"Another pass, sir?"

"No. None of them could have escaped that." At least, the fire had killed all that were nearby, and it would have been far too wasteful of lifeforce to flame more of the forest and the living things within it. "Just head back to the compound."

"Yes, sir."

Once they were well away from the mountains and ridges, Dainyl released his shields. His entire body was trembling from the effort it had taken to hold them that long, because he had been forced to share the draw on the lifeforce around with the pteridon-or they would have crashed into the mountains themselves.

As they headed back down to a warmer altitude and toward the Cadmian compound just north of Dramuria, questions swirled through his thoughts.

The golden green lifeforce had to have been one of the ancients. It had matched the aura residue in the short tunnel. Where had the ancient come from? How could it have vanished so quickly? Why hadn't he felt it before? What creature had created the red-violet lifeforce? Was the tunnel site some place of worship for the indigens or the landers? Where theyworshipped or sacrificed themselves to the ancients? Had they fired at him to protect the ancient? And why now? That last question bothered him more than the others.

According to what little he had been able to read on the previous inhabitants of Acorus, they had retreated to the north and to the colder and higher places as the planet had warmed as a result of the seedings.

But they were supposed to have died off centuries before. Dainyl certainly had seen no reports of them anywhere.

Was the cold the reason why it had appeared when it did? Or had alectors simply not been around when the ancients appeared because the ancients preferred extreme cold while alectors shunned it?

Dainyl shifted his weight in the saddle and harness, wincing as the straps pressured his injured shoulder. As a mere observer, he'd taken more injuries in a few weeks than he had in years as a Myrmidon ranker.

Falyna brought the pteridon in smoothly, but Dainyl was, for once, more than glad to put his boots on the stones of the compound courtyard.

He just stood there for a moment.

"Hit you, didn't they, sir?" asked Falyna.

"It didn't break through, but I'll have trouble with the shoulder for a while."

"Were they the rebels?"

"It doesn't matter now." Dainyl looked to the northwest, where a pillar of smoke rose. As an alector, he was supposed to be encouraging the growth of lifeforce, not destroying it.

34.

Another week had passed, and, even in Dramur, the nights were chill, especially for troopers in the sheds converted to rough barracks, and in the small house Mykel used as well. They had not lost a mount to the pit traps for days, although they had been fired upon from a distance on several occasions, but no one had been wounded.

On Duadi morning, a still day with low clouds that promised rain thathad yet to arrive, Mykel looked at the dispatch he had received from Majer Vaclyn, his eyes centering on the section that he'd read over and over.

... Your task under the Code is to bring these lawbreakers to justice. It matters not whether they are breaking the law by refusing to pay their debts or by actual revolt. If they will not surrender to lawful authority, you are to use whatever force is necessary under the regulations governing the Cadmian Peacekeeping Authority... Once the lawbreakers are brought to justice, you are to report the results to higher authority as expeditiously as possible.

Whatever force was necessary. Mykel didn't like the orders, and he'd hoped that his report to the majer would have suggested that his mission was unwise. The majer clearly didn't see it that way, and Mykel had one of two choices. He could refuse and be flogged for failure to obey orders, then imprisoned for the remainder of his term at hard labor, probably in the very mine that seemed to be part of the problem. Or he could carry out his orders, but, hopefully, in some way that did not make the situation worse.

He wasn't sure how to carry out the orders without making things even worse, and he didn't feel like ruining his life. He snorted. How many officers ended up doing what he was going to do, knowing that the orders were idiotic, but not wanting to be punished for saying so?

He folded the dispatch and slipped it into the pouch that he put in the chestnut's saddlebags. Then he turned to Bho-ral, who had been waiting quietly in the long morning shadow of the sagging barn.

"Majer didn't read your report, did he, sir?"

"He read it. He disagrees. Breaking the Code is breaking the Code.

Those who break it must be punished, even if they didn't have a choice.

People don't choose to have crops fail. They don't choose where their parents settled, and not everyone has brains to escape their fate."

"Those that don't, they get punished for their lack of brains," Bhoral replied. "We all get punished one way or another. That's life. You do the best you can."

Mykel laughed, harshly. "I'm going to talk to the chandler. Have the scouts meet me in half a glass. You know where." He mounted the chestnut and rode westward, past the bedraggled sunbean fields. Some ofthe villagers actually looked at him as he rode past, although none addressed him.

He reined up outside the chandlery and dismounted, tying the chestnut to the rail. He'd continued to stop every day to buy something, although often it was only for a copper or two. Captains didn't have that many free coins.

The chandler watched as Mykel hurriedly crossed the front porch, but said nothing as the captain stepped inside and studied the tables and shelves, many of which had far fewer provisions than on the previous day.

Mykel walked to a shelf on the side wall. There in an open, carved box, which looked as though Harnyck had been dusting or polishing it, was a miniature knife in a sheath. He slowly picked it up, noting that it was not even as long as his palm was wide. The leather of the sheath was old, blackened, and cracked. The knife was all one piece, with evenly rough-patterned black stone, almost like onyx, inlaid on each side of the hilt, forming a grip. The metal was silvery, with a hint of copper or bronze.

Unlike most knives, it was double-bladed, and the blade was narrow. It looked exceedingly sharp.

"What's this?"

"A knife, looks like to me." Harnyck's voice was even.

"Is it for sale?" Mykel eased the knife back into the sheath, which, old as it looked, was doubtless far less ancient than the blade.

"I wouldn't sell that to my worst enemy."

"Then you ought to be able to sell it to me." Mykel knew , he had to have the knife, but not why. That was a frightening feeling, because he'd never had to have anything.

"Bad luck to sell it. Worse luck to keep it," Harnyck said slowly.

"Do you know someone poor, who needs coins?" asked Mykel.

"These days, who doesn't?"

Mykel extended five silvers he couldn't really afford. "You give these tothem, and the knife to me."

Harnyck looked at Mykel. "I can't refuse that, Captain, but you'll be wishing I had."

"I won't back out." Mykel laid the coins on the shelf. "Tell me why."

"A bargain's a bargain." Harnyck smiled and picked up the coins. He handed the knife to Mykel. "I give you this, of my own free will, and you have offered to take it of yours."

"I have," Mykel agreed.

"It's a knife of the ancients. You knew that when you saw it. For that artistry, it's worth a score of golds. You know that, too, I'd wager."

"I know it's valuable. That's not why I wanted it."

For the first time, Harnyck smiled. "I could tell that, too. My father told me only to give it to a good-hearted enemy in a time of great trials. He also said that it would either destroy or make the man who received it."

"I'm glad you think so highly of me." Mykel's humor was forced, and he realized that he'd probably said the same exact words to the chandler before.

"You will do terrible deeds, Captain. All who have held that knife have."

Harnyck smiled again. "Leastwise, that was what my da told me."

Mykel wasn't cheered by the chandler's smile. Slowly, he slipped the knife inside his tunic. "I already have. I probably will again. Most Cadmians do."

"At least, you know it." Harnyck stepped back. "The silvers will help some bairns... and not mine. I'd not stoop to that." He paused. "Good day, Captain."

"Good day, Harnyck."

Mykel's mouth was dry as he left the chandlery. What in the world had he done? Five silvers? Why? What did the knife mean?

He untied the chestnut slowly, then mounted, turning the horse backeastward to meet with the men he had assigned to watch the comings and goings around Jyoha. Again, on the way from the town, some looked at him. None said a word, and none smiled.

35.

Tridi had passed without a word from the observers he had stationed, but early on Quattri, well before dawn, one of the messengers from the scouts had awakened Mykel with word that a number of women were leaving the village along the lane that led to the sawmill.

Mykel had Bhoral roust out the entire company and quickly readied himself. Before pulling on his riding jacket, he took out the knife of the vanished ancients, easing it from its sheath and looking at it once again.

The blade was smooth and shiny enough that it should have shown a reflection, but it did not. There was not a mark of corrosion or rust on it, and the metal was at least as hard as steel, if not harder, but not nearly so heavy. The facings on the grip were of a stone that looked like onyx, but was far harder. The blade was sharp enough to shave with, too sharp, if that were possible-Mykel knew, he'd tried and cut himself- and double-edged, unlike most knives, but like a dagger. Yet the blade was too short for a single killing thrust, for all its strength and sharpness. There were no markings and no inscriptions.

After a moment, he replaced it in the sheath and tucked into the inside pocket of his riding jacket. When he had time, he would make a special slot on the inside of his belt for it. It couldn't hurt to have another knife, one that wasn't obvious, small as it might be. He picked up his rifle and headed for the makeshift stables. *

Mykel finished saddling the chestnut, then rode out into the open space before the sheds that served as barracks. He glanced up at the dark sky.

Through the thin night haze he could see Asterta, the warrior moon, almost at the zenith. Warrior moon, but for which warriors did the moon bode victory? As he dropped his eyes to the dimness around him, Bhoral rode up.

"Company's almost ready, sir."

"Good. We'll take the back lane south. I'll take first and second squads up through the fields and through the second growth. You take the others on the sawmill road.""Yes, sir. Scouts out! Company forward!"

While every sound seemed amplified in the predawn grayness, no one seemed to look out of the handful of cots set off the south lane, although smoke rose from most of the chimneys. Near the end of the lane, the company turned westward onto the cart path that crossed the main road south. After another quarter glass Mykel could see the lane he sought to his right.

"Bhoral?"

"Sir?"

"Time for you to take squads three, four, and five."

"Yes, sir." The senior squad leader turned his mount and pulled off to the side.

Mykel kept looking over his shoulder until he was sure that Bhoral and the three squads were clear.

Shortly, a scout appeared out of the trees on the west side of the path.

"Captain?" The scout rode forward and swung his mount alongside that of Mykel. "Look to be about two squads, near that first campsite we found.

Couldn't get too close. They've got pickets, but they're only fifty yards out and on the lane side. Not all that careful."

"Good. Are you ready to ride ahead and take over point?"

"Yes, sir."

Once Jasakyt had joined the other scouts at the front of the squads, Mykel turned. "Squad leaders forward," he said quietly. "Pass it back."

Gendsyr and Alendyr appeared within moments, one riding on each side of Mykel.

"We'll be crossing the fields, then following the edge of the older forest.

We'll ride up until we're thirty yards away and form into a firing line, rifles ready for immediate fire. If they hear us, we'll quick time into position.

First squad to my left, second to my right. I'll give them a chance to throw down their weapons. If there's any resistance, I'll order immediate fire.Quiet riding from here on."

"Yes, sir."

Close to a hundred yards farther south, the scouts turned westward, heading up the long and gently sloping field alongside a fence whose weathered rails lay on the ground in as many places as they sagged between posts. Just before the hillcrest, the scouts rode across a downed section of the fence, through the low second growth bordering the field, and toward the older forest a quarter of a vingt away.

Mykel kept listening, but the only sounds were those of mounts breathing, the swishing of branches pushed aside, and the intermittent cracking of broken branches under hoofs. When they reached the edge of the older growth, the scouts fell back closer to the main body, and the squads followed the more recent tracks toward the older campsite.

He and the two squads were still a good hundred yards away from the clearing when a woman's scream pierced the comparative stillness.

"After me!" Mykel urged the chestnut forward as fast as he dared through irregular second-growth forest. "Rifles ready!"

The screams and yells seemed to go on and on, and a handful of rifle shots echoed through the gray morning.

When Mykel rode through the last low trees and reined up, he found riders in gray, some in shapeless rags, all facing toward the lane from the sawmill, around two handcarts.

Among the yells, and shouts, he could hear several clearly.

"... Cadmians are coming!"

"Flee! Ride away!"

Mykel glanced around him. Out of the ragtag array of riders, only a handful had even seen Mykel's two squads. "Firing line! Ready!"

Mykel never had a chance to offer surrender. The riders broke into two groups, clearly bent on escape.