Ryan knew in his heart that the woman was right. The middle of his back was extremely sore, and he was

aware that he couldn't turn or bend anywhere near as quickly and freely as he would normally. Jak answered her first. "True, Mildred."

J.B. also nodded. "I can get by, but that's the best I can say."

Ryan looked at Trader. "Seems like the old times have just come around again," he said. "Best you take charge of the raid."

Trader nodded solemnly. "Hell, why not."

BARON WEYMAN CAME DOWN with his son at his side, when the rest of the group had almost finished the main course of smoked mutton with a mustard sauce.

He looked older and sicker, his face a dusty gray, and he leaned heavily on Jamie's shoulder as he walked to his place at the head of the table.

The serving woman offered him a choice of the soup or the meat, but he waved her away, taking only a bowl of warm milk with some of the bread crumbled into it.

But when he eventually spoke to the company, his voice was surprisingly strong. "I have talked with Jamie, and we are of one mind and one heart. Your son, Cawdor, has been trapped because of my son's foolishness."

"And because Dean was extremely brave in offering himself up as a worthy sacrifice in my place, Father.

We should not lose sight of that." Ryan was, once again, impressed at the confident way the boy spoke, and at the adult vocabulary that he used. It crossed his mind, almost for the first time, to wonder whether he was actually doing the best he could do for his own son's education. But he set the thought aside. It was something that he knew he should return to, at another time and place, providing the gods came to ride beneath their banner.

Weyman smiled at his boy. "Truly spoken. So, we shall give all the help we can to this venture. Rainey?"

"Baron?"

"How many of our men can be spared? And only the younger and fitter ones."

Rainey considered the question for the moment, his eyes half closed as he did the arithmetic. "There's no

more than ten good enough for this, Baron."

"That will leave us with some force to defend the ville will it?"

Trader answered the baron. "You don't need to be all that fit to lean against a window and fire a blaster.

Different out in the forest against the brushwooders. No point in taking cripples. Just put us all at risk."

Weyman nodded slowly. "Then it's agreed. When will you go from here?"

"Midnight," Trader replied. "Enough moon to see the trail. Then I'll use your sec men as backup. Rest of

us can go in an hour or so before the dawn. Time guards are slowest."

"I'm coming," Jamie announced.

Trader stared at the boy, his eyes like dark chips of Sierra ice. "Not unless I say you do, kid."

"I've been in their camp, and I know where they're holding Dean."

Ryan caught Trader's eye. "Makes sense."

The older man nodded. "Long as he does what he's told and stays where he's put."

Baron Weyman wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Jamie will do what he is told, outlander Trader. You

can be sure of that. And" he stood, resting the palms of his hands flat on the table "I have something to say. I will probably have to go to my bed shortly. My health and not my will dictates this. So, I may not be up when you leave on your mission."

Rainey also stood. "Best pick the men, Baron."

He looked at Trader. "Where do you want to meet? Stables?"

"Yeah. Midnight."

The lean-faced sec man bowed to his baron and walked out of the room, his boot heels ringing on the stone flags.

Weyman watched him go, then returned to his theme. "Firstly I wish you all luck. Secondly I offer you

my heartfelt thanks for taking my side in this. You owe me nothing. Most outlanders would have walked on by. Or, even thrown in their lot with these brushwooders."

"Not our way," Ryan said.

"That may be so" He clicked his fingers, waiting while one of the older women brought in several dusty wine bottles, placing them at intervals around the long table. "This is the last of a very old chardonnay, from long-lost vineyards in the valleys north and inland from here. If you would help yourselves, I should be delighted."

The baron poured a thimbleful for himself, lifting it to his lips.

"Health," Ryan said, filling his dark green goblet, "life and happiness."

"For all here," Doc echoed.

"Amen to that." The baron drained his measure of the rich, pungent wine. "Excellent," he said. "Here is to

the damnation of all enemies."

"And to safe returns," Krysty whispered, touching her glass to Ryan's.

EVERYONE RETIRED to their beds to get some rest before the midnight meeting.

Alone among the friends, Doc found himself unable to sleep, the excitement of the fighting to come making him feel restless, combined with a slight overindulgence in the superb chardonnay.

He walked down to the main doors, where a sleepy young sec guard limped over to let him out into the

cool night air.

There was another sec man, looking even older than Doc, carrying a single-shot musket on his shoulder, pacing beneath the shadow of the high wall.

"Who's that?"

"Doc Tanner."

"Have to speak up a little. Hearing's a tad weaker than it once was."

"Doc Tanner! One of the outlanders."

"All right, all right. No need to shout at me, Doc. Not that deaf."

Doc left the sentry and strolled quietly around the back of the ville, approaching the stable. He caught

movement in the huddled darkness and stepped toward it, drawing the Le Mat. "Halt, who goes there?" he challenged.

"Friend," the small voice replied.

"Dean? That's not"

"It's me, Doc. Jamie."

"Ah, yes. Of course it is. Forgive an old man's foolishness, my boy."

"Sure."

Somewhere behind the young lad, Doc heard the sound of a pony moving restlessly, stamping its hooves, "Wait a moment," he said. "Wait a goshdarned moment, Jamie. Were you thinking of heading out there on your own? That's it, isn't it?"

The boy's voice was so thin it sounded as if it might snap at any moment. Doc moved closer, putting out a friendly arm, feeling Jamie shrink from him.

"You'll tell my father. Then he won't even let me come along with you."

There was a small iron bench in the yard, and Doc led the baron's son to it, sitting down beside him.

"You were planning to go ahead, were you not?"

"Yes, Doc."

"Why? No, don't answer that for a moment. Might it be that you had a thought to go to this Straub and the brushwooders? Reveal who you were and hope they would let Dean go? Could it truly be that?"

"No."

The lie was so transparent that Doc nearly laughed, just barely checking himself. "Of course, it wouldn't

be, my lad. Because, assuming they believed you, they would slit the throat of young Dean within five heartbeats of your admission. And where would our plan be, then? Riddle me that, Jamie."

"Spoiled."

Doc patted him on the arm. "The thought does you nothing but credit, lad. It was an honorable and

courageous intention. The shame is that nobody else will ever know of it."

"What?"

"I shall tell nobody, Jamie. Will you?"