the ground, digging in deeply, Ron pivoted around that point hard and sent his feet flying again, shooting straight out to collide with the man's abdomen, right above his groin area.

Nerve clusters, bladder, intestines, and half a dozen vital systems all pass through that narrow region making it very sensitive...an excellent place to strike to incapacitate someone. The force of the blow, combined with the upward angle...resulted in the fellow's feet sailing out from under his torso as if they'd been literally ejected off the ground. And the pain in his tender area drew his hands to the spot, leaving nothing to quell his downward momentum. He landed harshly...right on his face.

Ron knew the fight was done when his last opponent rolled over to his side and began vomiting, moaning and crying, but he leaped up anyway, his eyes scanning the open area.

Men were running forward. Most were prisoners trying to gain a better vantage point to watch, but some were guards who'd been called to the fight. And they were armed.

Ron was breathing deeply, his stance one of ultimate defiance, and grit covered his entire body in a thick layer, stuck to the sweat and blood that lay beneath. Like a tiger surrounded by hunters, he glared at the incoming group with hate firing back. And when they were only twenty kez away, he raised his face to the stars above and cut loose with the infamous, inhuman call of the Aredanz...the call to battle.

Those hardy fellows rushing up suddenly all slid to a stop. Here before them was a single man...a fellow of no truly exceptional size...nor one with any weapon...but with the release of that horrible, maniacal, wailing howl, they had to take a moment.

"Was he a man?" they all thought, just like the many who'd come before them. Their primitive beliefs began whirling instantly. "Or some kind of demon?"

When the sound had died away and only the echo of it could still be heard bouncing around the marble mine, the guards did their best to shake their apprehension away and once again began to approach. There were fifty in all by then, and each one gripped a heavy club or a whip...each tied to its owner's wrist so it could not easily be stolen and used against him.

Ron settled into a crouched stance and prepared himself. There was no hope that he would be able to defeat them all, but he determined that before he went down, many would have wounds to lick on the morrow.

However, just when things were about to explode, out of the darkened night came a loud, booming order that quelled further confrontation.

"HOLD!" called Pream Dolster, the commander of the quarry.

He was a huge fellow, well-muscled and solidly built. His shaved head sprouted a single patch of hair out the back that was braided and reached the middle of his waist, and his thigh-length kilt was trimmed in gold. It was obvious that he was someone of value and importance.

The guards pulled up short and immediately took a less aggressive posture, even stepping well to the side as the man walked up and strode through their numbers.

He kept moving calmly, closing the gap to Ron. When he stood arm's length away, he gazed down at the prisoner in the heavy yoke. He was taller than Ron by a good three inches.

Pream saw the returning glare of a defiant man...a man ready to fight, or even die...and with what he'd just witnessed, he felt confident that he would account himself well.

"What is your name?" the commander asked casually.

Ron was still wound up and merely stared back, but his spine straightened and his glare softened a bit. He was, of course, expecting the man to order his execution.

"I use convicted prisoners as part of my work force," Pream told him when he didn't reply, "but this is not a prison, and it is not my position to torture or abuse you. I want you to work...and you will work very hard here...no doubt about that...but that is all I require of you."

Ron saw the truth in his eyes. He'd seen enough cruel men in his life to know the difference. He nodded slightly to Pream.

"So..." the commander said, "what is your name?"

"I am known as Itsu Dangarth in many places."

"I...," the commander began, but then hesitated for a few moments, "thought you might say a different name," he finally concluded.

Ron met his piercing gaze evenly, unruffled.

"You may find that some men call me by another," Ron said softly, so that only Pream might hear. "But I am forbidden from speaking it...or ever hearing it again...for fear of retribution upon my family."

"Then it is true?" the leader pressed, equally as quietly. "You are...him?"

Ron remained as stoic as the blocks of marble all about.

"You are the one who the Nevarians muttered about many years ago in hushed fear...the one from the heavens...from the gods themselves. You are the one called...Ronin?"

Ron didn't reply and didn't nod, but the corner of his mouth twitched up into a tiny smirk.

Pream's eyes flared ever so slightly, but he did nothing else that would attract greater attention or give weight to his surprise. Yet Ron knew he was surprised...very much so, in fact. He looked Ron up and down carefully. Then he walked completely around him to get a comprehensive picture. When he was back in front, he stepped to within a foot of the yoked man. He stared for a long while into Ron's eyes, and then he said something very quietly...something only Ron could make out.

"Yes...I believe you are."

Now it was Ron's turn to be surprised, yet he remained outwardly stoic, waiting to see which way this new wrinkle might unfurl.

"Why did you not kill these men?" Pream asked in a normal voice. "You are here until the buzzards pick your bones...you know this. You will never leave alive."

"I know...but I was warned. If I am sentenced to death, then those I love will be as well. I figured that if they lived," he added, gesturing to the broken men still on the ground, "I would also."

"Humph!" grunted the commandant with a nod. "And so you shall."

Pream then turned about and swept his gaze over the crowd of guards, ignoring the workers entirely.

"These men all belong to 'ME'!" he growled...his own arm sweeping around to encompass the thousands of workers. "They are not for 'your' sport...and they are not your _whores_! If that is unacceptable to any of you, then you may take the matter up with him," he said, pulling his hand around until it indicated Ron's glaring, hulking form. "However, if you choose to press the issue, you will meet him on your own...like a man!" he added, glancing around sullenly. "Not fifty against one."

Pream then locked his gaze with Ron's. Ron nodded ever so slightly...very appreciative. He'd take those odds any day.

"Now, everyone return to your respective areas," Pream roared, scouring the crowd with his eyes again. "The excitement is over."

That was the beginning of many years of torturous labor and unending strife.

### Chapter Forty-two

### Life Goes On

By morning, Ron was a legend among the laborers, and an instant thorn in the side of the guards. The detainees saw hope, strength, and courage in him, while those who presumed to have power over them saw nothing but a troublemaker and a dissident.

Life in the mine had always been one of constant drudgery and cruel hardship, and in keeping with that edict, some of the guards made it their mission from that first day to make sure that Ron felt the worst of it. They made certain to bleed him at least once a day, be it with the whip, or chatreg, or by some "accident" they devised. Others would make sure he had the very worst job they could force upon him, just to see him suffer or be humiliated. He took it all in stride, of course, which further infuriated his overseers...as he intended. It was his only way of fighting back.

Some of them, however, saw Itsu as a person...a smart, hard worker they could rely on to accomplish nearly anything they assigned him...and so when they had him on their roster, they treated him well enough.

When it came to the inmates, they mostly left him to himself...as he preferred it...but not all. In any place where so many men are confined, there are always a handful of individuals that wish to be seen as the leader, the most respected, or the most feared. Each of those sorts eventually came around to pay Itsu a visit during his first santari...a few at the behest of some of the guards, for extra rations or less demanding duties.

The first two attempted to fight him head-on...man-to-man. They spent a great deal of time in the rudimentary infirmary of the quarry. The next five carried weapons to the clash. Three of them never walked again...never stood upright again either. The last two never breathed again. (Killing another worker was not the same as killing a guard.)

Afterward, Ron was left in peace, at least until the next batch of fresh workers showed up. Every time a new group arrived...every five santaris (ten was a year)...there were always men among them who needed to find the alpha and challenge him. They were rarely seen again. Men too damaged to work were usually sent away to a different facility.

Calluses grew atop Ron's shoulders an inch thick, where the heavy yoke rode, and his feet became as tough as tanned goral skin (an elephant-like creature that pulled heavy wagons). He learned every job in the mine that could be done without the use of hands...hauling material with the buckets, walking inside the giant wheel that drove the big saws, towing blocks on a sled like an ox, and even running messages from the very bottom of the pit to the top.

The guards loved to watch that. It was a three hoz long, steep climb, round and round the pit. Most men could make it twice in a day before they were burned out, their legs quivering and exhausted. Ron had made it eight, only stopping because the day was done. Soon the guards were even placing bets on how fast he could do it.

Pream finally ended that sport too because he didn't like wasting his most productive worker on such nonsense.

Five years into Ron's sentence, a disturbance in the flow of supplies caused a major disruption in the mine's operation.

Pream received word that their caravan had been attacked, its guards killed, and all their goods robbed. That worried him greatly because they only received supplies three times a year, and replacing an entire shipment was very difficult, expensive, and took time.

There were plenty of materials to keep the workers fed...the ingredients of their meager staple being such that it could be stored in vast quantities for long periods, but the guards were used to better meals, with actual meat, vegetables, and fruit. Discourse quickly erupted.

The guards were run much like a military unit, with several layers of leaders and subordinates. There were only three men who ran the entire mine at any given time, doling out assignments to the underling guards each day. They overlapped one another so that leaves might be granted and production would continue uninterrupted. After all, most of those men had families back in the real world.

Ron overheard a conversation between two of his immediate overseers one morning, while he strode inside the giant wheel.

"Birtan says we're gonna have to eat that slop the slabs (stinking laborers) eat."

"No dragen way! I'll walk out of here before I eat that shart! And I know a lot of others will too!"

Ron filed that away for the remainder of the day, but it gave him an amazingly bold idea.

The following morning, when everyone was readying for the day, Ron shuffled over to the command tent before the guards had arrived for their assignments. He knew he'd miss breakfast in doing so, but he had a desperate plan that he was willing to risk it for. He'd delivered enough messages to that place to know that the commander was always there before anyone else, having his morning meal and making a schedule for the day...and he knew the fellow in charge that day was a practical individual without undue prejudices against the poor souls who worked for him. He saw them as tools, not vermin.

Ron asked the guards outside his tent to see him, speaking loudly so that he might overhear the request. The guards took their spears and prodded Ron away with the points of them.

"Get outta here, you filth! Back to the stinking, flea-bitten hole you came from!"

"But I can guarantee meat on the table for his men!"

The guards just looked at one another and laughed.

"How you gonna do that, piss-hole? You're all trussed up in that golden yoke!"

"I'm telling you, he'll want to hear what I have to say!"

Ron was shouting by then, retreating slowly as the men pressed him backward.

The commander came out a moment later, right on cue. Ron smiled inside, but he was nervous too. He had only the one chance.

"Hold on, men," Washan Cole said, waving at his private guards. He was aware that, even though he'd never formally said it, Pream held Itsu in some esteem. "Let him speak."

"Sir," Ron said as calmly as he could while his entire insides were vibrating with exhilaration. "I was an excellent hunter, back before coming here, and I swear to you that if you allow me, I can get you all the meat your men need in a single week!"

Washan was a skeptical man, having been around desperate souls for the past ten years, and so he scoffed at the announcement.

"And all I suppose you require is your freedom, and some weapons?" he replied, smiling snidely.

Ron obviously had expected that, so he didn't back down.

"Of course not, sir...and yes."

Washan looked confused.

"I can never leave here and return to my family, commander. I know that...and I know that if I tried to escape, or killed any of your men, my family would pay the price. But I am serious, sir. If you allow me a bow, some arrows, and a knife, I can fill the bellies of your guards with fresh meat."

"How, exactly. As my man here said, you are severely confined."

"Yes, sir. That would have to be modified...for a short time...if I am to succeed."

Washan knew the tension building in his ranks, and that alone drove him a step further.

"What is your plan?"

"I would go with...say, ten of your men...to the fringe of those mountains to the northwest. There, they would let me free of th..."

"The yoke cannot be removed. That is non-negotiable," Washan interjected.

Ron had guessed that too. It was riveted on, after all.

"Just my hands and feet need be free," he continued. "I would go and hunt and bring the kills out to your men, to be transported back here. When they had what they needed, they would secure me back as I was and we'd return to the mine. No one would know. The other workers would assume I was just a beast of burden for your men."

Ron could see the spark of light in Washan's eyes.

"Why would you do this for your masters?"

"For the ability to run free for just a little while...to smell the forest air...to feel my arms move again? I would do just about anything for that!"

"How long would it take?"

"It would depend on the game's availability, of course, but in wild, open forest, I would say...possibly three days. Four large antelope in three days."

"Six!" Washan countered. "Make it six in three days, or you'll never step out of the mine again."

Ron thought that was an exceptionally high target, but...

"Done!" he replied.

"I'll make the arrangements. You'll leave tonight...after 'lights-out'. It's two and a half day's...make that, half night's...walk out to the forest."

"If you can, sir," Ron added before taking his leave. "I'll need the strongest bow you can find."

Washan was already turning to go back to his preparations, so he waved his hand in acknowledgement and disappeared into the tent.

Ron hurried back to his station. That night, when the lights all went out, he was on his way into the darkness. He was drained from the day's work, but the thought of what was to come kept him going without delay. In fact, when they were out of sight of the mine, Ron asked to be set free right there.

"Oh, no!" the guard told him. "I'm not giving you a head start."

"Head start...for what?" he queried, growing impatient.

"We all know the only reason you're going out here is to escape."

"Don't be an idiot. You all know exactly what my boundaries are. I can't escape! Now cut me loose. I have a lot of ground to cover! And you all want to eat...right?"

"What are you going to do in the dark? You can't hunt at night!"

"Just let me loose! I'll prove myself...just you wait and see!"

The guards gave in just to shut him up...and when the chains fell free, Ron grabbed all his allotted gear and lit out into the shadow-world without another word.

Freedom! It was so insanely wonderful that he wanted to shout it out to the stars. Even with the tremendous load of the yoke, and after such a long, grueling day of work, he flew across the land like he'd rested for a week. And the weapons they'd provided him were familiar...they were his, secured into a belt they strapped to his waist! That was icing on the cake.

(His personal bow, swords, and knives had been stored in the holding vault to prevent any trace of him ever being found.)

After a couple billots at a fast pace, Ron stopped and rested until dawn. It was the first time he'd been alone for a single moment in many years and the feeling was so wonderful it was almost euphoric. Even out on the hard ground of that arid plateau, he slept like the dead.

He was up at first light though, which allowed him to reach the wooded land well before midnight, and into the trees he plunged. It wasn't easy, by any means, for him to hunt so encumbered, but his mind was so set to the task that he simply willed it to happen.

The first trick was moving through thick brush with the wide yoke. The hooks at the ends threatened to catch on everything, and to even bump a tree's trunk with that huge slab of metal sent out a warning that carried for hoz through the hills. Secondly; firing his bow was dreadfully difficult, having to aim it more by feel than sight, but after only half a dozen practice shots, he'd found his rhythm. He would never be as accurate as before, but he was good enough.

By the time the guards had set up camp, he was already striding out of the forest dragging his first prize. It was a good-sized doe. He'd gutted it and eaten its heart, and that had raised his spirits even more. His first meat in five years!

"Holy Guardian above!" Postan Eren said, his mouth hanging open.

Ron dropped the animal at the men's feet, downed half a water-skin, and headed back out.

By noon on the third day, four deer and four antelope had been taken, and Ron was back in his chains and hasps strolling behind the wagon in small steps as they got back to the mine. Nearly everyone asked him about the outing, and he told them that Postan was the hunter. He had merely carried water for them and towed the sled.

Washan was so impressed that he sent Ron out again two weeks later. When his men returned with an even better load, he called Ron to his private tent. After that, Ron was allowed to hunt three times a santari, and pretty soon nearly every guard had a greater appreciation for him.

The years continued to go by, and Ron received his letter during each one. Washan even allowed him to keep them, so that he might reread them whenever he wished. He was even given time and privacy when he wrote his response notes, which was difficult with his hands so confined. And no one read them at the mine, even though he knew someone would before they were delivered. That was Pream's gift to him, one which he very much appreciated.

By the time Ron had been at Hallerton Mirta for ten years, he was the best treated worker they had. No guards who had any animosity toward him were allowed to abuse him anymore, and three had even been driven from the mine at the sharp end of spears for whipping him without cause.

His chains had been replaced with some that allowed him to walk more normally, and he was given a special diet that included finer food, but his yoke and hand-clasps remained...when he wasn't hunting. Washan even occasionally invited him into his tent for meals where they would speak in private about his life before his capture. The commander was an educated man and appreciated his company very much. They spoke on many subjects and played strategic board games. (Ron would make his moves via a long stick.) On rare occasions, Bream even joined them.

By fifteen years, most of the original guards had been replaced, and the men who took their positions generally spoke to Ron as an equal, almost to a man, openly wishing they could let him free. Much of that respect came because of how they saw Washan speak to him and treat him...as well as Bream.

Ron had also come up with several improvements in the mechanisms they used to work the rock, recalling some of the inventions people called 'Egyptians' had developed back on his home-world. That too, gave his guards reason to see him in a better light.

During his twentieth year, Pream retired and a new commandant took over. His name was Diamont Volar. He had ten years of experience running a large salt mine in the southern part of the country of Porstress, some distance west of Heraitey's realm. There, he'd utilized slave labor, condemned men, and other discontents as well.

He arrived with quite a bit of fanfare, more than ready to take control of his new command...and full of demands and ideas he would put in place to gain the respect, and the obedience he wanted. After reviewing the ledgers, he judged that the workers were treated far too well, fed too much, and worked too few billots. He felt confident he could raise his profit margin by five percent immediately if he adjusted the place to his way of thinking. Within a santari, ten of the senior guards walked Itsu into Diamont's private tent.

They spoke at length about the specifics of the mine's operation with all its myriad of essential expenses. When the guards needed reasons for production count variations...be they high or low...Ron was there to explain every nuance of those operational fluctuations. They had hand-written ledgers documenting each occurrence, but his memory was far more detailed about the 'hows and whys', and his explanations were short and succinct.

And then they discussed the arrangement of Ron's hunting expeditions, which were still being utilized. Diamont tried to put his foot down about that breach in protocol, reading the written decree to the men, but with the entire staff of sentries staunchly united...and threatening to all resign...the new commandant saw that his options were severely limited.

Two billots later, Ron and his escorts walked back out and he returned to work. Everything was quickly restored to the status quo, and time ticked by.

The twenty-eighth year of Ron's incarceration at the mine of Hallerton Mirta brought about a dramatic change in the great quarry. On one beautiful, hot summer day, all work stopped.

Blaring horns tore through the air, and every guard was summoned to the surface. An army was approaching!

Diamont organized a small group and greeted the army with fifty of his guards flanking him.

He made out the rank insignia of the obvious leader and addressed him immediately.

"What may I do for you, General?" Diamont asked as politely as he could manage.

His men were armed, but in no way were they ready to fight a trained group of warriors...and the men before him looked extraordinarily fierce.

"Bring Ronin Alsone to me!" the leader ordered in a flat, no-nonsense tone.

"Who?" Diamont asked. He'd obviously heard the stories of Ronin and his prowess for years, almost as a myth, or legend, but was confused as to why this man thought he was at Hallerton Mirta. (Bream had never offered Itsu's actual identity to his replacement.)

"Itsu Dangarth...idiot!"

Diamont blanched, his thoughts reeling. How was it possible that such a man was right there and he knew nothing of it? He felt it had to be a mistake...yet it explained a great deal about the man he and all his men had been so drawn to respect and admire. His pulse quickened to a sprint, but he turned as casually as he could and sent word for Itsu to be brought up.

He returned his attention to the general, but instantly regretted it. The fellow merely stared at him as if he were a total moron.

"May I offer you some bit of hospitality?" he inquired, trying to break the obvious tension.

The foreign general just stared back at him, clenching his jaws as if trying hard not to simply kill him. Diamont eased back and waited with his men. Half a billot later, Ron walked up through the throng of guards until he stood beside Diamont and could see the newcomer. When he did, he stopped cold, and every fiber of his being locked onto that man. His chest immediately began to shudder with unbounded fury.

"YOU!" he growled.

The grim fellow glared back at him...and then he smiled.

"Yes, Ronin. It is me...Pierci!"
Chapter Forty-three

### I Challenge You

Pierci continued to stare at Ron, but his expression deflated from one of ultimate excitement to another...one of genuine disappointment. Ron noticed the obvious transition, but he didn't care one little bit. He had a million questions for the man who'd drugged him and cast him out into the foreign Erthanian world without a single word of explanation.

Ron started to lunge at the large, tanned fellow before him, but the many restraints bolted, riveted, and manacled to his person forbade that. Then an idea struck him.

"Is this," he spat at Pierci, vigorously shaking his shackled hands, "all _your_ doing?"

The reclusive leader of the infamous mountain warriors scanned him again, head to foot.

"This is not what I expected of you," Pierci told him, ignoring Ron's question. "You have not held up well."

Ron stood his ground just as defiantly as he'd always done, his shoulders still square, his head still high, but Pierci saw the result of time's influence all over him. It was true that Ron's stature was just as pronounced as always, with heavy, corded muscles thoroughly layering his body, but he stood there with a thick frock of hair that was completely white, as was his ragged beard. Also, creases lined his face, his neck, and his every joint. He was in his early eighties by that point, and, aside from his size, he looked it.

"Get me out of these," Ron growled, grinding his teeth together, "and we'll see who's held up the best!"

"I was truly hoping you were the one...the Great One that so many people whisper about...the finest warrior ever seen on Erthania...the one who would finally give me what I've been waiting for for the past five hundred years."

That jolted Ron enough for him to set his anger aside for a bit. That was when he realized that the man before him looked exactly the same as when he'd last had contact with him, some fifty-six years in the past.

"What? What are you saying? How have you not changed in all these years? And just how old are you?"

Pierci turned to face the commandant.

"Release him," he ordered.

"I cannot," Urlarc replied. "He is to remain..."

"RELEASE HIM...NOW!" Pierci ordered, and at that moment, every one of his two hundred soldiers either drew blades or bows against Diamont's men. Pierci himself snapped his hand up and in it was a foot-long blade that suddenly rested at the commandant's jugular.

Diamont snapped his fingers and motioned with his hands for his second in command to approach.

"Get the smithy," he whispered delicately. Blood was already easing down his skin.

That fellow returned ten borts later with the master smith and his tray full of tools. The scene had not yet returned to a less aggressive state by then, and so the mine commandant put the huge, burly fellow to work immediately.

Pierci withdrew the blade, and his men stood at ease.

"While he works," the God of War said calmly, "I'd like to explain what is going to happen...although, as I said, I am sadly disappointed."

Ron merely stood where he was, surprised to no end by this totally unexpected turn of events.

"My family!" Ron cut him off. "If you get me released, they'll..."

"They are already freed from those small-minded, petty miscreants," Pierci retorted, seemingly irritated by the delay to his plans. "You know it took my men all these years to hunt you down...and just look at you!"

He sighed and slouched in disgust.

"I should have taken my shot at you back then...but you weren't ready...or at least I didn't think so. Now..." he shrugged heavily and turned about, shaking his head.

"What is all this?" Ron demanded. His eyes...beet red for the last three decades from the constant irritation of the dust from the mine...tried to burn into Pierci for answers. "What have you done with my girls? What ever happened to Lasinii? Why are you here?"

Pierci whirled back around with real anger showing in his own eyes.

"I came here to challenge you!" he spat. "I came here to find the finest swordsman on the planet, hoping that you might finally be the one who could really fight me...maybe even...well, this all looks like a giant waste of time."

He turned about, dropping his shoulders with disappointment once more.

Ron was still terribly lost and confused by what the infamous warrior was inferring. He barely registered that the chains on his ankles were gone.

"Why? Why challenge me now? If you could have done it at any point, why wait?"

Pierci whirled around insanely fast, his face livid. "BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU WERE LIKE ME!" he screamed back at Ron. "I THOUGHT I HAD PLENTY OF TIME!"

"Like you?" Ron retorted, his brow furrowed with confusion. "What does that mean?"

Pierci glared at the pitiful old man that had once been Ronin Alsone, the most feared and heralded warrior of his generation.

"I am not from this world," Pierci said angrily, "like you. I was "enhanced...like you! I have survived innumerable battles and wars...like you! I have no equal with a blade...like you!

"But unlike you...apparently...I am a millennial."

"A millennial?" Ron queried, almost too stunned to speak. "Truly?"

"What does that mean," Diamont interjected.

There was a long pause of silence before...

"It means that he does not age past maturity," Ron replied when Pierci ignored him.

"What...seriously?" Diamont queried. "You are immortal?"

Pierci laughed at that.

"Oh no, fool...not immortal," he clarified. "You see, I can be killed, I just cannot die."

That statement sent a shiver up Ron's spine. That was such a key part of the legend. Had that phrase somehow translated over to his own persona through time's irreverent error?

"Isn't it the same thing?" Diamont asked, still confused.

"No!" Ron said while rubbing the quarter-inch-thick calluses around his wrists that had just been set free. "It means that if he ever meets his equal...or his master...in battle, then that person can slay him. He just cannot die from the ravages of time. He doesn't grow old."

Diamont and everyone else around him were shocked.

"Ever?" the commandant asked.

Pierci shook his head.

"Then...you are actually him...Pierci...the God of War? Not some egotistical charlatan?"

"That's right, Insect!" Pierci hissed at the mine's commander.

Word of that verbal exchange quickly circulated through the growing crowd...a bloating assemblage that was rapidly emptying out the entire mine.

The next few borts saw the conversation cease while the blacksmith hammered on the clasp rivet of the massive yoke. It was corroded from three decades of sweat and weather, and so it was difficult to drive through its setting. Those blows sent shockwaves through Ron's body, and his ears rang for a long while afterward, but on the twenty-second strike, the bronze rivet that had locked Ron inside that daunting burden of metal for nearly thirty years came shooting out. One more tap to remove the drift that had accomplished that task and the heavy bronze hinge flew open, and then the entire assembly fell to the ground.

Ron stepped swiftly away from the falling device, and it was like he was lighter than a feather.

He was free...truly free!

He'd thought about that moment for so long that he had every tiny detail of what he would do first, and second, and third, all lined up. First; A billot of stretching and moving joints that hadn't moved in way too long. Second; a long, hot bath to wash away the stink of the sweat and necrotic flesh that was always just inches from his nose. Third; He would raise his hands and never let them down.

None of that happened.

Instead, Ronin Alsone launched himself at Pierci...the Erthanian God of War.

They were further than two strides apart, but with the release of more than his own body's weight from his shoulders, Ron sprang forward like he'd been shot from a catapult.

His right fist smashed into Pierci's left jaw like a sledgehammer, felling the man hard, but Ron's momentum was too much for him to follow up on that blow. His balance had been thrown so far off that he stumbled onward several steps before he could correct for the new parameters. When he did though, he found his adversary up again and facing him...and grinning.

"Well-well," Pierci said, rubbing his chin. "Perhaps there is something left in you after-all. Your species at least has extended lifespans, I assume?"

Ron made no reply. His mind was ramping up. He knew he'd contacted Pierci with nearly all his strength behind that fist, and that much force certainly would have killed any Erthanian.

"That's excellent. Perhaps my trip hasn't been for nothing after all."

He turned to his second-in-command.

"My staff!"

The fellow handed Pierci a thick, round length of wood that was as straight as an arrow, two inches in diameter, and six feet long. Pierci immediately tossed it to Ron.

"Loosen up with that."

Ron jerked, adjusted, and jerked again, his reflexes severely misaligned...just like his balance...but he caught the staff. He stepped away from the group a bit further, rolling his shoulders and rocking his neck side to side and back and forth. There were dozens of audible pops, creaks, and crunches, and Ron relished each and every one. Then he began to work the weapon...continuing to limber up as much as he could while he did so. All the while he glared at Pierci.

"You said you'd been 'enhanced'," Ron said as the wooden staff whizzed round and round. His muscle-memory was as precise as ever, but his body was so used to confinement that it was battling against him. It would take some time to adjust. "What did you mean?"

Pierci smiled shrewdly as he sized up his newest opponent.

"You see, I was one of the fifty designated soldiers on our ship. All our bodies were genetically modified to increase muscle-mass...muscle that would allow us to operate on much heavier worlds than our own. Also, it was tweaked so it wouldn't fade over time on smaller planets...a great necessity, as I'm sure you know. Too, our bones were infused with graphite nanotube filaments so that they would be nearly unbreakable. And lastly, we were given reaction speeds thirty percent greater than any humanoid we'd ever encountered. We were the finest warriors in the galaxy, and I was their leader!"

Ron absorbed all that while he worked the weapon faster and faster. He saw a confident, well-seasoned soldier staring back with no indications of fear or worry. He knew in that moment that this was going to be a true battle.

Pierci watched him too, for several borts, his eyes taking in every subtlety of Ron's motions. Once Ron had built up a good sweat, and seemed to have gathered a smooth rhythm, he spoke again.

"Now, Great Ronin," Pierci said. "Let us see! Move back, you men," he added, sweeping his hand through the air across his body. "Ronin, you will fight me. And as an added incentive, if you win, you will find out everything you wish to know."

"If I fight you and win," Ron growled back at him, "you won't be able to talk!"

Pierci just grinned. "That's the spirit!"

Pierci had another staff brought out and he also began to twirl it and loosen up. He too was incredibly impressive. Even twenty feet away from those two, the wind off their spinning weapons could easily be felt.

After another couple of borts, Pierci engaged Ron.

"CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK," slammed the wooden weapons in such rapid succession that the strikes were seemingly continuous. But then a resounding slap of wood against flesh rang out and Ron spun away. The blow had landed solidly on his right deltoid and a small dust cloud had burst forth.

Ron danced away a stride or two and faced Pierci again.

"That's it," Pierci egged him on. "Shake it off. Just a little rusty. That's to be expected."

No one in the area of the bout had noticed, but with a steady stream of guards and mine workers flooding in, before long, five thousand men were surrounding the dueling pair.

Ron rolled his shoulders some more, rocked his head side to side, and stretched out his ribs. Then the long wooden rod began to fly once more. The necessary movements that kept the staff sizzling through the air were becoming even more fluid. It was all coming back.

A few litas later they clashed again, and that time it took much longer before another slap of skin sounded. Again Ron spun away...his left thigh showing a vivid red welt across it.

"Don't worry," Pierci told him. "This is just the warm up. I know you're at a bad disadvantage, being cooped up here for so long with that dragen metal slab around your neck...and being so pathetically old. But you better sharpen up fast, Great One...cause this all ends here today, one way or the other! And you don't look like you have the stamina for a long fight."

Ronin stretched again for a few moments and then came back at him. He wasn't breathing hard yet, but Pierci wasn't either. In fact, the God of War looked like he was merely playing a child's game.

"CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-SMACK!"

Hardened wood had struck flesh again, but that time it wasn't Ron who felt it. It was Pierci...right across the cheek. It was a solid blow that sent blood flying from his mouth to spatter across the ground, and took him completely off his feet.

He was up in a flash though, not really hurt...just incredibly surprised.

"Okay-okay," he said, spitting a little more blood on the ground. "Now we're getting somewhere!"

He turned to his assistants standing next to a supply cart and flipped him the staff. The fellow tossed the wooden weapon in and drew two swords from his supply. He then handed the blades to Pierci, who turned and regarded Ron again, his glare hard and serious.

"You know," he said as he closed with his opponent once more, "Lasinii was with child when you left!"

At that instant, he attacked Ron...his blades singing through the air in high-pitched whines of speed. Ron met each of them a hundred times in the first two borts, first giving ground, and then pressing Pierci back. The whirling staff could not be penetrated by any blade, its wood being far too hard for that, and he used its length superbly to keep those mincing razors clear of his flesh.

But he soon found he could make no real inroads either.

After a while, Pierci fell back unexpectedly, breaking off the fight for no obvious reason, and stepped over to the cart again. Both men were sweating heavily by then.

"I think it's time to get this party rolling!" the warlord said.

He held up a different staff then. It was about three feet long and as black as the purest obsidian.

Ron's eyes flared at the sight of it.

"Creator above us!" he uttered in a subdued huff of air. He was completely astounded.

"I tried to unravel the secrets of this thing for ten straight years," Pierci told him. "Finally, I realized that it was simply beyond me...created by a greater technology than I've been witness to.

"Could it be?" Ron thought. "After more than fifty years...could it truly be real?"

Pierci tossed the black object to Ron, and he caught it with both hands, the long wooden fighting staff falling to the dirt, forgotten.

It was true! It was the custom made, indestructible weapon that Cache Kuar, of the Raulden people, had constructed especially for him.

Ron gripped the knurled end of the ebony assembly with his right hand and the scabbard with his left...and pulled. The blade leaped from its berth as smoothly as if it had been pulled from an oil bath, the small hand-guard snapping out instantaneously.

The shadow blade was loose once again!

"So it is a sword!" Pierci sighed, his eyes feasting on the sabre with deep envy. "I tried everything I could think of...heating it, prying at it, hammering, grinding, and even electrifying it. I finally concluded that it must be biometrically tied to you. I guess I was right."

(Josy took a few moments to explain what that meant to the plainsmen.)

Ron looked it over carefully. There wasn't a mark on it. Then he turned his attention back to Pierci.

"What happened to my child? And why have you returned this to me now?"

Pierci grinned at him. There was evidently a carefully thought out reason.

"I have heard such tales of you, Ronin," he said. "They all claim that you were sent down from the gods, and are the most gifted swordsman ever to walk the surface of Erthania...great enough to challenge Pierci himself, in fact...or so they say."

Ron kept watching him, his fingers gripping and then regripping the superb weapon he held.

"What happened to the child?"

Pierci ignored the question.

"You are not the first, you know...to impress the savages of this world. But I take such claims seriously, you see, from time to time. And then I make it my mission to hunt down such men...after I've given them enough time to truly prove themselves...so that I might see if these claims are actually worthy...or just hyperbola.

"You, however...I must admit...I have let go far beyond the period I normally would have. That is simply misfortune though, as I could not locate you for so very long...even though I have an extensive network of information gatherers."

Ronin glared at him. "Then you were not the one who imprisoned me here?"

"Of course not," Pierci replied. "Why would I try to destroy your marvelous abilities by hobbling you with that sadistic monstrosity?" he growled, motioning to the yoke. "I wanted you as fit and sharp as you could possibly be!"

"For what, exactly?"

As an answer, Pierci merely withdrew another sword from the cart. He held it up and took a defensive stance.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You spent years scouring the known world for me...just for a duel?"

Pierci grinned madly at Ron. "Precisely!"

Ron was shocked, exasperated, confused, and angry.

"This is all just a game to you?" he demanded.

"Oh much more than a game, Lord Ronin. It is ' _the_ ' game...the only game that really matters!"

Ron stared at him, fuming.

"Who cares about these people?" Pierci said frankly. Then when he realized that Ron was insulted by that statement, he clarified it. "They will all be dead, don't you see? Buried, and forgotten before their grandchildren are old. Only men of real merit will be remembered. Those of us that rise to the pinnacle of our abilities...and I'm talking about warriors now...about man-to-man, brutal, ferocious combat. Men like that? Our names will survive for centuries, maybe millennia!

"So which of us, do you suppose, have our priorities in line?"

"You're insane!" Ron told him flatly.

"Really? I, who have already risen to the level where they call me 'God of War'? _I_ am insane?"

He laughed at that.

"I have watched these pathetic souls try to govern themselves for more than five hundred and twenty-six of this planet's years. It's no wonder that when we first came, they immediately bowed and worshipped us."

"There...again..." Ron said, pointing his blade at Pierci, "you speak of 'coming here'. You said you are not of Erthania. You meant that literally?"

"Yes," Pierci admitted. "But I am getting bored. Let us begin. I'll explain if you live long enough."

He then began to advance on Ron.

Ron stood his ground. He did not test the blade for its weight and balance. That was engrained into his mind too deeply to worry about. Instead, he locked his eyes on Pierci's weapon. It was slightly curved, like a Samurai sword, yet more subtly. Its blade was wider too, than the Japanese weapon, almost as broad as a Roman short-sword, and it was a curious green color...like the water in the Sea of Marshiae, three hundred hoz east of Heraitey. The blade was also a bit thicker than Ron's, and the pommel was beefy and solid looking, yet flowing in design. Ron was certain it had not been made on Caron either.

Pierci attacked with a furious barrage of swordplay, hammering and slicing at Ron in an incredibly impressive sortie that was designed to reveal any weaknesses he might have, coming at every angle there was in the first five borts of battle.

Ron was forced to give ground, but he deflected every blow...and watched. By the quickness and extreme movements that Pierci made, the strange blade seemed to be unusually light, yet when those blows landed, it was quite obvious that it was not. The air rang deafeningly of metal on metal, with the pitch set at a level denoting that the alloys had been fashioned of the hardest metals ever known. Seasoned warriors were forced to cover their ears against the ear-piercing din of noise...yet the contestants heard it not.

Pierci pressed, and pressed, seemingly undaunted by what had to be an exhausting attack. Five borts turned to ten, and then ten turned to fifteen...and on he went.

Ron was marked in numerous places from the deadly, crushing onslaught...minor slices and jabs showing upon his naked hide, especially pronounced because of the thick coating of chalky white mine dust. It appeared to an outsider that he was being badly outpaced.

Of course Ron couldn't care less what anyone else might perceive. However, he couldn't remember the last time one of his opponents had drawn his blood so readily either, or pressured him so constantly. And Pierci was strong...reminding him of some of his encounters with Kreete warriors. He was barely able to stay ahead of that dipping, darting, weaving, and jabbing green blade, and that began to give him concern.

"Am I that rusty?" he asked himself. "Or is he just that good?"

"I see that you are intrigued by my sword..." Pierci interjected as he attacked, "as well you should be. It is one of the finest...and for me, the greatest...items our people ever developed, especially since finding ourselves marooned on this planet. The energy weapons were a bit of overkill for the enemies we encountered back then, and for a warrior like me...too superior. Any fool could obliterate their opponent without ever truly facing them. Me...I'm a trained soldier...a fighter...and it's in my DNA to stand toe-to-toe against my adversary. This," he said, stepping back and brandishing the beautiful green weapon, "is how I like it best."

Again, Ron was reminded of the Kreete warriors. They too loved such up-close, brutal, and bloody sport.

Ron's chest was rising and falling heavily at that point, not out of breath, but working hard. He at last felt he was ready, and so he decided to test Pierci while the man boasted.

In a move that was inhumanly quick, he lunged forward, jabbing the black super-blade at the God of War. He was too far from Pierci to really expect to do any damage, but his suspicions had been aroused. The green blade flashed down instantaneously and stood directly in his path, deflecting the attack easily, but Ron saw something in Pierci's eyes that told a completely different story. He had not expected that at all. In fact, it was shock that Ron spotted in his reaction. Pierci had not moved the sword on his own!

"It's some kind of shield-blade!" Ron said, pulling his own weapon back as he withdrew a few steps. "It has its own power source, proximity sensors, and gyro-compensators!"

(Again, Josy paused to explain. "It moved all on its own," she told them." That astonished the fighting men.)

Ronin looked around at the warriors who'd accompanied Pierci to the mine.

"He cheats!" Ron announced angrily. "The blade does the work for him! I wonder if he could beat any of you without it!"

To Pierci's left, a man responded. He was a young, extremely fit, seasoned warrior.

"No, Ronin. You are wrong. He's already beaten us all without it!" the fellow said frankly. "This is the first time I've ever seen it in use."

Pierci grinned at Ron. "You see, Great One. _I_ am the greatest swordsman on Erthania. Everyone who knows me knows that."

Ron glared back at him harshly once more. "And so this little display is what...a way to dispel any would-be doubters?"

"Something like that. You see, your reputation has grown and grown...even in your long absence...or possibly because of it. You are something of a myth now. So I am here to erase that budding notion from everyone's mind. The thousands here will spread the word of how you were utterly destroyed by Erthania's true champion...the God of War...Pierci!"

Pierci rushed in again, resuming his barrage of slicing metal. Ron leaned forward, catching that attack with his own aggressive sortie`. He hammered away at the green blade feverishly, ratcheting up the speed as much as he could, but it was to no avail.

Pierci was working hard by then too, but the sly smirk eventually returned to his face when he realized Ron had peaked.

Suddenly, they broke apart and stood back, each man panting loudly from the exhaustive ordeal.

"You are very good, Ronin," Pierci told him with genuine respect in his voice. "You've outlasted every other contender I've ever faced. But you may as well submit. You cannot win. No weapon has ever broken through it! Not in more than two-hundred duels. Not a single arrow, nor spear tip has reached my flesh, even in the heat of battle of dozens of skirmishes and five major wars spanning my five-hundred-plus years!"

"Is that why you stole my blade?" Ron queried, trying to understand the man's motivation. "You thought it was like yours? You were afraid it would possibly be better?"

"It doesn't matter now, does it? We both know yours is fancy...and intriguing...but it's obviously not like mine. And soon you'll just be another false hero who fell under the true champion's might!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Pierci roared as he leaped forward once more, the unbeatable blade a literal blur of motion.

Ron managed to absorb the attack by falling back some thirty feet, but his mind was spinning at light-speed trying to figure a way around that high-tech menace.

Those in the audience who'd come with Pierci appeared intent, yet contritely confident that the outcome was a certainty. But those who'd watched Itsu over the years would not concede victory so easily. They were shouting words of encouragement and hanging on every blade stroke...even though they couldn't see many of them, so fast was the pace.

After another ten borts, Ron felt his body begin to yield to the workload. It was that slight sign of fatigue that led to doubt, and marked the slow but certain decline to eventual failure. It was a totally unfamiliar feeling...so much so that his mind rejected it instantly. In fact, instead of yielding, his entire persona did the exact opposite. Like a greel that had been cornered by a pack of hunting dogs, he suddenly morphed into something that no living Erthanian had ever been so unfortunate to face.

In a split lita, the pounding heart inside Ronin Alsone gorged itself on adrenaline...and then a beast of unfathomable ferocity sprang back to life. The world around him immediately turned a crimson hue as Shartae the Invincible...the lone survivor of the fiendish Kreete Retribution Games...snapped into being once more. A micro-lita later, with a blow that pushed Pierci ten feet back, Shartae set his face to the vivid blue sky above and released the mortal blood challenge of the Aredanz Mountain Folk.

Just like every other time; grown men...some of them veteran fighters...fell back out of sheer fright. Never had they seen, or dreamed of, any creature that could utter such a heart-freezing, terrifying sound, much less one that stood on two feet and spoke their language. What they all then gazed at was what might be left of a human being who'd had all the compassion, culture, and civility stripped away from him to expose the basest recognizable framework of a man.

Such a state was undoubtedly badly needed in the early days...when men first began clawing their way ahead of beasts on the ladder of life...back when time was young. To have survived that period would have taken extraordinary cunning, strength, and viciousness...and that was what they now saw!

Shartae rushed forward and leaped at Pierci anew, gaining half a body of height in that bound, and when he landed, his entire weight and momentum was behind his racing sword.

Pierci's eyes flew wide, so surprised was he at the radical change to his opponent, and he frantically braced himself for the impact...his bulging muscles all knotting up in a spectacular display of a human male's physique...but he was hardly ready for it.

The green blade managed to get in between the shadow-sword and Pierci's flesh, but the collision took the God of War off his feet completely, crushing him to the ground with a resounding thud.

Shartae stayed upon him like a cloak of death, the black weapon blazing in every direction at once. Pierci wore a look of panic upon his face by then, as the green blade danced around him in a blur of motion, trying to keep up...and for a brief few litas, it looked as if it would.

To those men in the deathly silent audience...now numbering more than eight thousand...Shartae's attack began to show that it would fall short, but then the man who'd survived so many impossible situations in his life did what he always did best. He took what he could get.

The muscles on Shartae's shoulders and back stood out vividly in the bright sunlight, swollen to a freakish state by the demands his mind had put upon them, but when he realized his incredible might still could not achieve his goal, his animal instincts shifted.

Like a pride of lions trying to take down a buffalo too powerful for them, it wasn't a single brazen strike they needed. It was several small ones. That was where Shartae's focus went.

As he stood atop Pierci, his raven blade crashing down non-stop upon his adversary, Pierci's legs were churning hard, trying to back him away from his unrelenting opponent, so that he might somehow regain his footing. But then it happened. It was so quick and subtle that most of the onlookers would never have even noticed, but Shartae the Invincible missed nothing. In a brief instant, when the God of War's right foot slipped on the hard dirt and darted out six inches further, Shartae pounced.

With barely a moment's pause in his swordplay, Shartae stomped down savagely on that wayward leg, landing just above the ankle. Even Pierci's enhanced structure couldn't withstand Ron's heavy-worlder attack, and so it snapped cleanly.

Pierci screamed out instantly...a long, high release of pain he hadn't felt in so long that he was surprised that it was him doing it.

Inside Shartae's brain, his killer-instinct synapsis lit up like a lightning storm.

"No weapon can get past the green sword!" it screamed at him. "But what if there was no weapon...just flesh and bone?"

Shartae swung the super-blade high, at Pierci's head, and the green blade swept up to catch it. But at the same moment, he kicked out again, landing a powerful blow right in Pierci's groin.

Sweat was already pouring off the God of War by that point, but the next instant saw some new fluid shoot out of his lips as his body ejected literally everything inside his stomach.

That was it. Game over.

In the blink of an eye, Shartae planted the black sword into the ground and dove at Pierci, buck naked.

Undoubtedly the designers of the green sword had never considered that a foe who carried no weapon other than what nature had provided him would be a threat, because it made no move to interdict.

Pierci tried to bring the blade around, but without the sword's own automatic responses, Shartae's reflexes outpaced his easily, and the arm that held the weapon instantly became locked in the unbreakable vice that was Shartae's fingers.

Pierci was a large man, in excellent physical shape. Too, as he'd just boasted, he had been enhanced with heavy, extra-dense muscle, trained by the finest tutors, and his bones strengthened. And beyond that, he'd been battle tested by centuries of life as a combat soldier. He had met hundreds of adversaries larger than him...fought many to the death, in fact...but what he felt in that moment was absolute, unequivocal panic. The foe he saw as Ronin Alsone might as well have been made from the marble that Hallerton Mirta was known for, because he was equally as immovable.

Shartae gripped Pierci's upper arm in his left hand and its wrist in his right, but his malevolent glare was locked on the warrior's eyes. With a deep, rumbling growl reverberating from his chest like a jungle cat, the beast-man squeezed Pierci's wrist with fingers that had been toughened from twenty-eight years of brutal, arduous, exhausting work. The pressure built to uncomfortable in a lita, then to painful in two more, and then Pierci began to scream again.

Shartae clearly felt the ends of Pierci's forearm bones grinding together under his unbreakable grip, yet he increased the pressure still, letting out years of pent up rage in the effort. A moment later there was an audible "pop".

Pierci made a frantic, desperate maneuver to break that crushing hold on him. He twisted powerfully against the agony he was feeling, and brought a round-house left at Shartae's chin. If it had landed, it would likely have broken his jaw, but Shartae the Invincible was operating in a zone far beyond Pierci's by then. As that fist hurtled inward, he merely ducked his head to meet it, catching it squarely on the crown of his forehead...the hardest, thickest bone in the human body.

There was a loud "crunch" as three knuckles in Pierci's left hand exploded.

Shartae would have been dazed by the impact had it not been for the amount of adrenaline coursing through him, and so when Pierci's face contorted once more with a mask of utter anguish, Shartae brought his right knee up and folded the God of War's elbow ninety degrees opposite the normal operating angle.

The green sword fell to the hard-packed ground with a loud clang, and Pierci tried to go the other way...but the man he'd come to fight...the man he'd threatened to kill...was not finished with him yet.

The fellow everyone knew as Itsu was so far gone into the bloodlust of battle that he didn't even hesitate. He was Shartae; a savage beast in a battle to the death! As Pierci threw his head back in a violent effort to wrench himself free, Shartae's reaction was lightning-quick. His right hand released the wrist he was crushing and flashed in at Pierci's unprotected throat.

"To the death!" was blasting through his brain, and like any ferocious creature bent on survival, he meant to see it through.

"THWACK!" sounded across the open ground as the side of Shartae's broad hand slammed into Pierci's Adam's apple. He may as well have used an iron bar, for that blow collapsed his throat into his neck so violently against his spine that his vertebrae separated.

Pierci's eyes bulged outward as if they might burst from his skull.

But even that was not the end of it.

With a roar that sounded like an enraged wildebeest's challenge, Shartae grabbed Pierci by the neck and left thigh and yanked him off the ground, raising him high over his head. And then the victory call of the Aredanz ripped across the plateau as he dropped the fellow down across his bended knee.

In that instant, all manner of fight was gone from Pierci...as was any sign of life. His body went as limp as a sack of flour.

At the conclusion of that maniacal wail, the creature operating Ronin's figure stood up quickly and dumped the corpse away from him like it was a disease-infested carcass.

With his right hand, Shartae then snatched up the black super-blade from its earthen scabbard and turned about, scanning each man within twenty feet...searching for more foes to kill. He ended up facing the two-hundred Piercellione who'd accompanied Pierci to the mine. With a deft flick of his foot, Pierci's green weapon popped into his left.

"If my family has been harmed, I'll kill every last one of you!" he vowed in as deep and menacing a tone as he'd ever uttered.

### Chapter Forty-four

### The Piercellione

Pierci's right-hand man, and next highest ranking leader of his troops, stepped forward a single pace, dropped to one knee, and saluted Ronin in the Piercellione manner...a clenched fist slammed to his chest before it extended horizontally as if it were a swinging sword, ending outstretched in front of him, pointing at Ronin Alsone.

In an instant, every warrior Pierci had brought with him immediately copied that fellow.

"We are yours to command, Great Ronin!" the leader announced with nervous reverence quivering in his voice. No one there could tell if that tremor was from excitement or fear.

Ronin continued to glare at the men, still too far into the bloodlust mentality to respond.

The troopers did not move, but they all continued to look to their new leader; Ronin Alsone.

Several litas passed without a single sound from anyone in the large crowd. They were all frozen...mesmerized by the apparent passing of some unseen baton of authority.

At last, Ron recovered himself and spooled down enough to question this new development.

"You there," he said gruffly to the captain. "What is your name?"

"Retu Moone...First Captain of the Piercellione."

"Explain what is happening."

"You have..." the fellow began.

"Stand up and face me, man!" Ron ordered...having no patience for such submissive nonsense. "All of you...stand up!"

They instantly did as he bade.

"You have defeated the undefeatable," the captain told him. "You are now our master...our king. We are at your bidding."

"Your king, you say?"

"YES, RONIN!" they all roared as one.

"Then tell me what I want to know! What has become of my family?"

"Your wife has passed, some years..."

"Yes, I know...the Paschanc flu...two years ago. Ariah wrote me."

"Two of your daughters still live...Kala and Ariah. Your oldest, Lillette died in a landslide on a trip to Falkrest, six years ago. A year after Vessia passed, your second; Marsali developed a blood disease after being bitten by an Ishista viper. She never recovered. The middle one; Sandrissa, perished in child-birth, giving you your fifth grandchild...a boy; Coltrain. Kala and Ariah are married and still reside in a remote farming community in Kinlan...a distant land far to the southeast of Heraitey...not part of Erthania's realm."

"And we are west-northwest of Heraitey, here...correct?"

"Yes, Ronin."

"Did Pierci do this to me...send me to this place? "

"He did not."

Ron was bewildered. "Then who?"

"I truly do not know."

"But he tracked me here, after all this time?"

"He explained it to me like this...," the captain told Ron, "on the off-chance that you should actually defeat him.

"When you first came to our mountain city, he thought that you were the one he'd been expecting for centuries...a man from where he came from. Apparently his people are truly from the heavens, but had traveled here without authority and did things their own superiors would find...unworthy. He said what they had done was only meant to ensure their own survival, but that their leaders wouldn't see it that way. When you came to him, all those years ago, he thought you were their emissary...and that more of his people would join you and collect all of his surviving crew, if there were any.

"He was also certain that you were an advanced soldier, like him, especially the way you fought your way out of the clutches of an entire army...single-handedly...and survived. And then you found our hidden valley, coming across the high pass when our own people had given that up as impossible. And as he already told you, he assumed you were also a millennial.

"But after you joined the community, he saw that you had no advanced weaponry, no clue as to who he was or where he'd come from, and no desire to investigate him whatsoever. But what truly clenched it for him was when he found out that Lasinii had become 'with-child'. You see, his people could not successfully mate with ours...Erthanians.

"We just presumed that it was because he was a god."

Ronin's expression changed again at that news. "Then what he said was true? Lasinii was pregnant?"

"Yes. She gave you a son."

"And what happened to them? Do they live?"

"Lasinii was alive and well when I last saw her, but she was old. I don't truly know now. It has been three years."

Ron nodded his understanding.

"And my son?" he then asked, his eyes instantly panning the Piercellione soldiers. "Is he here...with you?"

"No, my Lord. He left Pierci's Mountains many years ago, before I was born. But if you would allow me to finish my story, Sire, it may explain much of what you seek to understand."

Ron nodded at him and stood quiet, sweat running down his filthy body in long, murky, and bloody rivulets.

"When Pierci summoned you...way back then...he was immensely curious about you...because of the tales he'd heard of your incredible strength, skill, bravery, and tenacity. He listened to your story and became fascinated with it. He decided to send you on your way...to fulfill whatever mission had brought you to Erthania, for he was absolutely certain that one had. His intrigue in that aspect alone kept him from fighting you back then."

"And he told you about that mission...and where I'm from?"

"No. He did not. However, once you were gone, and your woman; Lasinii, became frantic that you had left without your weapon, he called her to him. She told Pierci about the sword that she'd seen you slay so many men with, and he immediately became obsessed with it. Suddenly he thought he'd made a terrible mistake. He even sent twenty men to find you and bring you back, but it was of no matter. You'd vanished. We finally concluded that the bounty on your head had been the end of you...since you didn't have your special weapon that your woman had claimed you desperately needed to survive.

"Pierci believed that your black sword was like his green one, your sole protection against overwhelming odds, and so he tried for years to discover the secret of that blade, but as he explained, it was as unyielding as the planet itself.

"Then, one day...years later...a rumor began to stir about a warrior in Nevari who'd stood in the middle of a battle against a tidal wave of horsemen, out on the great northern plain. That he destroyed their charging warriors almost single-handedly with skills incomparable to mortal men...and that, in his lust for battle that he'd actually charged out into the night to attack 'them'!

"The Piercellione investigated again. My own father was part of that mission. However, no one had seen that fellow return, and so they concluded he'd perished in the attempt. After all, no other man had ever returned from the plains.

"Then again, a year later, rumors arose of a man in the southern city of Heraitey who had saved Queen Arethnii Deaton from an ambush that had sent half a legion of her soldiers to their maker. This man had slain thirty armed men right before her eyes...unaided...to stay her family's execution. The name attached to that individual was Dangarth Korval, dubbed DanKor; the Creator's Hand of Justice.

"Again, we investigated, but found no one. We were told that he had stayed only a short while and then moved on.

"Next came a new story about a single fellow who was sent to quell a truly sinister, bloodthirsty army's abuse of a number of villages and towns, and that this warrior had slaughtered them all in barely a single night. The name 'Ronin' was definitively tied to that tale and so we searched it out as well. We found everything to be true...again...but no evidence as to where the fellow had come from, or gone to.

"Twice more we investigated stories very similar...a lone warrior arriving out of nowhere to bring harsh justice to some marauding band...and in each case, the name of 'Ronin' was upon the lips of all who corroborated the happenings. But after each event he'd simply walked off into the wilderness and vanished.

"Our search was like tracking a ghost.

"Another tale emerged some years later. It was said that a great warrior had stopped four separate skirmishes between Heraitey's forces and others...those foolish enough to attempt to challenge that mighty kingdom.

"They claimed that this warrior walked out onto the field of battle and met the champions of each of the opposing armies, and in typical Erthanian custom, each side placed their best three men to the test, to spare the loss of life that would result in an all-out battle. He defeated them all...and he'd stood alone every time.

"That time, however, we found that fellow. The man in question was not you though, of course. It was a young general of Heraitey's army: a man named Conith Worsham."

Ron said nothing, but his pride in Conith made him smile inside.

"However, our emissaries spoke with the general and he told them about the fellow who had trained him...Ronin Alsone...a man of such phenomenal abilities that he was completely unparalleled. That's when we heard that this super-soldier had been betrayed, his family had disappeared...most likely killed...and that he'd been likely executed as well. The trail went cold there for many years, and only the greatest of chance circumstances gave us the clues that eventually led us to the truth of what had actually happened.

"The sole surviving member of the band of mercenaries who'd captured your wife and daughters went mad in his old age and raved about it in a tavern one of our men happened to be in. Our agent discovered the general area they'd been taken to and so we went looking, to verify the story.

"We found your family several years ago, Lord Ronin...but finding you was much more difficult, obviously. You see, no one man knew the entire story. It took us this long to track you down...and now you are free...and we are yours to command."

"But if Pierci had no grudge against me, what he told me was the truth? All he wanted was to fight me?"

"Well...yes. You see, he was a truly valiant warrior, my Lord...and had defended his people many times over his long life, just as he'd claimed. But he was also incredibly vain. He took great pride in being the most revered, and feared, person alive. And when he heard of the remarkable tales about you, he simply had to see if his equal had actually been found. But he wanted your best. That's why he goaded you earlier. A half-hearted match would do him no good.

"In fact...I rather think he was wishing someone would finally be able to beat him...to release him from this unending life that, for much of the time, he found almost unbearably dull and boring. After all, he had nothing to look forward to. He'd done it all...except raising a family of his own blood. And he always felt that was a monumental curse to him.

"Now, I'm not saying that it meant he wouldn't fight to the best of his ability. No, he just wanted to experience that cold threat of death kissing him...so that he might feel alive again. It had been too long since he'd been really challenged."

Ron glanced over at the broken corpse as six men hoisted him up and carried him away.

"I guess he got what he wanted then," Ron said gruffly.

"One last thing, Sire. Pierci instructed me to give you a single directive he was certain you would wish to investigate."

Ron locked his attention to the young man.

"He said; 'Look behind the throne room for the answers you seek.'"

Ronin looked puzzled by that, and stored it in his memory, but then returned to more pressing business.

"Now, let's go find my family."

"We will guide you to them, Ronin. However, I must warn you that the lands between them and us are at war!"

A chill shot through Ron. "Could this be it at last?" he thought. "Could this be the war he was supposed to stop?"

Just as quickly, he realized that he didn't care one bit about who was fighting who. Why should he?

"Can we go around?" Ron asked. "Can we avoid this conflict?"

"Yes, of course. That would be my suggestion. It will take an additional santari of travel, but it can be done easily. Most of the fighting has moved to the south, headed for Heraitey."

That struck a resounding chord in Ron's mind.

"What will you do with Pierci's body?" he asked Retu.

"Burn it. That was his wish. I have men already searching for materials. Is that acceptable?"

Ron just nodded.

"Here, Captain," he added a moment later, realizing he still held Pierci's sword. "Do what you will with it."

"You do not wish to wield it?"

"No. I have a blade that no other could ever match."

"As you wish, Sire." Retu then took the weapon. "When the ceremony is complete, we could leave immediately."

"Very well. Just let me clean up," Ron replied, turning toward the river that fed water to the mine through a well-designed aqueduct. It was a hoz away.

"We have some clothes for you, Ronin."

Ron glanced down at himself. He'd been naked for so long that he didn't even think about it anymore. He nodded and headed off again.

"Oh, wait," the captain cried out suddenly.

Ron stopped again and turned around.

"Forgive me, Lord Ronin, but with all that's happened, I almost forgot. I have three letters for you. One is from your wife, Vessia. It is the oldest...obviously. Another is from Lasinii. I've been carrying them for these past three years. The third is from your daughter; Kala. It just caught up to us two santaris ago."

Ronin's heart began to pound hard again as he accepted the sealed notes from the young man. He read them there, on the spot.

The first was long...more than a page. It was from Vessia and it was written in Earth English so that there was no chance it's message could be intercepted.

"Ronin, my love,

"I find myself almost too thrilled to write to you. My hands are literally shaking! To think that it all may be over soon! But I have to be realistic. Just because they found us doesn't mean they'll find you. It has been so long now. And we mustn't let on what's happening until you are safe, lest they find out and assassinate you, so I don't know how old this letter will be when it finally reaches you.

"Nevertheless, with the Gods' help...and some soldiers from a place called; Vaaltees...a woman named Lasinii has come to me and the girls. At this time, we are all safe, and I want to tell you that you have seven grandchildren that I know of. (Although it has been twenty-five years since I corresponded with Lillette, Marsali, or Sandrissa.)

"Our captors wouldn't let me share good news with you all these long years because they wished to hurt you. Why was always a mystery, until now. And that is why my correspondence was always so pathetically brief. Please believe me when I say that we pray every night that you still breathe, and that...somehow...we'll see you again one day.

"One of the soldiers that brought Lasinii to us said he would give you this letter, if they ever find you, so I've written it to fill in some of the mysteries that have so horribly shaped our lives.

"The one who betrayed you and condemned you to your life of misery was none other than Renni himself. Arethnii managed to get this information to me during our long exile with the help of a man named Verceth, but she was powerless to do more.

"Renni found out that his only brother; Conith, was actually 'your' son...not his father's: or at least not Arethnii's husband...the only father he ever knew. He felt so betrayed that it drove him mad. He spent santaris planning your demise, and after he'd succeeded, he even banished his own mother from Heraitey so that she could never even try to find us or you. She lived in near total isolation...even from her only daughter...for the next eighteen years, until she died. That has been many years ago now.

"Your son...Conith...Renni's half-brother...rose quickly in rank and authority...not because he had the king's help, but because he was a true leader...a soldier that nearly every other looked to for sound advice and wise tactics. In my opinion, his men saw so much of what I know about you in him. He was unwavering in his duty and never waged war when he could avoid it through other means.

"I knew about Conith being your son since he began training with you, my darling, and I am terribly sorry that I kept that secret from you, but I was selfish and petty and afraid. He was your child by another woman...my best friend...and it hurt me deeply. I so desperately wanted you all to myself.

"I am immensely sorry for that, my love...I truly am...and even more so now because you missed out on knowing such a wonderful man better than a mere pupil.

"I hate to have to tell you, my darling, but at the height of his career, Conith was betrayed and slain on the battlefield by Renni's attack dog; General Braun, at Renni's order. Braun then took control of the army and, with the backing of the king, began a campaign of senseless conquest. The empire grew quickly, as did Renni's power and reach, but after a while it became clear that Braun needed to be reined in. His tactics had become so ruthless and brutal that soon even Renni could no longer read the reports that came to him from around the empire.

"He then betrayed Braun as he'd done to you and your son, and tried to have him killed, but Braun had grown so paranoid about exactly that type of interference that the attempt failed. The force sent to slay him was able to chase Braun and a handful of his loyalist soldiers out of our lands and into the wild lands far to the west, but he still lived, and he vowed to return and destroy Renni and Heraitey. Renni then placed standing orders to have Braun killed on sight if he ever returned.

"Apparently though, the slim margin that Renni had prevailed by forced him to open his eyes and rethink many of his previous actions, and so his tactics have softened notably since, and peaceful dialogue has returned across the empire. We all hope it will continue, but only time will tell.

"Oh, my truest love, I beg for your forgiveness, and I pray I get to see you again one day, before I pass on. I am so deeply remorseful for my deceit, and I love you with all my heart.

"Vessia

Ron was stunned, as you might imagine, and read that letter three times.

The Piercellione commander waited patiently, and silently, at his side.

Ron finally went to the others.

The next letter he read was from his daughter, Kala. It too was in Earth English.

"Father,

"I read Mother's letter to you after she passed, so I wanted to update her news. It is not good.

"Six santaris ago now, the war-monger; Braun did just as Renni feared. He returned at the head of a ten-thousand-man army of mounted soldiers with the sole purpose of tearing apart everything Renni had built. These foreign warriors called him Garnmole Trealnian (Fate's Harbinger in the westerner's language).

"The foot-soldiers of Erthania's forces know nothing about defense against such an enemy, therefore they have been unstoppable. I know that you have no reason to care anymore about what happens to the realm, but Father, it has been unbelievably horrible. He has destroyed and looted three of the largest cities in the kingdom, and butchered many thousands of innocents. Lillette's entire family were among them. And he will slaughter everyone else too, I'm afraid, if he isn't stopped. I plead with you, Father...Ronin Alsone...the greatest warrior ever to stand on Erthanian soil...please help them! And please avenge my sister's children and your son, Conith...my only brother!

"All my love,

"Kala Alsone

Ron mused over that letter for several borts, his mind racing with so many thoughts that he was rendered immobile. Finally though, he rolled that bit of parchment up as well and opened the third...the one from Lasinii. He never thought he'd see or hear from her again, but there it was, written in the crude Erthanian dialect of her people.

By the time he'd finished that note, his hands were trembling badly and his stare was a million hoz away.

He stood thusly for several more borts while the men around him gathered to begin the march. They made no move to hurry him, but they were clearly curious about his lack of animation.

Finally Ron blinked twice, looked about, and then turned around again and made his way to the river in silence. He washed the dirt and grit from his body, dressed himself in the simple garments the Piercellione provided, and took his place at the front of their column. He then arranged all of his weaponry carefully upon his person. It had been nearly three decades, but everything he'd had on him when he surrendered back in Turtle Bend was still there at the mine, locked up in the Commandant's storage vault. His twin swords joined the ebony one, his throwing knives were in his vest, and the bow that he'd used to hunt for the guards filled his left hand.

Six of the mine's guards were waiting for him beside the Piercellione captain when he stood ready.

"Lord Ronin," one of the guards began, but Ronin cut him off.

"Stop there, Loron," he said. Then, sweeping the entire group as he spoke, he said; "I am no one's lord! Call me Ronin, or Ron, as you choose...but I claim no position over any of you! We are all equals!"

Two hundred fists slapped the leather upon their chests.

"Very well, Ronin," Loron continued. "We...that is, the six of us...would join you if you would have us."

Ron glanced across the faces of each of the men. He knew all of them, and knew their stories. They were soldiers from the Eshara kingdom, and they'd joined the mine for work after their own armies had been crushed by Heraitey's, some years in the past. They were honorable men in their prime, and so he saw no reason to deny them.

However, before committing, he turned to the Piercellione.

"These men wish to join us. I know not their full abilities in battle, for I have not witnessed it first hand, but I will vouch for their integrity. What say you?"

"Aaaooot!" the men replied, crashing their swords against their armor.

Ronin turned to them and nodded his consent. "You will not be fully accepted until you've proven yourselves...you understand?"

The six men snapped to attention and each brought his fist to his own chest. "Aaaooot!" Then they fell back to join the larger group.

Before he set off, Ron took a moment to gather his thoughts and then he faced his new army.

"You men have chosen to follow me!" he called to them, his voice thundering across the flat ground. They could easily tell he was preparing himself for something extremely grim as the tenor of his speech had turned to barely more than a growl, and menace laced his every word. "If that is so, be warned! When I leave this place, I go to war!"

The men behind him...all two hundred and six...howled in support. They were disciplined, trained warriors. Battle was what they lived for!

### Chapter Forty-five

### A Legend is Born

Ronin Alsone stood in the very center of a grassy glade, his feet spread a bit wider than his hips, his hands crossed at his waist, and his head hanging. To any casual observer, he might be a man lost in some deep thought, or simply bored from waiting for an overdue friend. However, neither of those scenarios could possibly be further from the truth.

He had heard the group coming for the past two billots. They were not woodsmen and wore so much armor that the clicking, clanking, and creaking had broadcast the fact that thirty men accompanied the specific individual who was supposed to meet him there. Of course, that person was supposed to meet him alone save one attendant.

Such betrayal did not surprise him either. Over the past eight weeks, as he'd fought his way southward, Ronin had become quite familiar with the person now staring at him across the clearing. The fellow was a masterful swordsman by all accounts, a phenomenal warrior with exceptional strength, a renowned leader of devoted men, and an absolute devil. Treachery and deceit seemed to be his forte...anything that gave him the desired outcome to his particular endeavor. And whatever code of honor he once had appeared to have been forgotten, or simply discarded along his path to vengeance. In his wake he'd left nothing but death, misery, hardship, and despair. Twenty villages and three cities had been razed at his orders. The rest had heard the warnings and had submitted. Still, slave caravans were strung out over many hoz on several roads, headed for sale or to work camps, depending on their personal status of health, beauty, strength, or willingness to accommodate.

Ronin and his Piercellione army had liberated them all. Every town, village, or community that they'd come across in their march to the south, they'd freed. And every follower of Garnmole, they'd killed. Just as the invader had captured, stolen, imprisoned, and destroyed everything in his path to Heraitey, Ronin had undone it all.

Four separate times, sections of Garn's armies had met Ronin's in open warfare, and even though they'd vastly outnumbered the Piercellione...at least five to one...they'd all been obliterated. At that time, Garn's main contingent of eight thousand men had set up siege at the great rift outside Heraitey, but as reports of the mysterious army working its way south continued to grow, the great commander of the invading hordes had turned three thousand of his rear guard around to crush this growing threat. They were never heard from again.

That had left five thousand troops still laying siege to the city of Heraitey. They came up with several plans to bridge the rift, and had two of them well along the way toward application, but when that last attempt to quell the encroaching menace had failed, the brutal general's confidence had begun to waver. As a show of ultimate defiance, he then ordered two thousand men stay at the city and three legions to march with him to confront this escalating danger.

They put their backs to Heraitey and rode north with all the bravado he'd grown so accustomed to, but inside was a different mindset. He had no idea what size force he faced...only that it had wreaked so much havoc on his own that it gave him pause for the first time in his life.

It took a week to close the distance between the two armies, and by then he'd come up with a new plan, hoping to use the southerners' own traditions against them. He sent word ahead to find the foreign army's leader and deliver his message.

In an attempt to avoid an all-out clash, Garn had challenged the leader of that militia...rumored to be the great Ronin Alsone himself...to a man-to-man, winner-take-all contest. He'd of course heard some of the tales of the infamous warrior in his youth, but that had been nearly forty years ago.

As he glared across the small glade, Garn saw the fellow who called himself Ronin standing at the appointed place, and he was alone.

When he heard Garn halt his approach, Ronin slowly raised his eyes.

Garnmole Trealnian absorbed everything about his opponent in an instant. The fellow was tall, nearly as tall as he, himself was...and stood like a king. There wasn't a single sign of fear, trepidation, or worry on his face, and his body was as still and poised as he'd ever seen in a man.

Beneath the raggedly cut coif of hair, the man's steel-gray eyes were steady, and his expression solemn. The muscles that stood out prominently across his wide, bare chest appeared to have been chiseled from solid rock...only rock the color of caramel. Aside from dozens of recently accumulated flesh-wounds, he wore only two items. The first was a thin, X-shaped harness that appeared to be made of woven metal. The second was around his hips, where his loins were covered with a simple wrap of peasant cloth. The man's feet were completely bare.

He brandished no shield, no armor, and his hands were empty.

The leader of the thirty-man party could clearly make out the ends of a bow secured to the stranger's back, along with an assortment of arrows resting in a quiver beside him, it being apparently anchored to the ground. Slightly off to the right of the stranger's head, a dark shaft...presumably the hand-guard of a sword...protruded above his right shoulder.

They stood staring at one another for almost three full borts, separated by a good twenty kez.

If he didn't know better, Garn would have concluded that the fellow who stood before him...who dared challenge the most powerful army and the greatest general in all Erthania...was completely indifferent to his presence.

"You are Ronin Alsone?" Garn finally queried in a loud, bellowing voice.

"I am."

"I have heard a great deal about you...but that was long ago."

"I have heard stories of you as well, more recently."

Garn stared long and hard at his newest adversary, searching for what he'd seen many times before in those opposing him...fear. What he found though was a man who gazed back with obvious disdain. The general shifted his weight slightly, as if uncomfortable.

"You came alone?" Garn finally asked, his eyes darting all about.

"That was the agreement, was it not?" Ronin returned. He even 'sounded' condescending.

Garn smirked. "Yes. Yes it was."

The leader turned his head to his right, locking on to the eyes of one of his lieutenants, and then he flicked his head.

His archers snapped to instantly, and ten arrows shot forward in a well-coordinated assault, but, as if he knew exactly what they were going to do, the foreigner just crouched and popped up even quicker, a metal-clad shield suddenly in front of his body. It had been well camouflaged.

Angling the front side of that barrier sent six of the ten missiles sailing off to the left. The other four were fired wide enough to catch him should he have moved to either side.

Half a lita after those bolts left their rests, a hail of incoming arrows put every one of his archers down with uncanny, yet lethal accuracy.

Garnmole spun about in astonishment, copied in concert by his twenty other men. Swords leaped from their sheaths as all eyes quickly scanned the encroaching woods. They could see no one, but obviously some enemy force was there.

The great leader's gaze finally returned to the waiting stranger.

"I thought you said you were alone," he growled.

"I never said I was alone. I said that was what had been agreed upon. But clearly, no-one stands beside _me_ ," Ronin countered, his gaze stern and piercing.

Garn's face was flushed by that point, the reddish hue of his skin easily seen, even under his metal helmet.

A moment later, Ronin saw his lips purse, just before a series of quick whistles broke the quiet of the glade.

Instantly, three Shedorean boarhounds burst from the forest's edge and raced across the grass. They were foreign to Erthanians, and giant canines by Earth standards, each weighing as much or more than two large men, and they sported four three-inch-long fangs that could slice through the toughest hide in Erthania. Their fore-shoulders were rounded, rolling knots of muscle, and their necks were short and broad. Comparing them to any animal an Earth man might know would have resulted in a compilation of a Pit-bull Terrier and a Rhodesian Ridgeback. Only they were each the size of a cow!

Traveling in packs of ten to twenty, they were the most menacing creatures south of the Great Peaks.

The shield Ronin had used immediately slammed into the firm turf where it stuck there, free of his grasp. In the following instant, he stooped once again and arose with a long spear in his right hand. It too had been placed beside him in the grass, totally unseen by his attackers.

That weapon of war was in flight before the huge beasts had made it ten kez into the clearing, and as Ronin's bulging shoulder dropped from the first cast, his left hand was scooping up a second spear. Those six-feet-long, metal-tipped wooden missiles flew perfectly on target, impaling two of the massive beasts and bringing their charge to an abrupt end. That left the third, but Ronin was out of spears.

As the second long-range weapon left his fingertips, Ronin was pulling his hand-made, custom sword free of its scabbard, his teeth bared and a mighty roar blasting from his throat.

The massive dog came straight at him, and Garnmole smiled a grim smile. He'd seen one of those beasts shred three fully armed and armored men with little difficulty. This would be over in a blink.

Even though the huge creature was amazingly fast, Ronin tracked its every move with incredible precision and met it with the tip of his blade. That razor-sharp sliver of steel entered the jackal's mouth and burst out the back of its skull as easily as skewering a tossed cantaloupe. However, that kill could only be made if Ronin stood his ground to the bitter end, so he had to accept the full charge of the beast as it bowled into him.

Garnmole nearly cheered when he saw the pair go down, but when his creature failed to rise at the end of that tumble, he caught his breath short, straining to see the results he was hoping for. However, when Ronin Alsone stood up and released a huge, angry growl of open contempt, Garn's heart jolted to a stop.

In a harrowed reaction, Garn turned to his right and signaled another group of his men.

"Send the tigers!" he roared.

Two Valisus tigers then bolted from the shadows...each incensed from the smell of blood...and sprinted for the man who now stood spattered with the stuff.

Ronin was easily ten feet from his original position, so he leaped forward, diving to the ground and rising only to his knees beside his quiver, and his custom-made bow was already drawn to his ear. An arrow was away before the watching men even understood what he'd done, and then two more so fast they later thought it was only one.

Those three bolts slammed into the leading cat square in its wide chest, and it went down, writhing in the grass in sheer agony. The second tiger streaked past its fallen partner and took to the air, a leap of some fifteen kez. The entire clearing vibrated from the creature's heart-pounding scream, and every set of eyes locked onto that huge cat as it eclipsed its prey completely.

Once again, Garnmole Trealnian's mouth twisted into a silent smirk. "No one could even hope to survive that!" he told himself.

But just as with the boarhound, when the tiger struck the ground, it lay motionless, limp, and silent. His brows furrowed deeply as he strained to see...waiting...and then he heard it...but again, it wasn't what he'd expected. It was an odd, soft sound, like the forest itself was hissing. That strange noise turned out to be a conjoined gasp from the twenty souls all about him.

"Im-p-o-ss-i-ble," then whispered through his throng.

Garn was still looking at the great cat, where his eyes had locked, but at a slight movement in the thick grass much closer to him, his gaze leaped. A man lay there, stretched out prone on the ground as if he'd dived forward... _at_ the charging beast! And sticking straight up, clutched in his two hands, was a long, slim item that was blacker than a moonless night.

And before the leader of the conquering army could even think the foreigner was somehow dead, Ronin sprang to his feet once more.

Dripping with the gore of those ferocious creatures, Ronin Alsone faced Garn again, and roared!

It wasn't a mere growl of pent up rage that the general heard just then either...no it was the full-on, spine-tingling challenge that would one day become the signature cry of the Aredanz Mountain Clans.

"COWARD!" Ronin bellowed when it was done, pointing straight at Garn with the tip of his raven blade.

In the entire fifty-four years of Garn's life, he had never heard that word directed at him even once. He'd always been the other guy...the one everybody admired and envied...or feared...the one who could achieve and surpass, survive and prevail. He'd reached the highest pinnacle of the greatest army of the mightiest empire and had crushed every foe. Yet at that very moment, he felt terribly uneasy...inadequate.

He stood in awe of another for only the second time in his memory. The first was his father...or to be more precise; the man who'd raised him...the greatest warrior he'd known in his childhood...but he'd left that esteem back with his adolescence, in a fit of rage that had closed the door to his youth forever.

This fellow though...the one who now stood before him in open defiance...was another matter altogether. This man had just demonstrated a level of bravery, ferocity, agility, and skill that he knew he couldn't even dream of matching. The mere thought of waging war against the stranger that now spit upon his honor made him quake within.

Garnmole faced the unknown fellow with a fierce scowl on his face and a jaw that was clamped down in determination, but it was more of a show to bolster his own inner turmoil.

At any other challenge, Garn would have already strode out to slay the pathetic challenger, but for some reason his men could not fathom, their leader stood his ground, naked blade in hand.

After nearly half a bort went by, Garn's most trusted captain brushed shoulders with his commander and tried to urge him out of his frozen state.

"Go kill that flarge scum!" he growled.

That worked. Garn jerked at the sound of his voice, as if coming out of the grip of a very vivid daydream. He half turned to his comrade, but his eyes flicked across the faces of his men. He saw in those returning stares, the doubt that they felt...the doubt that he felt as well.

"Make ready to leave," he said in a voice he hoped sounded confident. "When I'm done with this nuisance, we will take Heraitey and burn it to the ground!"

Garn then strode out to face the blood-soaked stranger.

Ronin moved to his left to get clear of the bodies of the creatures Garn had sent to kill him. He held no bow, no spear, and no shield...just the black sword. It was all he needed.

Garn was armored from head to toe.

The big leader dropped into a crouch when he was near to Ronin, and then they began to circle one another.

Garn wasted no time at all, taking the aggressor's position, and lunged in. He was a man of incredible skill and strength, as any of his former adversaries would have attested if they'd lived, but on the very first attack, he caught the briefest glimpse of what he faced, and it did not bode well for him.

Ronin tracked the incoming blade expertly, and slid his own down the length of it so that it would drift just to the right of his sword arm...and then he pricked Garn's left shoulder with his ebony weapon's super-hardened tip.

It was only a minor wound, but Garn jerked back sharply at the sting of it. He leaped a full step back and glanced down, seeing a bright red sheen oozing through the overlapping plates of his armor. That strike had been so perfectly delivered that he hadn't even seen it...but it had penetrated his protection as if he'd been naked.

Garn's eyes then returned to his foe. The wild man before him simply glared back. There was no smile of superiority, no delight, and no uncertainty on his face. He was a man of supreme focus and grim determination. If there was any emotion to be read across Ronin's face at that moment, it would have been remorse...but that made no sense at all to Garn.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!" roared the leader of the invading army as he rushed forward again, leading with his heavy shield. His adrenaline was surging by then and he attacked with every shred of skill, power, and speed he had in him.

Ronin slapped Garn's sword aside and rammed his shield with his bare shoulder, smashing it violently against the general's body and knocking some of the breath from him. Then Ronin took a half step back and swept his own blade horizontally in a blistering flash, causing a third of that protective device to fall to the grass.

That shield was layered and trimmed with metal, and had kept countless other swords and arrows at bay to defend its owner, yet Ronin's weapon had lopped it off as easily as if it had been nothing more than a woven basket.

Garn saw himself exposed and quickly tossed the remainder of that shield aside, pulling a long knife instead. He then renewed his attack. He was fast and sure, having practiced his blade skills every day for many years.

The foreign man stood his ground and swatted away the general's every attempt as if he were training a teenage student.

From thirty kez distance, at the edge of the woods, the surviving members of Garn's army leaned forward, forgetting that they were no doubt surrounded by an unknown force of warriors. The clash before them was all they could discern.

Garn hammered away at the newcomer with moves those watching could only fantasize about, so smooth, yet forceful, and from their perspective, he was barely a hairs breadth away from slicing the nearly naked man to pieces. But from a closer viewpoint, that of the men actually swinging the metal, it was a totally different story.

Garn's armor was made much like that of Earth's ancient China. It was many plates of metal fashioned into scales, like a fish's outer covering, and it was very adept at keeping an opponent's weapon...be it arrow, or sword, or axe...from penetrating, if the blow came at the typical angle. Unfortunately, just like a fish's protection, if the attack went against its primary direction, it yielded less than desirable results.

In the span of merely a handful of litas, Garnmole realized that his opponent was easily quick enough to block his attacks and still redirect his own blade to slip between his armor's safeguards at will. And after only a few borts of swordplay, Garn was bleeding from two dozen places.

Soon after that, Garn gave up trying to attack and fell to defense, but that was of no consequence either. The stranger kept up his unstoppable barrage until the armor was literally falling off Garn's torso.

A short time later, Garn took two steps back and used his long knife to cut the remaining ties that held his ruined protection to him. Then he cast it aside with a loud grunt. He was huffing madly by then, and so he even ripped his helmet off and tossed that away as well. That's when his men first saw the damage that the stranger had done to their commander. They were astonished!

Garn's under-liner, a material that by itself could stop an arrow, was thoroughly soaked with blood. That forced them to realize that the flashing reflection they'd all thought to be sweat, was in fact his inner fluid seeping from his body. But by itself, that didn't crush their spirits because the stranger too was covered head to foot in the red liquid, so they yet held to their confidence in their commander.

Such devotion and adoration came to an abrupt halt a few borts later however, when Garn felt the tip of Ronin's blade sink deeply into the front of his left hip and he fell to his knees, all the feeling gone from his leg.

Garn took one more swipe at his tormentor but Ronin followed that around and shoved his blade completely through the warmongering general's sword hand, pinning it to the ground. The weapon fell unceremoniously to the grass.

Ronin kicked it away before withdrawing his own and then stepped casually around to Garn's front, clearly wishing a pause to the one-sided duel. Garn whimpered as he pulled his skewered hand to his chest, but nevertheless lashed out again at Ronin with his dagger...a desperate attempt at some tiny bit of retaliation. However, that blade disappeared mid-swing, blasted off into the nearby forest at a flick of Ronin's hand, along with the end of Garn's left thumb.

Ronin completed his repositioning until he stood directly before his broken opponent, glaring down at the man.

Ronin's back was to Garn's entourage at that point, so he didn't actually witness it, but three of the general's most ardent followers broke formation and surged out into the glade. Ronin heard the motions, of course, yet he never turned around. Those men didn't make it three steps before they were turned into pin cushions by a hail of fifty arrows. That stayed any further efforts to assist Garn.

Ronin heard the thuds of the men's corpses behind him, but his focus was in front, and his entire figure was filled with so much emotion that it quivered. His mind was fighting its own battle about what should happen next, and as that silent war raged, his fingers squeezed the ultra-dense hilt of his blade. Unmistakable to all who watched, it was difficult to stay his hand.

"You could have been a great leader," he scolded Garn, his voice clearly trembling. "What a waste!"

Garn spat at him. Ronin ignored it.

"If your lust for power and war had not poisoned your mind, you would yet be heralded as the greatest warrior of all Erthania. But look at you now."

"What is it to you, you flarge piss?"

Ronin did not reply, seemingly too angry to respond...but it wasn't anger. He stood there for almost a full bort, the grip on his sword so tight that his bronzed knuckles glowed white.

"Get on with it!" Garn finally growled. "I will not beg for mercy!"

He could see in Ronin's eyes that compassion was not in the forefront of his thoughts.

"Mercy?" Ronin asked. "For bringing war to a nation for no reason? For slaughtering tens of thousands of innocent citizens? For causing famine, disease, and despair to spread across a thousand square hoz?"

Garn merely looked back at him with no sign of regret.

"After I served the king faithfully, and doubled the size of his realm," he roared, "he turned his back on me and cast me out...banished me to the wilds! He brought this on himself!"

Ronin glared down at the man before him and seethed.

"It is always easiest to blame another for your own shortcomings."

Garn lowered his eyes to the ground for a moment.

"Your mother was heartbroken."

Garn's head snapped up in a blink.

"My mother is a whore! She turned her back on my real father and crawled right into the bed of the man who sent him to his death! She can rot in Kreete!"

"You know _nothing_...you _stupid_ boy!"

Garn snarled at Ronin.

"She did what she did out of sacrifice...," Ronin continued, "to keep you...the child of the only man she ever loved...alive."

Garn stared up at him with a new intensity...one of uncertainty.

"How could you possibly...?"

Without another word, Ronin reached into a small pocket in his blood-spattered kilt and withdrew a note written on royal parchment. He tossed it to Garn.

Garn could barely move, the pain from his injuries setting in and the loss of blood making him weak, but he picked up the paper in his working hand and unfolded it, smearing blood on it with his damaged thumb. It wasn't a long note, but was so shocking that he read it four more times. When he raised his head again, there were tears in his eyes. But then his sorrow turned defiant.

"YOU?"

Ronin nodded, his own gaze still steady and stern.

"I will give you a single choice...for her," Ronin told him. "On your word and honor...knowing what you know now...if I let you live, will you vow to leave Erthania and never return?"

Garn was stunned. He'd felt certain that his fate was sealed, and wouldn't have even considered the possibility that he might still be able to walk away from his sentence...yet there the opportunity was. However, his obstinate, single-mindedness toward revenge had been burned into his brain for far too long to let it go. The face that had just been shocked into a blank state of hopeful curiosity contorted back just as quickly.

"I will see Heraitey in ashes before I..." he fumed...but his pledge was never finished.

There was a whisper of moving air as the ebony blade flashed through it, so sharp and slim that it was nearly inaudible, and invisible.

Garn's head struck the grass and rolled a couple of feet, and then his torso thudded heavily beside it.

Ronin Alsone watched it until it had come to a rest. His heart was broiling with anguish and unfathomable sadness. Then he looked over to Garn's remaining soldiers, still standing thirty steps away.

"Send word to every branch of your army," he growled. "I march for Heraitey, and every one of your men I meet will die! If any of you wish to live, leave your spoils where they are and retreat from these lands immediately...and harm no one when you go or I'll personally hunt you down and disembowel each of you. If you feel those terms are not to your liking, meet me on the battlefield in a billot. I'm fine either way."

Ronin then turned and headed east.

"Who are you?" Wertaing...Garn's attendant...called after him.

Ronin didn't even show that he'd heard him.

Four men broke rank and headed toward Garn. Their purpose was unknown to Ronin, but he guessed that they might carry their leader off to honor him with a warrior's sendoff. That simply would not do.

Ronin whirled around impossibly fast, the raven blade slicing through the air to end up pointing at those in the glade.

"LEAVE THE BODY TO THE VULTURES!" he roared, a snarl upon his lips and a flaming glare in his eyes.

Everyone froze where they were, none daring to chance enraging the incomparable warrior, a man who'd just utterly destroyed the greatest fighter they'd ever seen.

Ronin waited long enough that he felt his warning was clear, and then he turned again and disappeared into the forest.

The soldiers were barely twenty steps from their former leader, yet none felt safe enough to continue. One man edged over and plucked Garn's sword from the grass, but that was as far as they were willing to chance it. They all backed away after that.

When everyone had deserted the clearing, a single individual suddenly raced across the clearing to the body of the fallen commander. It was a young boy of about twelve years who Garn had used as a runner. He had been the one to deliver the message to the strange, unstoppable warrior. He crouched down and plucked something from the grass beside the body, and then he bolted for the woods.

It was the note that Ronin had given to Garn.

Once in the safety of the larger group, he opened the crumpled paper and read the note.

"I don't believe it!" he huffed when finished.

Six men heard his announcement, stopped, and turned to him. They'd dismissed the note completely because none of them could read.

"What does it say, boy?"

The boy looked up slowly and panned the group. Then he bent his head again and read the note.

" _Dearest Ronin,_

" _The day you were summoned to meet with Pierci, I was going to make a wonderful announcement. You and I would have a child! It was a boy._

" _Pierci, for some reason, took particular interest in him, and in me. When our son was two, he took me as his woman, and I went because I was warned not to deny him and thus imperil our baby. He was not a loving man, but not cruel, and in fact, was instrumental in the boy's life, but I was forbidden from ever telling our son anything about you. Pierci eventually trained him in a myriad of battle tactics and in the use of weapons as well, as he prized combat skills over everything else, and our child was very gifted at it._

" _When he turned fifteen, for some unknown reason, Pierci explained to the boy what he'd done to you, and our son was furious. He left the high mountains to find his own way and I eventually learned that he wound up in the Heraitey army where he excelled swiftly to become one of their best men._

" _Now, with that said, there is more. I hate to give you such dire news, my beloved, and no fault could possibly fall upon you as you were deliberately taken from us and cast out of our lives for some purpose I was never made aware of...however...something horrible has resulted._

" _Our child has become the harbinger of death, my love. You see, I named our son; Braun Grean, after my grandfather. Now he goes by the name; Garnmole Trealnian._

" _I don't know what else to say, Ronin. I failed you and I failed him. I am so very sorry._

" _Lasinii"_

Everyone who heard it stood there dumbfounded, their mouths agape. Then, as one, they turned about and gazed back at the barely visible clearing, where the body of Ronin's son lay. No one said a word.

Josylinia was so stunned that she just stared at the book until she'd read the note twice more. When she looked up, tears were pouring from her sapphire eyes.

"He had to kill his own son!" she cried, breaking down into fits of sobs, her tender heart tearing in pieces at the thought of how horrible that must have been...how much pain her beloved must have had to endure. She quickly leaned down and scooped up her little twins, hugging them to her tightly as she wept.

Just then, the leading edge of a savage storm front reached the group, and the imminent threat of rain forced everyone to make haste and retire to their gers.

Josy was immensely relieved by that.
Chapter Forty-six

### King Renni Deaton

The next day, the rain blew through around midday and so Josy continued with the story that evening, although she trembled as she opened the heavy book. There were only a few pages left, and she was terribly afraid of how the story might end.

When everyone was assembled once more, she began.

Ronin and his small army did as he'd sworn to do, marching southward toward the fabled city. He met four of the invading army's outlying legions, each having five to ten times the men Ronin led. The Piercellione crushed them all and continued their march.

The remaining group of Garn's invaders soon received word of all that had happened and decided to cut their losses and retreat. With their huge number of horses, they made excellent speed...via a roundabout route that circumvented Ronin's force...back to the northwestern region they'd come from and were never seen again.

Finally, three weeks later...exactly four santaris after regaining his freedom...Ronin crested the same hill he'd walked down when first escorted there by Queen Arethnii Deaton...but there he stopped to take stock of the situation. The city was still locked down in siege mode and the roadways were retracted. That was to be expected because they had no way of knowing the threat was truly gone, so he'd already devised an alternate plan for gaining the inner city. He waited for sundown and bid his men stay out of sight and wait for him, even if it ended up taking a while...and then he headed off into the night.

While exploring the great city upon first arriving, Ron had actually spotted a tiny flaw in the fortress's defenses. At each edge of the upper plateau, the twin waterfalls stood like liquid sentinels, barring any attacker from scaling the sheer cliffs and gaining access to their flank. However, if a single man were to try, he thought there was a slight possibility of success.

On the eastern side, just below the initial drop of the cascading water, was a small pocket scoured into the rock. At that spot, a minimal amount of water rushed downward along the cliff's surface. The main torrent fell just beyond it, but to the outside world, that fact was totally hidden in the spray. In the daylight, it would have been easy for the upper guards to spot someone creeping their way through that tiny avenue, but a night, it was a different story.

Ron worked his way up the four-hundred-foot rock face to reach that point well before dawn's first glow, so although it was a harrowing, exhausting climb, it was also a route with no worry of discovery.

Before the darkness was pried open by the new day, Ron was five levels down inside the mountain fortress.

He crept his way through the maze of passages using his memory of when he and Vessia had investigated that exact area, so many years ago, and when he was at the main level of the city-proper, he gave up skulking through the shadows and merely strolled about freely. No one there knew him to be a threat, and since he was striding calmly amongst them, no one questioned him either. Even his weapons were not unduly imposing since the city still considered itself a war, so many other able-bodied warriors were likewise adorned.

Ron walked a winding route rather slowly, making his way ever closer to the palace. His senses were on high alert, always on guard for any hint at exposure, but when none was detected he slipped into the royal space through the same secret passages he'd once led Arethnii and her new husband.

By the time the morning vendors were fully out in the streets, he was standing just outside the king's bedroom.

Two armored guards held watch...one on either side.

Backing into the shadow of one of the hundreds of decorative chests that were scattered about the grand hallways, Ron watched the door to the king's boudoir. It wasn't long before he saw three servants delivering Renni's breakfast. That guaranteed he was in there.

With the patience of a leopard, Erthania's mightiest living warrior waited in absolute silence until the servants had exited and their footsteps were far away. When only the echoes of their sandaled feet yet bounced about the stone and hardwood surfaces, he made his move.

A thin wooden tube slowly rose to Ron's lips.

"Pfffth," sounded in the voluminous corridor, completely drowned out by those vanishing 'splat-splat-splat' sounds...and then a second identical puff of air was released.

Each of the guards slapped at a sting on the right side of their necks, and when they checked their hands, a spot of blood showed along with a tiny, tufted dart. In the time it took them to realize exactly what had happened, the wasp venom was already slowing their actions and dulling their thoughts. One by one, the guards' legs began to quiver, and then they both slid helplessly to the marble floor. They would sleep for at least a billot.

Ron stepped forward and collected his darts, and then he pulled open one of the twelve-foot-high, four-inch-thick, beautifully carved doors.

The place was immense, easily larger than any of the entire homes Ron had lived in with his Erthanian family. Tapestries, statues, pictures, armoires, chests, tables, couches, and bookshelves lined every inch of the walls, and there were three separate sitting areas scattered about as well. Two massive fireplaces heated the room when needed, but it was still summer so they were dark.

King Renni Deaton was sitting alone at one of the ten small tables in the room, enjoying a fabulous breakfast. Two female servants stood ten paces away, trying to be invisible. They both looked up when Ron entered, and the intensity that they saw staring back at them caused them both to become as still as the marble statues in the corners.

Ron moved incredibly smoothly, his feet barely audible, even in the stillness of the room, but nonetheless, the king glanced up, as if sensing his presence.

Renni was no longer a young man, so it took a moment before his eyes adjusted to the distant fellow approaching, but when they did focus on the large man striding toward him, two things happened instantaneously.

First; the plush cushion upon which the king sat began absorbing a large surge of acidic fluid.

Second; as Renni watched the oncoming man's eyes...blazing gray eyes that were filled with absolute and unequivocal disdain, hate, and malevolence...his chest jolted violently.

The man with the demon eyes kept coming.

A moment more and the king of Heraitey was clutching at his breast, unable to inhale.

The man kept coming.

Renni's body then convulsed harshly, knocking his chair back from the table and pitching him to the polished floor.

The man kept coming.

Ron's visage was filled with repugnance by then, as he watched the person who'd destroyed his and so many others' lives, begin to fade. The king's twitches abated soon afterward, and his body slumped into a fetal, motionless state. Renni Deaton, king of Heraitey and the most powerful man in the known world, was dead.

The servant girls were still frozen where they stood...their eyes staring disbelievingly at the scene. Neither could force herself to move while that intimidating fellow lingered.

Ron stood over the king for a full bort, his chest heaving and rumbling with a low growl, and his glare boring into the deceased ruler as if trying to burn the man's body to cinder.

Finally, a thought flashed into Ron's mind, and that animated him once more.

He reached down and grabbed the king under the arms and heaved him over to the bedside. Once there, he placed the former ruler in a kneeling attitude and positioned his hands as if praying. Then he turned to the stunned women who still had not moved.

"Remove this mess," he told them, indicating the soiled cushion, "and clean the floor. Then summon help. When you are asked what happened, tell them he died praying to the gods to deliver his people."

With that, Ron turned to leave.

"Is it true then," one of the young ladies asked, "that the siege is over?"

Ron turned once more.

"Yes. It is true. The invaders have left the lands of Erthania. The city is safe."

He headed away again, but the other servant girl found her tongue as well.

"Just who are you?" she asked in a frightened rush of air.

Ron paused for a brief lita, turned his head a bit, and said; "I am no one. I was never here."

He then headed straight for the throne room. He knew he had to move swiftly, for it wouldn't be long before the palace was a beehive of confusion and movement.

Upon arrival to that large, empty chamber, Ron paused a moment, simply out of surprise. He'd caught a distinct sound that did not belong. It was very subtle, and would have been unnoticeable if anyone else was there, but his finely honed senses could make it out plainly.

It was a hum.

He slowly moved about the huge room, turning first one way, then the next, homing in on the source of it. It took him several borts to pinpoint its location, and then he began searching in earnest.

Against the back wall, behind a gorgeous tapestry depicting a map of the lands Heraitey ruled, the hum was strongest...so much so that Ron could feel the vibration in the stone. He pushed and felt at every seam of the three-foot-thick rock until at last he was rewarded when an insignia suddenly alit.

When it did, Ron felt a new sensation...one other people felt far more frequently...utter shock.

He stood there for a while, trying to comprehend how it was possible, but then his two conversations with Pierci floated across his thoughts.

"The five kingdoms," he thought. "The five 'Gods' that had saved the southerners from the raiding plainsmen with miraculous weapons. It was all true!" he said softly, completely amazed.

The illuminated design was a coded keypad, so he then began to speculate about how he might gain access. However, with technology that advanced, he knew it would be impossible to ever break the safety locks. He needed the password.

"But it could be anyth..." he began to say. "Wait-wait-wait-wait! What was it Pierci had said?"

His memory rolled back the years in an instant...to his first meeting with the 'God of War'. There had been a metal plaque hanging over his chair. It looked like it was made from brushed titanium.

" _Velicavatae Minuousi_ ", it had read. The translation was; ' _Morning Star_ '."

Ronin repeated that name out loud, guessing at the proper annunciation. On his third attempt, a section of the seemingly solid wall immediately vanished, leaving a portal more than large enough for him to enter...and within was a gargantuan cavern lit as bright as daytime.

Once inside, he was less surprised, having already deduced what he'd find. Still, it was incredibly impressive. It was a ship...a space ship. A small, gold crest adorned the inside of the entry door and denoted the ship's name. It read; _Velicavatae Minuousi_.

Ronin looked about for a few borts and realized something else. The palace...and when he thought about it a bit more, recalling the overall layout...the entire city...had been built around that ship...or out from it...as it rested right against the base of the towering cliff face of the upper plateau.

Over the following two days, Ronin stayed inside that secret cavern...inside the vessel, in fact...safely hidden away from any interruptions. He took his time and examined the craft as thoroughly as he could. He even managed to initiate the ship's log to find out what it was doing there.

(Josy really had to spend some time explaining the next part.)

More than five hundred years in the past, the crew had been charting unexplored areas of the galaxy when they inadvertently flew through a jet of star plasma from a rotating neutron star. It had burned out the guidance system and forced them to limp the ship to a planet they dubbed; Erthania. Once planet-side, the crew did what they felt they had to do to survive in that primitive world.

They're arrival also coincided with one of the longest and cruelest invasions by the plainsmen in the natives' history. The ship's crew saw that as an obvious threat to their own welfare and used their advanced weapons to stop the widespread suffering and slaughter. They then took it upon themselves to drive the mounted devils back north, just like in the story Lasinii had told him about Nevari's beginning. However, instead of them standing guard...as the tale said..., they set up shield generators to protect the southerners while the first wall was constructed. Afterward the archers did the duty.

They were seen as Gods by the inhabitants, and soon began building the empire that still stood.

The five top-ranked leaders each took a section of the realm and managed it; each kingdom having its own unique gifts of food and/or other resources. Those officers were; Eshara Moone Gosmere, Balcor Vincin Raak, Leaness Kroe Timbea, and Vassar Loash Cindric. They all reported to the commander of the original mission...the ruler of Heraitey; Minara Kallis Sabiton Heraitey.

They tried to preserve the native's ways as much as they could, but brought their own skills into the mix as well...those in construction, hygiene, medicines, waste disposal, and such.

With lifespans much greater than the natives...an average of just over two hundred Erthanian years...they developed a wonderful society, and each kingdom prospered and flourished. The crew members eventually married with the natives but could not reproduce with them, instead, choosing particular individuals who they felt emulated their own ideals as closely as possible to pass down some of their knowledge to. That created the first line of succession that was still in use today.

That didn't accommodate every member of their group though.

Pierci had been a loyal member of the original crew, and its second highest ranking soldier. He'd always followed his commanders' orders and was content for a long while, but when he discovered that he was different from the others, and tests were performed confirming the extremely rare anomaly that he was...biologically...his devotion began to waver.

As he watched each of the leaders eventually grow old, he saw no reason that he shouldn't step in and take control of Heraitey...so that their species' rule would be guaranteed to last, undiluted, through time. But that wasn't what Commander Minara had envisioned, and what his fellow officers had agreed to. They wanted to help the Erthanians have a better life while they were there, but knew that they would eventually all be gone, and in their passing, return control of the planet to its true citizens.

Pierci did not agree with their assessment in those early years, and so he was the first to venture out and embrace his new role as a God of the simple natives. For that, he was exiled by his former commander, and advanced safeguards were put in place that forbade his ever returning to the heralded city. That is why he set up his mountain kingdom.

When each member of the crew was gone...other than Pierci...the only thing that remained of their advanced culture was Heraitey, which so happened to sound identically to a word which meant 'salvation' in the primitive Erthanian language. It was their crown jewel...and that was because the ship's power source made it so. They had adapted their antigravity generators to function as a massive pump, lifting water from a thousand feet underground and depositing it upon the high plateau where it served the people as drinking water, irrigation for their crops, and finally as a formidable barrier to attack.

Ron was so awestruck that the ship's power source still functioned after such a long period that he examined the device meticulously. Unfortunately, once he deciphered the governing controls and their readouts, he also uncovered the fact that the generators had been gradually deteriorating over all that time. Currently, they were operating well outside their design capacities, and that power draw had become critical. The energy cells had grown very hot as they struggled to accommodate the requirements, and if they weren't turned off soon, would escape their containment fields. If that happened, the city could be leveled.

Ron then used his meager understanding of the workings of the system and began the shut-down protocols. And when he reached to trigger the final step, he couldn't stop himself from recollecting once more what the ancient oracles had predicted.

"One day a great warrior will arrive. He will be unbeatable in battle, and the appearance of this man will mark the beginning of the end of Heraitey."

Ronin shook his head as he pressed the final key.

Instantly, the water-lift that filled the upper plateau's lake ceased, and within borts, the twin waterfalls on both sides of the city bled off to nothing. Also, every lamp in Heraitey went out. Thousands of inner rooms were plunged into darkness, leaving many terrified inhabitants within lost, and confused. And that had a dramatic, devastating effect.

People immediately began to panic. Many thought it was a great sign of foreboding; a talisman. They searched and investigated and held council meetings for days.

Their initial conclusion was that with the loss of the lake, there were no water sources within a day's travel of the city. The moment of that realization, a deep shudder of alarm went coursing through the great metropolis. Chaos quickly ensued.

The entire realm had been saved from the great war, apparently by the power of their king's prayers calling for the long-absent, legendary 'Ronin Alsone'; defender of the common folk. But with their exalted leader's unexpected passing, it appeared that the city had then been cursed by the very same gods.

Fear arose sharply because of those beliefs, and so people began leaving Heraitey in droves.

In a santari, less than ten percent of the citizens remained...and after a year, it was completely vacant.

The ship; _Velicavatae Minuousi_ , was of Malicart origin.

There the story of Ronin Alsone ended.

### Chapter Forty-seven

### A Gift for the Goddess

The conclusion of the story was both shocking and anticlimactic for Josylinia. She explained to the tribesmen that Ron had met other Malicarts out in the far reaches of the heavens, and so that was how he could read their language. That, in and of itself, was quite a revelation and was immediately the point of many discussions around the huge encampment.

Unfortunately, that ending did little to bring closure to the gorgeous brunette.

She was left almost where she'd begun...wondering about whatever became of her beloved. Somehow, even at such a great age (for Earthlings), he had managed to accomplish his ultimate mission. That didn't completely shock her since her own species lived well past two hundred. But why had the story ended there? Obviously he made it back to his family because Kala was writing that part of the tale. But what then? What happened with the Piercellione? Did he choose to insert himself back into his family once more? Did he live to a ripe old age with his many loving descendants caring for him?

And too, if the accounts of Ronin continued throughout the centuries, were they kin to him at all...perhaps his daughters' children, or their descendents...or just like Ron had always presumed...the best of their day, living and fighting to protect those who could not protect themselves...living by his code? How many Ronins had there been? Dozens? Hundreds?

Why had Ron's daughter failed to give her an ending? Wasn't that the entire reason for the book in the first place?

Josy suddenly found herself terribly let down because there was no definitive answers to her basic questions. And another thing...no one around her seemed unduly phased by it, which perturbed her even more. She scanned those all about until she saw the great chief smiling at her serenely. That seemed very odd...like he knew something she didn't.

"So...what happened?" she asked him suddenly...out of pure exasperation.

The ancient-looking man grinned back at her and said; "What do you mean, Goddess?"

"Well, the written story doesn't tell all of it, does it? And I can tell by your expression that you know more than this book has said. So I mean...literally...what happened next? How did your people become the caretakers of all-things-Ronin? The books say nothing about him even wanting to go north...into your lands. And at the age he was here...at the end of the story...I don't see how he ever did."

Terista smiled grandly and glanced over to the tribe's Keeper; Venara, sitting next to the chief. She was a handsome woman in her later years, with a long arrow-straight nose and a braided quaff of white hair that reached her mid-back. The chief also turned to face her and then motioned for her to elaborate.

"Has it not become obvious to you, Goddess?" the woman said. "You heard many of our stories on your trip to this place, correct? Ronin traveled the length and breadth of Erthania. He has lived in every kingdom, fought for the freedom and safety of untold lives, and is always ready to step forward in the next great crisis. The story was stopped exactly where it needed to. He is eternal, so there could be no 'end'."

Josy just looked at her blankly. She didn't know what to say.

"He has come back to us over the years many times," the old sage continued. "But he is a wandering spirit...not locked to a single place, or people. He feels a great connection to our way of life when he lies amongst our nomadic race...reveling in the freedom our lifestyle presents...but he is not bound to us. We merely choose to be bound to him, or more precisely...to what he stands for.

"Kings, chiefs, rulers of every sort, have armies, or at least some number of soldiers, to keep evil at bay...to keep them safe. Ronin is 'everyone's' shield against evil and oppression."

A great amount of murmuring was building amongst the tightly packed crowd just then, so everyone's attention quickly shifted. Someone...or more accurately, some group of people was approaching...and as they grew nearer, the thick masses parted to let them through.

Josy felt safe where she was, at the center of such an enormous gathering, and the attitude of the chief and his attendees was calm, but she could feel the excitement building in the enormous crowd surrounding them. Whoever it was, they were undoubtedly highly revered.

The great chief saw her curious expression.

"It is our emissaries, Goddess. They have been in the far south for the last three years on a mission of extreme importance...a mission the Great One himself had decreed many hundreds of years in the past, when he last lived among us. I received word of them reaching our outer scouts just this morning."

The Chief rose from his seat to greet them, and everyone else copied his motion.

The Keeper edged closer and added to his explanation.

"Long ago, Ronin left us with a dire prophecy. He told us that a great rain of fire would one day fall from the heavens and destroy many of the lands south of here...the lands of the city-dwellers. And since he knew...not hoped, but knew...we would still be here, hundreds of years in the future, keeping our vigil for his return, he pleaded that we try and warn them of the impending disaster. Our ancestors decreed that we would, vowing it to him in a blood-oath ceremony only used for our most serious commitments. That time finally came a few years ago, so we sent one hundred of our best warriors to spread the word for the inhabitants there to evacuate. Ronin feared many would refuse, but felt it was our duty to try and warn them nonetheless."

Josy recalled the story her father, her brother, and Ron had told her about the asteroid the Theranians had tried to annihilate Caron with...and about how it had broken apart. That debris had cut a huge swath of destruction across the southern part of the continent and would surely have killed many thousands.

"I know what destruction you speak of, Venara," she told the woman, her mind racing through all she knew about Ron's predicament back then. "But how could he have pinpointed the year to such a fine degree, from so long ago. It has been more than thirteen-hundred years since his arrival in Nevari. That would have been impossible, certainly."

The front of the approaching group was only a few dozen kez away by then, so every head had turned to greet them. They were all wearing traveling cloaks to ward off the falling dew of the night, so it was difficult to see any significant differences in them at first, but their hoods were pulled back, so when they broke out into the well-lit circle around their tribe's chief, their faces became clearer.

The leader of the band of warriors stepped up to within twenty feet before he dropped to one knee out of respect for his chieftain...and the many others. He was quickly copied by all his fellows in the group, save one man...the last one. That warrior stood where he was...still back in the gloom...his gaze transfixed not on the chief, but on another.

Josylinia could almost feel his stare burning through the darkness, but she'd become used to being gawked at while on her long journey, and especially there at the massive gathering. Nearly every individual had at some point been transfixed with her. After all, she was their greatest hero's chosen mate, and therefore almost a deity to them.

"I see only twelve of you have returned, Sirion," the chief said solemnly.

"Yes, Great Chief. It was a long, perilous mission into unfamiliar lands, and we were set upon many times by foreign armies who forbade intrusion into their realms, no matter the reason we tried to explain."

"The old chief nodded his understanding. "Yes, I was afraid it would be so. Yet you prevailed!"

"Yes, Great Chief, but not as you may assume. Our entire mission nearly ended at the outset. In fact, if we had not run into this man," he added, gesticulating toward the fellow hanging back, "and his followers, I would wager none of us would be here."

"Truly?" the wizened leader said, overtly shocked. "But you are our finest warriors!"

"Yes, Chief. However, this man came to our aid barely two santaris after we'd left, during a running battle with a foreign army that outnumbered us twenty to one. He and his men broke their ranks and managed to lead them onto a false trail that allowed our escape. They then joined us to help complete our mission."

"And you took this man into your confidence...as simple as that?"

The warrior let out a sly smirk of a smile just then.

"Let me just say that he proved himself to us, Great Chief. This fellow speaks every language of every nation we came across. His skills in battle are none other than miraculous. He knows every road and river south of the grasslands. And he is a skilled negotiator. He convinced every kingdom that the prophecy we had come to warn them about was absolutely real. Some people still would not leave, as we knew it would be...but most took his word as truth and fled. He saved thousands...tens of thousands, my Chief."

The old chief stared over at the man still standing in the dimness, outside the light of the fire. He was of fine physical stature, but nothing especially outstanding.

"And does this man we owe our thanks to have a name?" the Chief inquired.

Sirion smiled and released a soft chuckle, shaking his head softly...then he replied.

"You would not believe me if I said it, my Chief. He will have to tell you himself."

That caused the wizened old ruler to raise an eyebrow, his curiosity rising still further.

"Please come forward, my fine fellow...as my personal guest," the chief called out to the man still cast in deep shadow, "and allow us to expand our celebration. We have just been listening to the original tale of the Great One himself, read to us from the sacred books by his one truest love...the Goddess Olina, who sits here beside me.

"You may not know the story...being a stranger to the plains...but it is of particular importance to our people. It is about the life of the greatest warrior ever to trod upon the ground of Erthania...the very fellow who put us on the quest that you just helped my men accomplish. A quest foreseen more than one thousand, three hundred years ago, by the Goddess's estimate. And she herself has just deemed it impossible for even him to have predicted it, yet somehow he had."

The man took a step forward very slowly, as if he were afraid that moving too quickly would make the entire scene vanish.

"Not impossible, Goddess," said the approaching man. His voice was deep, and as smooth as a quiet mountain lake.

Josy's heart lurched in her chest. She had been standing quite close to the old chief during the short interaction between him and the returning warrior; Sirion, and was caught leaning forward slightly just then, trying to see the mysterious man better, like many others. However, when those words reached her ears, a cascade of reactions raced through her to the very marrow of her bones.

Every hair on her body instantly jumped erect as icy shards of sheer astonishment shot through her, making her skin burst in gooseflesh like a winter gale had suddenly struck her. Her legs lost all feeling, as if the commands from her brain had suddenly been cut, and she dropped to her knees, barely catching herself from falling completely prone with her hands. Somehow her head stayed up though, her eyes locked onto the person drawing nearer, his face still too much in the darkness of the flickering flames to see clearly...and then...after another long, unbelievable, unconscionable moment...he was there.

She was instantaneously frozen. Her lungs did not inhale! Her eyes did not blink! Afterward, she would swear that her heart did not even pump. She was an exquisite statue...solidified by complete and unadulterated incredulity.

"Thirteen hundred and forty seven years, to be exact," the man added.

No one spoke. No one moved.

"You have to remember one important fact from the legends, Goddess Olina," the newcomer then said. His voice was calm and gentle. "Ronin Alsone can be killed, but he cannot die."

Josy was still locked in place...unable to even twitch...while more than fifteen thousand faces stared at her and the man before her, their eyes jogging from one to the other rapidly...especially the others in the emissary group, who had spent so much time right beside the speaking man. They knew not who this woman was...only him...and so how could he possibly know her?

The enigmatic fellow then stepped quickly forward, and in a flashing motion, his sword leaped from its sheath and whistled downward. Josy didn't flinch. Just as fast, the unknown warrior fell to his knees a foot from Josylinia, and the blade he held across the open palms of his heavily callused hands was as black as the darkest night. His and Josy's gazes were welded; one to the other, and to them, no one else existed in all the world.

"Josylinia Azmalla Copella Gitove, I offer my life and my sword to you, for as long as you wish either or both."

One of the men beside the chief was Goshune, leader of the Wolf Pack. He'd been frozen like all the others out of sheer amazement as his eyes fell upon the face of that kneeling man. But unlike nearly every other person in the immense congregation, he recognized the fellow.

"Ronin!" he hissed.

Terista was sitting on the left side of Josy, holding one of the twin boys...the other was sleeping at her feet. She had been swinging him side to side to keep him calm...but she too was stunned into an inert state by the fellow before them.

The tiny tike didn't appreciate the stop in motion, but he too followed her gaze and stared at the man, his eyes wide and his little lips parted.

Josy couldn't believe it. Her eyes scanned the man's face a dozen times, searching for clues that she was being deceived somehow. But those clues were not there. It was him! It was her heart-song! It was Ronald James Allison! He appeared not a day older than the last time she'd seen him, when he'd kissed her goodbye on his way off to war. Tears were suddenly streaming off her perfect chin...tears of unrestrained and unimaginable joy.

Josy's trembling hands slowly rose from her knees to his freshly shaven cheeks. Her fingers traced his jawline, his brow, and then they dove into his thick matte of jet-black hair and tugged him to her.

Their lips joined hotly for several moments, and then her arms flew around his neck and pulled him to her with all her strength.

The chief looked to Goshune.

"They were together in the secret valley...at the northern pass...my chieftain. I'm sure of it."

The chief remembered Goshune's tale from the previous year, but the man Josy now grappled passionately with...by their own accounting...had been with his most trusted soldiers for the past three.

The crowd nearest the coupling pair were confused at first, having no idea how they might know one another...but none felt it their position to interrupt their Goddess, so they would just have to wait to gain that answer. It ended up being several borts.

At last, Josy and Ron separated. Ron stowed the raven blade in a flick of motion and hauled Josy to her feet like she was a feather. She was panting with breathlessness, unable to take her eyes off his face, and she plastered herself to him like he might vanish should she turn him loose.

The great chief finally voiced his confusion.

"Goddess Olina?" was all he said. It seemed enough.

She grinned madly at the wizened old chief.

"Great Chief," Ron said, bowing his head respectfully. "I'm afraid I have unintentionally interrupted your celebration."

"As it would appear," the old man replied, but it was clear that he was not annoyed by that fact.

Josy was so deliriously excited that she blurted out; "This is Ron Allison! This is Ronin Alsone! This is him! The entire story...those books...all those incredible...wonderful...horrible stories...were about him...the man I love...the father of my babies. Somehow...after a thousand and three hundred cycles, it's him! He's back in my life...in our lives!

"Oh Guardian above us," she continued, looking up to the black heavens above, "Thank you! Thank you!" she cried.

She then turned back to Ron and covered his lips with hers again, tears still pouring from her exquisite eyes.

That revelation quickly traveled through the densely packed crowd like an expanding wave. Words, excitement, energy, and thankful prayers swept through the plainsmen audience in moments, and even the unlucky ones far away at the very fringe of the gathering couldn't keep themselves from straining to see the couple that had been finally brought back together. Just like the legend had said; their legendary warrior...the ultimate defender of all the common peoples...was at last reunited with his mythical goddess. It was almost too much to believe...and many thousands did not...not until days later, when they had finally gotten their turn to see the pair with their own eyes.

From that moment, the enormous gathering took on an even grander air. All their hopes that Goshune had elevated when he'd sent word back from the hidden valley a year in the past had produced a level of expectation few could have truly believed. But now that those promises had indeed been proven true, every single person in the entire encampment knew that they would be blessed for the rest of their lives. They would be able to tell their grandchildren that they had actually seen the Great One and the Goddess together, in person. It was almost too much for the simple people to comprehend.

### Chapter Forty-eight

### The Long Journey

Ron and Josy spent three santaris in the Cavitar Valley, celebrating with each of the many tribes that encompassed the plainsmen people. By the end of that time, the huge throng had broken up and moved on due to the necessity of feeding their grazing animals.

Nevertheless, before it had, Ron had told and retold so many tales of his adventures that he was quite ready to fade back into obscurity.

Of course, he had been more than willing to answer Josy's thousands of questions, many of which he did while they were alone, playing with their twin sons.

He had indeed continued on to rejoin his family at their farm in Kinlan, near a town called Wrand's Mill. He'd gathered his descendants and, with the guidance of the Piercellione warriors who yet lived...miraculously, a total of one hundred and ten...returned to the mountains and to the hidden valley city; Vaaltees, where Pierci had once ruled.

He stayed there for many cycles, until all of his great-grandchildren had grown old and passed on. From there, he'd done as the Keeper had said. He'd lived in nearly every kingdom, learned nearly every language and every trade, and fought innumerous battles and dozens of wars.

"In those early centuries, Josy," he told her at one point, "once I truly realized what I was and how long the road ahead was for me, I grew immensely depressed and so I became more and more reckless. I fought in conflicts I had no business in, just to push back at God...for having forced me into that insane situation. You see, even after a hundred and ninety years had passed, I still felt it cruel and unusual punishment...what had been done to me...to us."

Josy pulled his face to hers and kissed him deeply, but she said nothing. She knew he wasn't finished with the point he was making, but wanted him to know how empathetic she was to his emotional state.

Ron smiled broadly when she pulled back, the scent of her filling his senses with peace and contentment.

"Of course," he continued a moment later...his smile dulling to a wry grin, "the Creator doesn't much like his will being challenged."

Josy responded by raising a questioning eyebrow.

Ron chuckled lightly. "At the conclusion of one extremely hellish battle, I was left at the threshold of death's door for the following santari, from wounds I'd received during that idiotic, 'rebellious' act. If it hadn't been for the painstaking efforts of a certain priest from a nearby monastery, I'd have died in the mud of that battlefield with the other eight thousand hapless souls. As it was though, he somehow convinced his religious order that I was worth the effort, and so they treated me round the clock for all that time."

"And did this time of suffering somehow convince you to go on?" Josy asked softly.

"No...actually...it did not. It was the period afterward. The priest...Father Barthmus Fagane...spent a great deal of his time with me while I regained my health, which took three more santaris. He listened to me with infinite patience...and I told him a great deal about myself...probably much more than I should have. But as the santaris passed, his calm, thoughtful wisdom finally began to sink into my dire, self-centered thoughts.

"I ended up staying with the order for the next sixty-seven years."

Josy was openly shocked. "Really?"

Ron nodded and smiled again. "That period of deep reflection is how I finally let go of my anger for good. His council...and the time afterward, when I joined the brothers in their mission to selflessly help others...gave me a much better mental picture of the world around me, and of my circumstance. I no longer held anyone to blame for my plight. I didn't see it as punishment anymore. It wasn't a sentence I'd been forced to endure to return to you. It was just as it seemed. I was alive, so I just lived."

"My darling, Ron," Josy whispered to him, "I can never, ever possibly tell you exactly how happy I am that you did."

After more than three hundred and fifty cycles, Ron had at last traveled to the plains, at the very western edge of the seemingly non-ending sea of grass. There he discovered a truly remarkable people...sturdy, defiant, violent, passionate, but above all, honorable. They fought amongst one another, mostly over grazing rights and hunting grounds as every tribe needed both to survive...and they raided each other's realms in search of mates and to count coup, but that was the only way to keep from stagnating their bloodlines, so he'd seen no real fault with it. It was a barbaric system, but it worked well.

Those simple, nomadic people were primitive compared with the grand city-dwellers, but too, they were intensely proud and profoundly fair. They would not plot assassinations or use poisons. If they took issue with anyone...be it their neighbor or their chief...they would confront that person or persons either in private or in public and resolve the matter either by testimony or combat.

Of course there were bullies, liars, and thugs among the masses, but the people overall would not stand for it long before those malcontents were dealt with. It was the brutal life of savages, yet with a forgivable level of civility engrained into it.

Ron kept moving even then, skipping around to many different tribes when the chief he liked or respected grew old and died, or was challenged and killed. And he had managed to band the tribes together for nearly an entire century, to fight off the great foreign armies, just as the ancient story had said, but he did not wish to rule them.

He took many wives over the long centuries, and had hundreds of children, but always in his mind was the razor-slim chance that he would somehow manage to survive long enough to see Josylinia again. In fact, he confessed to her that several times during that tremendous expanse of cycles, when no clear future held his attention, he'd come very close to giving up and just letting go of that hope. In those moments however, her face would light up inside his mind, as clearly as if she were there in front of him, and it would speak.

"Have faith, my darling. The road is horrendously long, I know, but it will end one day...I swear it. And on that day, I will be waiting."

After another two hundred cycles of nomadic life had passed, Ron decided it was time to take the next step, and so he began searching for the entrance to the caverns that would lead him north.

For the next sixty cycles, he scoured the foothills along the northern edge of the great plains. He found hundreds of caves...most of which were not much more than a pocket in the mountain...but none of them led more than a hoz into the hillside before ending. It was extremely frustrating.

Nearly all of that time, he was alone, not wishing to drag some poor soul into such a hazardous, tedious occupation, for he was prey to man and beast alike during all of it.

He finally gave up that seemingly impossible task though, when it dawned on him that he didn't actually need to find the entrance in the south. He already knew where the tunnel came out on the northern side. All he needed to do was get around the towering mountains and return to that point. He then immediately set off for the eastern shoreline of the faraway ocean. That trip alone was a fantastic, hazardous journey of some fifteen cycles, but he finally made it.

Ron had already become familiar with boat construction, rigging, and sailing, while living in some of the more southern seaside ports, so he settled in quickly and soon set about experimenting. He knew much more about aerodynamics and fluid dynamics than anyone in those southern lands due to his training as an aircraft technician on Earth, so he employed that knowledge to design new sailing criteria.

Ron had never sailed on Earth, but he was familiar with the concept of tacking...something totally foreign in Erthania. Therefore, he developed (over the next ten cycles) the optimum setup of sails that would allow for tacking against large waves, strong winds, and strong currents...like those found in the equatorial region he was in.

No one had ever traveled north, outside the protected waters of the long archipelago that stretched from that northern port town of Yashaminy, to Bortsino, a thousand hoz to the southeast. So when Ron's forty-foot schooner shot out into the open ocean and pointed its bow in that taboo direction, every person in town was sure they were going to see him swept away southward, possibly never to be seen again. However, when he sailed out of sight around the northern most point, where the great mountain barrier literally dove off into the ocean, he glanced back at the hundreds of stunned citizens lining the docks and smiled wryly. With a hearty wave to those gawking folks, Ron glided away out of sight.

He was awake for the next five straight days and nights before he was able to safely lash his boat to a slim, cone-shaped outcrop of rock that formed a tiny, fairly protected cove five hoz off the coast, and at last he could rest. He collapsed into his bed and slept for the next night and half the day, but he knew he couldn't linger there. A storm might develop at any moment and destroy his small ship. He had to press on. He considered getting further out, away from the strong currents of the coast, but he also knew that such a gamble was immensely dangerous. Experienced sailors have taken such chances and were never seen again. A storm, the doldrums, or even a particularly lingering fog bank could end up costing a seaman his life out in the wide expanse of the open ocean. Without a compass...and no one had ever heard of a material that showed any attraction to iron, so he had no way of making one...disorientation was a tangible factor to always consider.

No, he decided, just like the ancient seamen of old Earth, he would not venture beyond eyesight of the shoreline.

Hopscotching along from one desperate haven to the next, with no idea what might lie beneath the waves, Ron pushed onward day after day. Many times he even wished he'd kept searching for the tunnel instead of taking this outlandish plan, but his course stayed northerly nonetheless.

Ron kept his vessel within sight of land easy enough because the mountains seemed to erupt unendingly from the waves, but he dare not even chance bringing the boat too close to them for all the jutting rock he saw between him and that goal. Unfortunately, staying safely away from those boat-eating shards meant that the water was too deep to anchor his craft to as well, so his nerves were frayed nearly every moment, especially at night. But no matter how harrowing the trip became, he allowed himself no other choice but to keep moving. Stubbornness was his driving force.

Finally, he reached the midway point, and the currents...due to the same convection effect...began to pull him northward. Once he realized that, he rejoiced at the speed he was able to make afterward.

Nonetheless, time drew on, peril stayed high, and even his unfathomable strength and tenacity began to fade.

At last though, semi-delirious from exposure and fatigue, he broke free of the towering mountains to the west one evening and found a somewhat sheltered beach that appeared inviting. At that moment, he had a huge decision to make. He knew if he delayed long enough to properly investigate the route, darkness would set in and he'd have to wait until morning, forcing another sleepless night upon his already exhausted mind. Therefore, his maddening desire to set his feet once more upon land proved too strong for the reasoning part of his brain to deny, so he gambled.

Unfortunately, his impetuousness cost him his craft as a jagged tip of unseen coral ripped the bow open all the way to the main-mast while he was still nearly a quarter hoz from shore.

On the positive side, Ron had feared such a scenario from the onset, and so had done his best to be as prepared as he could be for that eventuality. Therefore, when the boat shuttered violently to a stop, he merely grabbed his prearranged backpack and went over the side.

The water was dark in the twilight, and he could feel its powerful churning all around him as it forced its way through the coral and around countless unseen ridges and valleys, and that worried the mighty warrior very much. Yet he had little choice about how to proceed at that point.

Over the following billot...and using his waterproof pack as a float...he fought his way through the out-surging tide that threatened every moment to hurl him back into the deep sea, and at last crawled onto the rock-strewn beach he'd first witnessed. It took nearly every ounce of his remaining strength, but he was able to save his personal arsenal and a few other necessary items.

As dusk turned to starry night, he dragged himself out of the surf's reach and collapsed, knowing full well that he was exposed to whatever predators might be about. But as he flopped over to lay on his back and his thoughts spun into oblivion, he felt he couldn't have risen to fight them anyway.

The sun was fully up when Ron finally awakened late the following morning, and he stirred in a violent manner, his body springing to a crouch in an instant, with his eyes scanning his surroundings. Luckily no threats were nearby. For the time being, it appeared he was alone, so he took a quick accounting of his situation. While he gulped down part of his rations, he developed a rudimentary plan.

His initial intent was to scour the area for supplies to build a raft, so that he might retrieve more of his other belongings, but that idea didn't last long. As the day grew to noon, a dark squall developed offshore and headed right for him, and when that compact storm blew in, he watched the waves crush his beautiful boat upon that very same outcropping it had become snagged on. In the span of only a dozen borts, everything he'd packed, other than what was on his person at that moment, was gone.

He hated to see it happen, but was also incredibly grateful that the catastrophe had waited until he was landside. The _Josylinia_ had served its purpose and would have had to have been left behind anyway.

He took the rest of the day to recuperate, and even shot a nice-sized fish in one of the eddy pools, but ate it raw just out of caution...too uncertain of his surroundings to make a fire in that foreign land. Smoke could be spotted for many hoz, and was a sure signal of man's presence.

That night was a nice one with billions of stars to wonder at, but the sounds of the area were alien, so Ron got little rest.

The very next morning, he climbed a steep spire of rock to have a better look around.

The forest grew right down to the beach for as far as he could see northward, and it undulated over gentle hills to the horizon in the west. He picked out at least three plumes of smoke from what he could only assume were villages. Two were deep in the woods to the northwest, but one was from not more than a hoz to the north. That put Ron on his guard instantly, which probably saved his life just a short while later because when he descended from his high perch, he was set upon by some native warriors. He fought through them and escaped, but they tracked and harried him for the next two santaris before at last giving it up.

From there, he took greater care, moved slowly, and over the following four decades, he worked his way through the myriad dangers of the wilds and back to the west.

Obviously he eventually located the northern entrance. Once he did, he lived in the secret valley for another twelve cycles while he explored the caverns until he'd mapped out the route the Wolf Pack now guarded. It took him all that time, not because it was dangerous work with many rock-falls and slippery sections, depressing duty due to the long periods in the dank darkness, or monotonous because of how many times he had to start over after following paths for santaris before finding out they were dead ends. Those were all true, but mostly the delay was purely due to the mundane needs of the situation. It took a tremendous amount of time to provision himself along the way. After all, he had no help. He was forced to make his own lamp oil...in huge quantities...that he could stash along the passages to give him light. And too, it was necessary to stockpile each leg of the route with foodstuffs that wouldn't deteriorate in the cool, damp environment. That gave him the most trouble. Also, the route ended up being some ninety-plus hoz.

Once he'd broken through though, Ron crossed the grasslands, retraced his steps to Pierci's hideaway valley, and reintroduced himself. The legend of how Ronin had defeated Pierci was still young enough to be well-known, so Ron exploited his personal knowledge of that narrative as a way to prove his claim...plus a few rather aggressive duels with multiple antagonists, tests of strength and archery, etc. He was accepted as their leader once again, and for the following three generations, he ruled, but he always looked forward. Once he'd been thoroughly engrained into the populace, overtly proving his seeming immortality (the basis for all the subsequent legends of how he could not be killed), he announced his plan to move north. He let it be known that he meant to explore new, unspoiled lands with anyone who cared to join him. Many people wished to stay in their ancestral homes, but there were enough adventurers to lead a group of two thousand men and their families northward, across the open plains, through the secret tunnel, and eventually through the Taerdrasseg Mountains to the Aredanz.

"But how did you find 'that' passage?" Josy asked. "You never went that way...remember? We flew over the mountains in the _Darlile_."

Ron just smiled at her.

"Don't give me the credit for that, my love. While we were traveling together, after freeing her from the fighting pit in Mardesh, Terista was convinced I was her kin and told me where the entrance was, so that I might, one day, rejoin the clans."

"And you remembered it for, what...more than six hundred cycles?"

Ron could see her point.

"Well, yeah...I guess I did pretty well after all."

"And you decided to keep the Piercellione's name going? Why, after what Pierci had done to you, Lasinii, and your son?"

"I saw no reason to change it by then. The men and women had it embedded into their society and it was a badge of pride and strength...especially since they'd already added my challenge and victory cries to their rituals."

"And Kaskle?" Josy queried. "Did you ever meet him...you know...face to face?"

Ron looked solemn for a moment, his lips pursed in a tight, sad grimace.

"He was my last child."

Josy gasped. "No!"

Ron nodded his head slowly, sadly.

"I had figured out by then that it would have to be my own flesh and blood that would eventually merge with the original 'Earth' Ron. It's the only way it could possibly work...with DNA and all. The thing is; I didn't know that part of the timeline well enough to be sure. I only knew that he'd been born sometime after the Kreete had begun exploring that part of Caron. So after they were first spotted, I began insisting that my wife name the boy children. I would leave it up to fate...and so it happened.

"I was forced into a self-imposed exile soon afterward though, so that no one alive would be able to identify me once the union of Kaskle and me had been made. I moved our family from the Hargronon Clan to the Rokore. My wife told the clan leader that her husband had been slain by a greel and that her parents and siblings had been taken by the Sansiit Flu...that she wanted a fresh start. She was amazingly brave, that woman. And even though I had no proof, she accepted my word of what had to be done as if it were written in stone. I'll never understand how she could have done that."

Josy gazed adoringly up at Ron and smiled. "I can."

Ron smiled shyly back at her.

"Well, they accepted her, our daughters, and our new son among them, as was the custom of the Piercellione. At that point, I moved to a secluded area in the forest, at the edge of their territory, and had her send Kaskle to me as often as she could so that I could pretend to be his grandfather and train him.

"I had raised many-many sons over the long cycles, Josy, and most of them had been wonderful, strong, and talented men, but I think he might have been the finest warrior of them all...but my opinion is probably a bit skewed, I guess, seeing how much I owe him."

Josy hugged Ron hard and kissed his neck as his eyes misted over in reflection.

"How difficult must it have been to have known ahead of time, and still allowed your own son to sacrifice his life...even for the betterment of an entire world," she mused, gazing lovingly at her own nursing child.

Ron didn't reply. The lump in his throat was nearly choking him.

"Oh, wait!" Josy suddenly said...a memory flashing into her mind.

"One of the dozens of 'Ronin' stories I've been told claimed that you actually rode on the back of a wild ceatary. Is that true? Did that really happen?"

That was a good diversion from the previous conversation and made Ron smile again...even forcing a quick shake of his head and a soft laugh.

"What was the version you heard?" he asked. He'd listened to many differing accounts over his lifetime, while living under one alias or another. Most were pretty close, but all varied at least a little from the pure truth.

Josy repeated the story as it had been told to her.

Ron smiled bashfully and scratched at his beard-stubbled chin.

"Well, yeah, that's about how it happened, except for the _intent_."

Josy looked confused, pursing her lips pointedly.

Ron caught that, so he elaborated.

"You see, I didn't actually see the bird like they claim. And the challenge...the whole show of defiance...was more an attempt at stalling the army until my men could reach safety. As soon as they called to me, and I knew they were out of reach, I had intended to release the rope and jump down to the lower ledge that I eventually leaped for and try to escape by climbing down the cliff face.

"However...when I did see the ceatary, I'd already committed too far to stop, so I just reacted. I tried to use the beast's massive body to check my descent, and deflect me to the stone ledge where I hoped I could still escape. Unfortunately...or I guess in hindsight; fortunately...my sandals struck the back of the bird right between its wings and immediately slid off to either side, slamming me down hard enough to knock most of the wind out of me.

"In a blink of time I was spread-eagle on the beast, trying desperately to inhale, dazed from the incredible audacity of my new position, and too surprised to even think to slide off. That's when the ceatary's reaction to my presence changed everything. In its own panic to escape what it must have surely thought was an attack, it dove off the cliff shelf and took to flight.

"I could do nothing but hang on at that point."

Josy was staring at him with her mouth agape, her mind trying to come to grips with that incomprehensible situation.

"How long did you...how far...how did you...?"

Ron laughed and shook his head some more.

"I know, right? That's totally nuts. Well anyway, even though it took a number of peeks to see what it was hauling, the poor creature couldn't really turn its head enough to get at me while airborne...which was a blessing, obviously...so it just kept going. And I guess it was too badly confused to know exactly what to do, so it just glided down to the bottom of the gorge and landed. I bailed off at that very instant, and was safe on the ground as softly as stepping off a horse.

"I fell back quickly with my hands raised, saying 'okay-okay-okay...I'm going' in as calm a voice as I could manage, and that giant bird looked at me in the most peculiar way...like it was just as wary of me as I was of it. It didn't even squawk at me or act aggressive. It then lowered and turned its head, peering intently at me out of one of its huge golden eyes. I guess it could see up close better that way, but it was almost like it was checking to see if I was alright.

"Anyway, after about half a bort of us looking at one another, it just turned and took off again.

"That was the most surreal...and bizarre...experience I think I've ever had."

"And so I imagine that your men saw all this? That's how the story was portrayed as it was?"

Ron grinned madly at her question.

"No...I'm afraid it was a little worse than that."

Josy raised her brows.

"Yes, my own men did see my aerial escapade...or at least part of it...and they did make it down the cliff safely. But the real reason it got so famous was because the spot that the ceatary decided to land at was barely a hundred kez from the gathering of the five tribes we were trying to enlist in the fight against the Maresji!

"While my heart was racing in my chest and I was doing whatever I could think of to get away from the giant bird in one piece...their perspective was quite different. They all thought I'd been thanking the beast for the lift before I casually strolled over and joined them."

Josy had to cover her mouth just then to stifle the amount of laughter she expelled at that announcement.

Time in the Cavitar Valley had been a truly wonderful experience for the newly reunited couple, to be among the nations of nomads in such a time of piece and joy, but at last Ron said his farewells to those devoted people and headed north.

Escorted by the Wolf Pack, they made their way back through the long tunnels and out into the sacred valley where there was one more difficult goodbye to be said.

Josy was misty-eyed when she finally turned Goshune loose after a very heartfelt hug.

"Thank you so much, Goshune. Without you, this entire adventure would never have taken place...and I am eternally grateful that it did."

She then placed her hand affectionately on his broad cheek and, leaning in, planted a sweet kiss on his lips.

"Goodbye, my friend," she said as she turned back to Ron.

Ron waved to him and his men and then followed the last of the Piercellione into the narrow crevasse in the rock.

Goshune was left frozen where he stood...too amazed at the gift Josy had just given him to move.

To have actually been kissed by the Goddess! Aside from Ronin himself, had there ever been a more blessed man?

Out into the northern world Ron, Josy, and the two hundred Piercellione went, and after a couple of days to resupply their food-stuffs, down the long final trek home they began.

A torjourne later, when they'd reached a good point in the terrain that would allow easy passage west, Ron sent his mountain clansmen back to their side of the Taerdrasseg, vowing to visit them when the children were a bit older. Afterward, he and his love...each carrying one of their sons...headed toward Thackere.

### Chapter Forty-nine

### Home Again

Ron and Josy arrived two torjournes later; weary, but incredibly happy to be back. It was twice as long as actually needed, but they finally had one another all to themselves, and wanted very badly to enjoy that fact for a while.

They spoke and teased and played and loved like they'd never been apart, and Ron felt his bond with Josylinia was as powerful as it had ever been. Their hearts were one again...whole, and synced. He had been a new father dozens of times in his long life, so he found it easy to slip into that role once more, and his vast experience was clear to Josy. The boys had taken to him instantly...back at the gathering...as if they'd known he was coming all along and had just been waiting.

When they were half a hoz from the grand Gitove home, they heard a loud, clanging bell ring out across the meadow, and Josy began to smile. They'd been spotted. A few borts later, Mishea was walking fast toward them with Karne striding right beside her, seemingly shuffling along, but keeping pace next to his much shorter wife.

At about a hundred yards distance, the two Gitoves stopped dead in their tracks though, their mouths hanging open in utter amazement. Jansen jogged up a few moments later, coming from the massive barn, and he too stood stock-still out of overwhelming surprise.

Josy was so thrilled to be home that she squealed, almost forgetting that her family still thought Ron dead and gone. That incredible reunion was very emotional, even for the giant Kreete warriors, and so it was some time before they all made it back to the house.

When the tears had been wiped away and they were all sitting down on the wide porch, the questions began to pour...and that didn't stop for the next two torjournes.

First was about Sheyah, and a few billots later, when Mishea went to the secret Raulden cabin to collect her, Ron and Josy went with her.

That tiny girl strolled through the portal and into the house with a beautiful smile on her sweet face, always happy to be back on her home world.

Ron was totally mesmerized by her from the moment she appeared.

Sheyah was nearly six Caronian cycles old...closer to seven Raulden ones, and nine Earth years...but she had the look and stature of a child of about four Earth years. That was due to the influence of Rauldens' prolonged life cycle...that part of her genetic makeup slowing her physical development to keep pace with that of their race. Ron of course was more than pleased with that fact because it kept him from having missed too much of her growing stage during his absence.

He smiled grandly at the sight of her, so thrilled, and so proud of his little girl.

The long, black curls of Sheyah's hair swayed and bounced as she walked, accentuated by her chipper stride, and made her appear as if she was almost skipping. And the caramel color of her tanned skin set off the silver of her big, bright gray eyes as if they were literally back-lit from insider her.

"Any news yet, Mishi?" she asked, using her special name for who she saw as her grandmother.

Mishea gave her a strong hug and then turned her to the left.

"Yes, actually," she replied in a voice that was practically singing.

Sheyah's eyes opened so big, it looked like they would leap right out of her skull at any moment. They danced from Josy to Ron, back to Josy, and then back again to Ron, as if the sight of them both was too much for her to take in. Finally though...

"DADDY!" she screamed, dropping her things and leaping into his arms.

Ron covered his daughter's chubby little cheeks and face with kisses ten times over. Sheyah then held out her pudgy little hand and beckoned Josy into the reunion, and they stayed like that, laughing and squeezing one another for several borts.

When the hugs and greetings had made their rounds, Ron sat Sheyah on his lap and began answering her seemingly endless questions about exactly what had happened to him.

"So the fourth dimension is a reality then...not just a theory?" she queried when he got to the part about having travelled back in time.

Ron was undeniably surprised and impressed by her understanding...no matter how rudimentary...of even the concept of space-time.

"So..." she began a bit later, "you are really...really old now!"

"Yes, sweet girl...I am," he replied with a strong laugh.

The four of them slowly meandered back to the Gitove home a short while later and the family reunification continued.

A few dactrais later, Ron took his little family to the cottage. There, he and Josy donned the heavyweight apparel they would need for the next leg, and then he asked Josy to request a direct portal connection to Earth.

"Of course I will, Ron, but wouldn't you like to do it yourself...so that all your friends in Gammone will know that you're alive?"

"Not just yet, Josy," he told her. "I want to prioritize family first...and this visit will probably take a while. Plus...I have to admit it...I don't look forward to reliving Cache's loss.

"It has been an unfathomably long time for me...and I have lived a radically different life than we experienced back then. But now that I'm here once more...and I dwell on those past events...it all feels fresh again, and I simply don't want to feel that bitter sadness just yet."

Josy could definitely see the reasoning in that, so they were on their way to Earth shortly, without anyone on Rauld knowing the truth about Ron.

The Allisons were, of course, extremely relieved and overjoyed at Ron's return...and also at their growing list of grandchildren. Reconnecting with his roots...his parents and sister, as well as his former wife; Angela and his son; Derek, who also thought him dead...was once more a tremendously festive occasion.

That trip began a series of return visits over the following torjournes so that he could retell the entirety of his wild tale to them all as well.

That first santari back was a whirlwind...but one that Ron and Josylinia didn't mind putting up with. There was simply too much delight and cheerfulness in it.

More time passed, and life on Caron gradually returned to some form of normal, even though none of them could really believe it, and the air was light with optimism and contentment. The boys had settled into a nice routine, and Sheyah was more than happy to play momma again to her little brothers, holding them and rocking them and talking to them and playing with them, all while they stared and laughed back at her. Josy even got her school work sent to Caron instead of having her travel to Rauld, just so she wouldn't miss a moment with her restored family.

One beautiful, cloud-dotted morning...two days after a successful harvest of the buonta bean crop had been completed...Ron finally decided it was time to face the inevitable. He would journey to Rauld.

"Darling," Josy said hesitantly, "you're not going to let them send you away again, are you?"

Ron was sitting right beside her on a bench, shoulder to shoulder, with one of the babies sleeping in his arms. He saw the trepidation in her exquisite eyes and leaned over for a lingering kiss. When he pulled back, he smiled at her.

"I'm not going anywhere until these two are grown men at the very least," he assured her. "I've waited too long, endured too much, and fought too many battles to get back here...and I intend to savor every moment!"

"Thank you, Ron, my love," she said sweetly, pressing her lips to his again. "I couldn't bear to say goodbye to you again."

"Let me just get a shirt that isn't drooled on and we can head over. I know Sheyah is probably missing her friends by now too...aren't you sweetie?"

"Yes, Daddy," she said with a cute, blushing grin. "It has been a while."

Ron handed off his load to Mishea and headed inside with Sheyah shadowing him.

"Will you introduce me to all your teachers and friends?" he asked.

"Of course, Daddy...and I know they will all want to hear about your...what would you call it...your adventure?"

Ron laughed and shook his head. "That's as good a description as I can think of, Baby."

The Gitoves and some of the staff were left lounging outside on the wide, eastern-facing porch, just enjoying the family being together on such a gorgeous day, when their happy chatter suddenly stopped short. Karne's head had jerked to a point in the distance, catching movement. That caused a cascade of similar reactions, and soon all eyes had migrated to that spot...to the sight of a stranger walking calmly toward them across the expansive, emerald green lawn.

The two Kreete warriors panned the entire area carefully twice before returning to that lone individual, and then they watched warily, but neither had stood as of yet. They were fully aware that their disposition would instantly relay to those around them, and they weren't quite ready to cause alarm.

The sun was still behind the interloper, so all they could really see was a silhouette, and that did little to ease their anxiety, but still they did nothing. At first, they each thought it might be a child, so petite was the person's figure, but there was something about the stranger's gate, and sway of their hips. Half a bort later, recognition began to grow, but with that came even more perplexity.

Ron was almost directly above them, fastening up his clean shirt, and was keeping a fatherly eye on his daughter who was wandering out across the mid-level veranda. She was still small enough that she could squeeze through the ornate balusters, and so needed monitoring. She was extremely smart...especially for her age...but she was still a child, and so had a child's curiosity and ignorance of danger as well. At a particular glance in her direction, his keen eye spotted the movement of the oncoming intruder as well.

At first he felt an inner lurch, which was only natural since his life experience had taught him to always be suspicious of any unannounced visitors, but then almost immediately the deep, unrefined part of his brain began to fight the sensation. There was something about that approaching individual that caused him to reject all his misgivings. He strode quickly to the edge of the balcony, taking Sheyah's hand in his for safety's sake, and leaned forward over the railing, almost to the point of falling, to clarify what his eyes were actually seeing. After just a few more litas, he inhaled sharply.

"It can't be!" he huffed out.

The next instant saw Ron spin on his heels, snatch up his little girl, and bolt for the stairs at a dead run.

The interloper kept coming, and after a few more moments, those on the lower porch could all see that it was a woman, and that she wore a smile that grew broader with every step.

Every person on the porch rose to their feet, but did not move further. They were all completely speechless as their visitor finally reached the bottom step, and then kept coming.

"Karne, Mishea, Larson...it is so good to see you again."

Cache Kuar was standing before them, practically glowing with delight.

Litas ticked away as the diminutive blonde reveled in their audacious stares, yet no one spoke...and then Ron burst onto the porch, ten feet from his former partner.

Both Ron's and Cache's mouths hung agape as one stared incredulously at the other. Sheyah was sitting side-saddle in Ron's arm, and she blinked twice and then rubbed her eyes hard, not believing what they were seeing. Then...

"They/they/they told/told/told me/me/me you/you /you were/were/were dead/dead/dead!" burst from all three of their mouths simultaneously.

Ron rushed forward in a blink and corralled her with his free arm, scooping her right off her feet, and squeezed her till she turned blue. She had to tap him on the shoulder hard to get him to release her.

"Oh...sorry!" he said as she gasped for air, still grinning madly.

"Mommy?" Sheyah finally said. Her face was still showing her bafflement.

"Come here, baby," Cache told her little girl before slipping her from Ron's grasp and hugging her nearly as hard as Ron had done her.

"Is it really you, Mommy?" Sheyah asked with her arms wrapped around her mother's neck.

"Yes, Sheyah...my beautiful baby girl. It really is."

The Gitoves all took their turns with her then, and everyone began talking fast, and at the same time.

Cache had to put up her hands, laughing at them all.

"One at a time!" she cried, her eyes twinkling. Sheyah was still glued to her, just like she'd done with Ron.

"But you were dead!" Ron finally said, his eyes scanning her several times, top to bottom. "Fortell said..."

"He said the same thing about you too...and...well?"

"You first," Ron insisted, tired of talking about himself.

Cache smiled anew. "Yes...alright then. First; he was technically telling you the truth. I was deceased...by all our normal parameters."

"But how..." Josy began.

Cache cut her off.

"Well...when my body had almost completely succumbed to the ravages of the toxins the Theranians had given me, Fortell had a desperate idea, and so he placed me in a stasis-chamber. Apparently, the central computer had made him aware of some insane, totally experimental concoction he wanted to try on me."

She turned and winked at Ron just then.

"NO!" Ron exclaimed. "Really? It worked?"

She grinned all the more.

"What?" Josy asked, seeing the unspoken recognition between the two.

"You want to tell them? Or should I?" Cache asked, but before he could answer, she said; "You had better do it. I just know part of the story anyway."

"Okay," Ron began, "You see, I've known that Cache would not survive that last battle with Jazz for...well...for a while."

Everyone laughed heartily, except Cache. Her brow scrunched. She knew she was missing something important, but allowed it to pass for the moment, uninterrupted.

"So after the war with the Kreete was over...when the younger me was going back and forth with Cache to Rauld, before she gave birth to Sheyah...,"

"Wait a bort," Cache interjected, shaking her head vigorously, like she was trying to wake herself up. "What younger you...when I was pregnant? Wh..."

"We'll get that sorted out in a bit," Ron told her, enjoying the look of confusion on her normally placid face.

"I kind of snuck through the transporter and made use of one of the automated med-stations in Gammone. I instructed the virtual assistant to draw a unit of blood and a large sum of bone marrow from me and put it in cryo, where I knew it would keep indefinitely.

"You see, I was gambling that since it was well documented that my body had a tremendous tolerance for overcoming toxins and poisons, that it might prove useful in the future...at least I hoped it would. Afterward, I wrote Fortell a detailed note about my conjectures and left it in the central computer's memory to activate in the event that Cache was ever severely injured or poisoned. Then I headed back to the south."

"To the south?" Cache interjected. "South of where? Ron, what _are_ you saying?"

Ron chuckled at her. "It's a rather long and boring story, I'm afraid."

Again, everyone laughed. She did not understand the sarcasm, but Ron waved her off again so she carried on with her own tale.

"So anyway," Cache took over the story, shooting Ron a feisty, perturbed look, "Fortell made a serum out of Ron's donations...one that would be compatible with my body...and replicated it until he could completely transfuse my blood with it. The process had to be done six times, and took more than an entire cycle, but..."

She opened her arms out wide and tilted her head. "I guess it worked!"

Josy went to her again and crushed the petite blonde in her grasp, so thrilled she couldn't speak. Tears of joy again doused her face. When she pulled back, Ron was there to get his turn at another long bear hug, but Josy stopped it with a statement.

"Your eyes!"

Cache too was weeping with delight, but she nodded knowingly.

"The medical team reconstructed my eye perfectly...my vision is even exactly the same...but for some reason, the color would not return to normal, so I guess I'm stuck with it."

She had one violet eye and the other was silvery gray...exactly the same color as Ron's.

"But wait," Josy said, turning to Ron. "If you did that way back then," her thoughts running over the story once more, "then you were here the entire time...in the north? I thought you said you went south after Kaskle disappeared...to ensure you didn't foul the timeline."

"Timeline?" Cache jumped in again. "What timeline? You went south after Kaskle disappeared? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

"A few more borts and I'll explain...I promise," Ron told her, and then returned his attention to Josy.

"Well," he said guiltily, "I was headed that way...truly, I was, but I simply couldn't bring myself to leave without seeing you again first...so I kinda...well...stalked you a bit...just for a while."

Josy's eyes flared. She appeared truly angry. "Really? You were...watching me...spying on me?"

Ron blushed heavily at that, knowing he should never have done it.

"My darling, Josylinia," he said softly, collecting her hands in his to calm her emotions. "It had been thirteen hundred and forty-four cycles since last I saw you. Do you really think I could just drift away without a single glimpse of what I'd waited all that time for?"

Her heart melted at his reply, and so instead of rebuking him, she pressed her cheek to his chest. "I suppose it's all right then," she murmured.

Cache plopped down in one of the nearby chairs...her eyes blank. She stared at Ron as if too dazed to speak anymore. Ron held up his index finger to her, pleading for her patience.

Josy pulled back again sharply...another scenario popping into her thoughts.

"So just how long _were_ you in the area?"

"Well, I had to wait until the war was over, right? So that I would have access to the transporter. And I had to keep out of sight that whole time too, with the massive search going on after my escape from the coliseum in Gratoon. I ended up way out in the southeastern fringes, waiting for the call to arms."

"The call to arms?" Larson inquired. "You mean you fought during the war?"

Ron nodded. "I couldn't, after all, stand by and let my Piercellione brothers go to war without me could I? So I went deep into the wilderness, to a remote village, and waited."

"You were there then...at the battle for Huinrag?" Karne asked, guessing his reasoning.

Ron nodded. "I was manning the eastern catapult...until it was destroyed that is. I took to the trees after that. I had four thousand arrows placed all around those woods, and so I directed the Piercellione to those caches when they'd expended their own.

"As soon as I had my opening and made that file for Fortell, though, I forced myself to go."

He held Josy at arms' reach and looked intently at her.

"I swear, that was the most difficult time in my entire, insanely long, life. I had waited so long...and there you were...all of you," he added looking around at the close-knit group of friends and family. "Even Cache was alive at that time...after I'd thought her dead for so long. It was like tearing myself in half...but I knew I had to go. I couldn't risk changing something. And too, there was that one last mission in the deep south."

"Mission?" Mishea inquired, still unaware of the southerners' plight. "What mission? Where did you go?"

Ron hadn't elaborated on that particular campaign as of yet.

"You remember a couple cycles after the war ended," Ron asked her, "when Karne and Larson left for Rauld, to enter that clash with the attacking armada?"

Mishea recalled it vividly. She'd been so worried for all of them.

"Well, the weapon the Theranians had used..."

"Yes!" Karne blurted out, suddenly understanding. "The asteroid! It broke up...and part of the debris field went to the south!"

Ron nodded. "We evacuated roughly fifty thousand families that would have been annihilated had they stayed."

Mouths dropped open again at that announcement.

"As it was, the debris that went into the atmosphere still caused an unbelievable amount of hardship down there, but there was only so much we could do."

"That is it!" Cache finally said sternly, pointing her little size-four finger at Ron. "You! Start talking!"

Two billots later, after hearing only some of the highlights of his incredible life, she sat there looking at Ron in amazement.

"And I thought 'my' story was extraordinary!"

After a few moments of solemn thought, Cache spoke up again, changing the subject completely.

"So Sheyah says I have two little nephews! Is that right?"

The entire clan then eased into the expansive home and drew chairs around the main fireplace. Then the twins...having just awoken from their mid-morning nap...were brought in and the reunification of their family began anew.

## The End

