No one, Jasak mused, enjoyed eating crow. Neshok appeared to hate it more virulently than most . . . which was just fine with Sir Jasak Olderhan.

Silence lingered for several seconds. Then Jasak cleared his throat, looked back at Skirvon, and continued.

"I was saying that I wouldn't assume their civilization is either crude or simple just because their technology isn't magic-based. We manufacture mechanical things ourselves, but there's a huge difference between an arbalest that fires a steel bolt and one of their weapons. Jathmar field-stripped one of their shoulder weapons-a 'rifle' he calls it-for me at Fort Wyvern. Frankly, it's a complex nightmare of tiny, precisely machined parts. They serve interlocking functions, designed to load and fire the projectile, but even the projectile has multiple parts. The most fascinating part, to be honest, is the granular gray powder inside what he calls the 'cartridge.' It's the powder that performs the 'chemical'-that's another one of his words we're still trying to figure out-operations which actually fire the projectile. As nearly as I can picture it in my own mind right now, they basically set off something very like one of our infantry-dragon fireballs inside the cartridge, and that expands with enormous speed and drives the 'bullet' down the hollow barrel of the 'rifle' and through its target."

"An arbalest sounds far more practical and reliable," Skirvon observed with another frown.

"They're reliable enough, Sir." Jasak almost blinked in surprise as Otwal Threbuch inserted himself into the conversation. "And practical, too, begging your pardon. Have you ever seen an arbalest quarrel punch clean through a man three hundred yards away? Have you ever seen an arbalest mow down thirty men in three seconds? A whole line of men, forty feet across? They went down like one man-like they'd run into an invisible wire.

"Only it wasn't a wire. The things hitting them were blowing holes straight through them-big holes. Big enough to put your thumb through in front and your fist through in back. And that doesn't even begin to describe what their artillery can do. They fired it through the portal and dropped it behind Hundred Thalmayr's fieldworks." The big noncom shook his head grimly. "Believe me, Sir, an arbalest may be less complicated, but it's definitely not more practical or reliable."

Both diplomats were ashen, and mul Gurthak looked more than a little shaken himself. Another brief silence fell, until Skirvon shook himself again.

"I'm not a military or a technical man myself, Sir Jasak," he admitted. "I still find the entire concept of a civilization without any magic at all extremely difficult to accept, but for now, I don't think we have any choice but to accept that your description-yours and the chief sword's-is accurate.

"Still, if I'm not particularly well versed in technological matters, I do have a bit of experience in diplomatic affairs. You say they don't have a world government. In that case, how do they manage their portal exploration?"

"There's some sort of central authority, an organization that operates their portal forts and apparently runs the actual portals. It sounds like the equivalent of our UTTTA, and it has some sort of authority over their survey crews, but it's also some kind of private entity, I think. I'm not very clear on it yet. It sounds to me as if it's some sort of government-approved or supervised private company. But whoever sponsors it, their 'Portal Authority' decides who's permitted to work on their survey crews. Lady Nargra-Kolmayr says she's the first woman ever approved to join a team; she anticipates being the last, as well."

The diplomats exchanged thoughtful glances. Then they looked back at Jasak.

"So it would probably be this 'Portal Authority' we'd be speaking to, not the representatives of an actual government?" Skirvon mused aloud.

"I'd guess so." Jasak nodded. "But let me emphasize that it would be only a guess on my part. One thing we haven't been able to discover is how extensively the Sharonians have explored. My distinct impression from several things they've let drop is that they were operating on the leading edge of a very extensive frontier when we encountered one another. If that's so, then I'd think it would be difficult for them to get diplomats to the front much more quickly than we could. And that completely ignores the fact that if they don't have a world government, the first thing they'd have to do is decide which government should be talking to us."

"A very well taken observation, Sir Jasak." Skirvon nodded vigorously, then cocked his head to one side.

"I know I'm jumping around a bit," he said, semi-apologetically, "but it's just occurred to me that if they don't have anything like magic, then presumably they don't have anything like our hummers, which should give us a substantial advantage in response time."

"I wouldn't count on that if I were you, Master Skirvon," Jasak said, a bit grimly. "No, they don't have hummers. But that's because they don't need them."

"Why not?" mul Gurthak asked sharply, and Jasak grimaced.

"We only discovered after we left Fort Rycharn that while these people don't have Gifts, they do have what they call Talents," he said heavily.

His own reluctance to mention the matter surprised him. It also made him realize just how protective he truly felt where Shaylar and Jathmar were concerned. Yet he was an officer of the Union of Arcana. It was his duty to pass the information along, and so he told them everything Shaylar and Jathmar had told him about their own Talents and how those Talents had served the survey crews and Sharona in general.

"Obviously," he concluded, several minutes later, "the military applications of this . . . living technology are enormous. And, frankly, the civilian applications must be equally staggering."

His audience looked stunned. Then mul Gurthak leaned forward over his desk, his body language and expression angry.

"When," he asked icily, "did you discover this little bit of information?"

"About one day out from Fort Wyvern, Sir," Jasak said coolly. "Since we were coming through by dragon ourselves as soon as possible, I decided not to send it by hummer. I thought you'd probably prefer to hear about it in person, and with as little chance for it to leak as possible."

"I see." The two thousand sat back in his chair again, toying with a stylus, and the anger slowly ebbed out of his expression. But he still didn't look precisely satisfied, and he frowned at Jasak. "What prompted them to make such a revelation? They have to know how seriously that knowledge will compromise their side in any conflict."

"I'm not certain they are aware of all the implications," Jasak said reluctantly. "As I say, they're civilians, not soldiers. As to why they admitted it, partly it was because they didn't have much choice. I confronted them over something that had shaken Magister Kelbryan pretty badly, which pressured them into making a partial explanation. They volunteered the rest, though."

"But why?" Skirvon sounded as baffled-and skeptical-as mul Gurthak.

"I think it's because they're trying desperately to find some grounds for mutual understanding, Master Skirvon," Jasak said slowly. "They're fully aware of how different we are from one another-in fact, they're probably far more aware of it than we are, since they're the ones trapped inside our culture. I think they believe that the more we know about them-the more completely we understand that they aren't monsters, just different-the greater the chance for establishing some sort of trust between us. And I also think they have a point. When you get right down to it, the implications of these Talents of theirs aren't a lot different from the implications of our own Gifts. Just as we've done with our Gifts, they seem to have concentrated their Talents through specific family lines, and everything we've been able to learn from Shaylar so far suggests their Talents are probably much less useful for what Magister Kelbryan calls 'macro effects' than magic is. That's probably why they rely so heavily on complex mechanical devices.

"But however frightening or threatening this capability of theirs may seem-for that matter, however dangerous it may yet actually prove to be-one fact remains. Sharona has also produced two individuals from very different Sharonian nations who share similar traits which are important to our understanding of them. They're honorable, courageous, and-under the circumstances-surprisingly honest and forthcoming."

One again, the diplomats exchanged glances. Jasak wasn't at all sure he cared for their expressions.

"Most helpful, indeed, Sir Jasak," Skirvon said after a moment.

"There's another point I'd like to make, as well, if I may," Jasak said. "We know Sharona has many countries, and we also know Lady Nargra-Kolmayr and her husband don't come from the same one. You only have to look at them to see that they're obviously from different genetic stocks. Yet their ideas, their values-what they believe at the deepest core level-are remarkably similar. And when you stop to think about it, how many Arcanans actually choose to marry outside their birth cultures? Not very many, yet we've been a united world, under one government, for two centuries."

The mention of cross-cultural marriages tightened mul Gurthak's lips in visible disapproval. Despite that, it was the two thousand who first grasped the point Jasak was trying to make.

"What you're trying to say is that even though they may not have a world government, their culture-their civilization-may be much closer to monolithic than we'd assume?"

"Exactly, Sir," Jasak said with a nod.

"One wonders," Dastiri said thoughtfully, "how common this marriage pattern of theirs truly is?"

"That's certainly something to be curious about," Skirvon agreed. "It's possible that it's not actually very common at all, but I'm inclined to trust Sir Jasak's instincts on this matter. He doesn't have any formal training in diplomacy, I know, but as the heir to Garth Showma, he probably has a better sense of political and cultural nuances than most people. Certainly a better one than most officers of his seniority," the diplomat very carefully did not glance in Neshok's direction, "and he's spent a great deal of time with his prisoners. Excuse me, with his shardonai." The diplomat smiled apologetically at Jasak, then looked back at Dastiri. "If he believes we're dealing with a cultural monolith, regardless of their political organization, I'm inclined to trust that judgment."

Neshok's nostrils flared, and mul Gurthak's eyes went a shade frostier, but only for a moment. Then the two thousand drew a slow, deliberate breath.

"A well-taken point," he said. "It appears we're fortunate to have your insight into these matters, Hundred Olderhan."

He studied Jasak with opaque eyes for several seconds, then shrugged.

"Given the role the late Shevan Garlath played in the disaster at Fallen Timbers," he finally said, "I'm forced to revise my first, overly hasty assessment of your judgment as a field officer. Five Hundred Klian's evaluation of Fifty Garlath's fitness as an officer makes it clear you were saddled with a . . . difficult situation, even before you made contact with these Sharonians."

He produced a wintry smile.

"One is always tempted to blame messengers who bear unpalatable news, particularly when military and political disasters are involved. But Chief Sword Threbuch's report on the second encounter with these people makes it clear-to me, at least-that you did a brilliant job of containment."

Jasak bristled silently at the use of the word "containment." It was accurate enough-he'd certainly "contained" the Sharonians, at least physically-but something about the word, or perhaps the way it had been delivered, set him on edge. That surprised him, but he didn't have time to ponder it now, for mul Gurthak was still speaking.

"I may never forgive Hadrign Thalmayr," the two thousand said in a bitter tone, "for promptly throwing away all you'd accomplished and losing the men you'd managed to bring safely back. Not to mention losing control of the portal."

He shook his head, leaned far back in his chair, and steepled his fingers across his chest.

"I realize your primary concern will be sending reports ahead as you make the return trip to New Arcana. The Commandery has to know everything you learn as soon as possible. The time lag is immense, as it is. Even at the speed hummers fly, this is a long transit chain."

"Yes, Sir. I know that only too well." The initial message that there'd been a contact with another civilization was still winging its way-literally-back to New Arcana. "No one even knows the Union has new neighbors, Sir. Let alone that battles have already been fought. No one in the Union, that is."

His eyes met mul Gurthak's, and the two thousand nodded, his expression grim. Skirvon and Dastiri's ears seemed to prick up, as if they realized something they didn't understand had just been said, and mul Gurthak favored them with a hard, thin smile.

"You gentlemen weren't listening to the hundred," he said. "What was it he said? They don't need hummers, I believe."

Skirvon stared at him, then blanched visibly.

"Gods! They already know, don't they? They've probably known for weeks!"

"Lady Nargra-Kolmayr's effectively confirmed that," Jasak agreed unhappily. "I don't know exactly how long it took their message to get home, but given the structure she described, with official Voices stationed permanently at every single portal they've discovered, and at relays in between, as necessary, their home world may have known within hours. I'd bet that someone in their Portal Authority knew by the time we airlifted out the wounded. And something she said this afternoon confirms that her family thinks she's dead. She used the present tense, and I don't think it was a slip of the tongue. She knows that whatever message she was sending out when she was knocked unconscious at Fallen Timbers has already reached her home world."

Both diplomats had turned a sickly shade of yellow-green.

"This is a first-class disaster," Skirvon groaned. "They've had time to move in whole divisions of troops!"

"It's not quite that bad," mul Gurthak disagreed. They looked at him incredulously, and he shrugged. "I've been operating on the assumption that word might have gotten back to their high command ever since I received Five Hundred Klian's initial dispatches. The force which attacked Hundred Thalmayr was undeniably stronger than anyone anticipated, however it scarcely represented the kind of troop strength I'd have expected from a major base. And we know these people don't have dragons, or, apparently, anything else that flies. Neither, according to the chief sword," he nodded at Threbuch, "do they have enhanced cavalry mounts like our own. So what we're probably facing is a situation in which their high command can receive reports and dispatch new orders much more rapidly than we can, but our forces can move much more rapidly than theirs can."

Jasak nodded. He'd already reached the same conclusion himself, and it should have been reassuring to know that the senior officer in the area agreed with his own assessment. And it was . . . mostly. Still, there was something about mul Gurthak's eyes. . . .

"Hundred Olderhan," the commander of two thousand continued, turning his attention back to Jasak and smiling much more warmly than before, "I want to thank you for a first-class briefing. I'm very impressed by the amount of information you've been able to obtain from the prisoners. I suppose it's another case of that old cliche about catching more flies with sugar than with salt," he added, giving Neshok a speaking glance.

"I also concur that it's critical that we get our diplomatic presence as far forward as we can, as quickly as we can. And that you continue to New Arcana with all dispatch. Indeed, I'm coming to the conclusion, based on what you've said here, that we could scarcely have acquired a more valuable source of intelligence if we'd been allowed to choose who to capture ourselves."

One again, something bristled deep inside Jasak. It was his protective instinct, he knew. His shardonai had become personally important to him, not just an honor obligation, and that might not be a good thing, from the perspective of the Union of Arcana. Mul Gurthak was undoubtedly correct about Shaylar and Jathmar's value, and Jasak ought to place the same priority on squeezing them for every bit of information, as long as they weren't mistreated in the process.

"I'm sure you're fatigued after so long on dragonback, Hundred," mul Gurthak went on after a moment. "Moreover, given the . . . unpleasant episode down by the dragonfield, I'm certain both your shardonai and Magister Kelbryan are rather anxious to discover just how well this debriefing went. With that in mind, I'll let you go find your own quarters and reassure them that no one at Fort Talon has any intention of changing their status or attempting to remove them from your custody."

"Thank you, Sir."

Jasak recognized his dismissal and stood, although leaving that office at that particular moment was the last thing he wanted to do. Unfortunately, whoever his father might be, Jasak was only a commander of one hundred. There was no way he could insist upon remaining for the additional discussion he knew was about to begin.

"Chief Sword, Javelin, you're also dismissed," the two thousand continued. "Hundred Neshok will see to it that you're quartered."

Threbuch and Iggy Shulthan braced briefly to attention, then turned and followed Jasak and Neshok out of the office.

The sound of the door closing behind them wasn't really a thunder-crack of doom . . . it only sounded that way to Jasak.

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

The man who thought of himself as Nith vos Gurthak only when he was totally alone, watched the door close behind Sir Jasak Olderhan and his noncommissioned officers, then swiveled his eyes slowly across Rithmar Skirvon and Uthik Dastiri.

"A passionate young fellow, Hundred Olderhan," the commander of two thousand observed with a thin smile.

"No doubt," Skirvon said. "But he seems to know his job. After the initial contact blew up in his face that way, he did very well indeed, in my opinion. It's a pity he wasn't still in command when the Sharonians hit our base camp."

"Indeed it is," mul Gurthak agreed. And for more reasons than you can possibly know, he added silently. "However, I'm afraid he may have allowed himself to get a bit too close to his prisoners since then. He's obviously very protective of them, and I'm not convinced they aren't using that against him."

"Playing on his sympathy to convince him of how saintly their own people are, you mean?"

"Something like that. And quite possibly the reverse, you know." Mul Gurthak tipped back in his chair once more. "If they can convince us they have a truly unified, militarily powerful culture when they really don't, we may end up grossly overestimating the amount of combat power they could commit to any shooting war. I can certainly see how they might think that inspiring . . . excessive caution, shall we say, on our part could be very useful to their side."

"That's true enough, Sir," Dastiri said. "At the same time, though, aren't we effectively constrained to assume the worst, anyway?"

"To an extent, Master Dastiri," mul Gurthak said. He and Skirvon exchanged a glance Dastiri didn't notice, and the commander of two thousand continued. "The problem is that as we all just agreed during our conversation with Hundred Olderhan, nobody back home in New Arcana has any hint of what's going on out here. They won't for a long time, either, and once they do find out, it's going to take even more time for them to get any instructions out here for our guidance. Which means that, as the senior local commander, I have to decide what to do about these people."

"Without instructions from Parliament or the Commandery?" Dastiri looked horrified, and mul Gurthak raised one hand, palm uppermost, in an eloquent gesture of fatalism.

"We're at the pointy end of an incredibly long transit chain," he pointed out. "The nearest sliderhead is twenty thousand miles from here, and this chain hasn't exactly been packed to the heavens with combat power." Mul Gurthak chuckled sourly. "If it had been, there'd be someone far senior to a mere two thousand in command out here. Under those circumstances, I don't have any choice but to act on my own initiative while praying that I get comprehensive instructions as quickly as possible."

"That's certainly true," Skirvon said, his expression thoughtful. "Under the circumstances, as you say, and given that there have already been at least two military clashes, I think there's no question but that the decisionmaking authority has to rest with you, as the senior military officer. How can Uthik and I help?"

"Hundred Olderhan's entirely correct in his belief that we need to get diplomats involved in this as soon as possible," mul Gurthak replied. "Obviously, the best solution would be a peaceful, diplomatic one, with no more deaths on either side. Failing that, however, we need to at least keep these people talking long enough for me to assemble what forces are available to me."

"Excuse me, Two Thousand," Dastiri said, "but didn't you just say there weren't very many forces available to you?"

The younger diplomat, mul Gurthak reflected, had that annoying Ransaran habit of asking questions whether or not their answers were any of his business. Still, the man had been partnered with Skirvon for almost a year now, which said a lot. Obviously, Dastiri wasn't too Ransaran in his attitudes, so mul Gurthak might as well be polite.

"What I said was that the chain hadn't been packed with combat power, Master Dastiri," he corrected in as pleasant a tone as possible. "That doesn't mean there aren't a lot of individual Army battalions and Air Force combat and transport strikes scattered around it. As soon as I got Klian's initial dispatch, I sent out orders for as many of those scattered units as possible to report to me here, at Fort Talon, as quickly as transport can be arranged. The first few infantry companies have already arrived. Others are on their way, and they're bringing more transport dragons-and cargo pods-with them as they come in."

"I see." Skirvon studied the commander of two thousand's expression thoughtfully. His own professional diplomat's expression was almost impossible to read, but, then, mul Gurthak didn't have to read it to know exactly what was going on behind it.

"How confident do you feel about your ability to hold against a serious attack, Two Thousand?" the civilian asked after a moment.

"That's difficult to say." Mul Gurthak rocked his chair gently from side to side, his lips pursed in thought. "I suppose it depends on a lot of factors. As I pointed out to Hundred Olderhan, the other side has the advantage in terms of communications speed, given these Voices of theirs, and any strategist could tell you how huge an advantage that constitutes. But we have the advantage in terms of tactical and strategic movement speeds, and that's just as big an advantage. Remember, gentlemen, these people not only don't have magic-assuming our prisoners are, in fact, telling us the truth-but they also don't have dragons. And if they don't, then they can't begin to imagine how rapidly we can transport military forces across even totally unimproved terrain.

"As for these weapons of theirs, I'm entirely prepared to admit that they appear to be powerful and dangerous. But the real reason Thalmayr managed to get himself captured or killed, and all of Hundred Olderhan's company along with him, was the simple fact that unlike us, they can fire artillery through a portal. In a straight-up firefight in the open, between his infantry and field-dragons and their artillery, I strongly suspect that Thalmayr would have massacred them. What happened to him was, in the final analysis, the result of a totally unanticipated tactical advantage of the other side.

"We know, now, that they can do that. It won't be a surprise next time-assuming, of course, that there is a next time. They, on the other hand, have yet to see what our weapons can really do. And if they're truly as ignorant about magic and arcane technology as they seem, they're in for a whole series of equally nasty surprises of their own."

"Forgive me, Two Thousand," Dastiri said, "but it sounds to me as if you think there will be a next time."

"I'm a soldier, Master Dastiri," mul Gurthak replied, just a bit more frostily. "It's my job to think in worst-case scenarios. And it's also my job to have the forces under my command as advantageously positioned as possible to meet any contingency. Obviously, no one wants a war. But if we have one on our hands, anyway, it's my responsibility to see to it that we win the opening engagements."

"Quite so," Skirvon murmured. "And there's another point to consider, as well. If Magister Kelbryan and Magister Halathyn are correct, if this really is a genuine cluster of portals in close proximity to one another, it would scarcely be in the Union's best interests to leave a demonstrably hostile power in control of it. I expect they probably feel the same way about us, too. Which means," he glanced at his civilian subordinate, "that it's our job to convince them to see it our way, Uthik. And if Two Thousand mul Gurthak can provide us with a significant force advantage, it will strengthen our bargaining position substantially."

"Precisely," mul Gurthak agreed, nodding vigorously. "Whether we want a war or not, there are a huge number of reasons for us to position ourselves to be ready to fight if we have to, and no reason not to."

"Unless they decide we're threatening them, Sir," Dastiri pointed out respectfully. "Or unless we're wrong about how quickly they can bring up forces of their own, after all."

"There's no reason why they should feel the least bit threatened, Master Dastiri." Mul Gurthak made himself smile again. "The logical staging point for any deployment against this cluster would be Fort Rycharn. That's over seven hundred miles from the swamp portal, and unlike us, these people don't have any aerial reconnaissance capability. If we move in enough troops and transport dragons, we'll have the flexibility to conduct a mobile defense against any invasion attempt they might decide to mount, or to execute a lightning offensive of our own, if that should prove necessary. Our aerial units could be right on top of them before they even had a clue we were in the same universe with them."

Dastiri's eyes had widened slightly as he listened to the two thousand. Now he looked at his civilian colleague, and his eyes were dark with speculation. He sat that way for a moment or two, then turned back to mul Gurthak.

"I think I understand, Two Thousand," he said, and let his eyes drop briefly-significantly-to the PC in Skirvon's lap, still operating in recording mode. "You're right, of course, that no one wants this thing to escalate any farther than it already has. I'm sure Rithmar and I will both do our best to see to it that it doesn't. But it clearly is your responsibility to prepare for the possibility that we'll fail."

"Exactly." Mul Gurthak smiled at Dastiri yet again-rather more warmly, this time-then glanced at the digital time display on the corner of his desk.

"I see it's approaching time for supper, gentlemen, and I still have a few administrative chores to deal with this evening," he observed. "I suggest we adjourn this meeting until after everyone's eaten."