Markan doubted there was any need to be more explicit with chan Skrithik. The man was obviously intelligent, and the quality of his spoken Uromathian suggested a certain degree of familiarity with Markan's native culture. He would recognize Markan's message-that Markan intended to obey the spirit, not just the letter, of the orders subordinating him to chan Skrithik's command-without the sunlord having to be more direct.

"In that case, Sunlord," chan Skrithik said after a moment, "let's see about getting your people settled in."

"I think that's an excellent suggestion, Regiment-Captain."

"About damned time!" Hardar Jalkanthi announced with profound satisfaction as the signal arm swung into the upright position and the signal lamp glowed green.

"Try to be at least a little patient, Hardar," Charak Tarku grunted with a laugh. "I'm supposed to be the impatient barbarian around here."

Jalkanthi chuckled. Tarku was his regularly assigned senior fireman, and he knew he'd been lucky to hang onto him under the present chaotic circumstances. The burly, broad shouldered Arpathian was a rarity in TTE, given the usual Arpathian attitude towards technology, and Jalkanthi was glad to have him. He knew better than most just how sharp a brain lurked behind the typically Arpathian facade Tarku chose to present to the rest of the multiverse. The engineer wasn't quite certain why Tarku had decided to play to the Arpathian stereotype, and it often irritated Jalkanthi, but the two of them had been together for almost four years now. That was more than long enough to cement a solid friendship, despite their very different backgrounds, and Tarku knew him better than just about anyone else.

"I always thought Arpathians were supposed to be deadly nomadic hunters, patient as the very stones," he said now, as the two of them swung up the high steps to the footplate of TTE's Paladin 20887.

"Nothing but a fairytale," Tarku said, waving one hand airily. "Just another baseless exaggeration we put about to bolster our fearsome reputation and mystique."

"Well, I think it's about time your mystique settled down and started doing its job," Jalkanthi told him.

"Orders, orders. Always orders," Tarku grumbled with a grin. Then he caught hold of the vertical handrail and leaned well out to peer back past the bulk of 20887's integral tender, the auxiliary sixteen thousand-gallon water tender, and the second Paladin and tenders coupled in behind 20887.

"See him?" Jalkanthi asked.

"No, not-Ah! There he is!" Tarku leaned a bit further out, waving to show Train Master Sheltim he'd seen him. The train master waved back from his place on the station platform, but the green flag was still tucked firmly under his arm.

"Well?" Jalkanthi pressed.

"No point fretting at me," Tarku told him. "Sheltim will waggle his little flag at us when he's good and ready to."

Jalkanthi grimaced, then tapped the glass face of the pressure gauge pointedly. Tarku only grinned, and Jalkanthi produced an oily rag and carefully wiped the already gleaming bronze of the burnished throttle lever. He was always inordinately proud of his big Paladin's speed and power, but today he had a special reason for his impatience to be off.

Jalkanthi was Ternathian, from the city of Garouoma in the Province of Narhath, but his wife was Shurkhali. In fact, it was almost frightening how much like a taller version of the murdered Shaylar Nargra-Kolmayr Jesmanar Jalkanthi-Ishar looked. Jalkanthi might not have been born Shurkhali, but he'd absorbed more than enough of his wife's culture to feel the same fury which had swept across her native kingdom. Worse, Jalkanthi had just enough Talent to have Seen SUNN's Voice broadcast of Shaylar's final message. He didn't really care what the assembled heads of state decided in their precious Conclave. He'd been gratified by his own emperor's attitude, and he wasn't very happy about even the most remote possibility of winding up with Chava of Uromathia running things, but he didn't have time to waste worrying about either of those things just now. He knew what he wanted to happen to the bastards responsible for the Chalgyn Consortium crew's massacre, and he was impatient to deliver the first installment of Sharona's vengeance.

He'd been prepared to pull every string in sight when he heard about the decision to send the Third Dragoons forward to Fort Salby. He'd wanted that train, and he'd been determined to have it. But he hadn't had to pull any strings in the end, because Yakhan Chusal knew who TTE's best engineer was. So at least- "Green flag!" Tarku announced suddenly.

"At last!" Jalkanthi replied, and cracked the throttle.

Steam hissed, and the enormous, powerful engine shuddered, trembling like a living creature. The ten huge drivers, each of them almost seven feet high, began to move-slowly, at first, with a deep, strong chuff, spinning on the steel rails as they fought the incredible inertia of a train over two miles long. Then, behind 20887, the second, identical engine hissed into motion as well, drive rods stroking, and the massive drag began to creep slowly forward. Jalkanthi propped one elbow on the window frame as he leaned out of the cab and felt the incredible mass of the train behind him. Thirteen thousand tons, Train Master Sheltim had told him. Most people would have found that hard to believe, but this was the TTE. It routinely hauled loads that massive-or even larger-down the ribbons of steel which stitched the endless universes together.

The vast semicircle of the Larakesh Portal loomed ahead of him. Beyond it, he could see the high mountain plateau of South Ricathia and the thriving city of Union.

He'd always thought calling it "Union City" was more than a little silly. For one thing, Union was really no more than an extension of the vast sprawl of Larakesh into the universe of New Sharona. At the time it had been founded, the newborn Portal Authority had felt it was imperative to establish a new, independent city with its own government beholden to no existing Sharonian government, even a purely local municipal one.

Since then, practices had changed-most other portals the size of Larakesh had spawned single cities, with quite efficient unified governments, which sprawled across their thresholds-but Union City had been a special case on several levels. Not only had it been the first extra-universal city Sharonians had ever established, but the Portal Authority, at Harkala's suggestion (although it was widely rumored that the original idea had come from Ternathia), had been granted ownership of the massive South Ricathian gold fields. The vast majority of the authority's operating revenues over the ensuing eighty years had come from the exploitation of those gold deposits-whose location, of course, had been easy to project from Sharona's own experience-which had neatly absolved the governments which had established it from any requirement to provide it with long-term funding. And, Jalkanthi knew, it had also avoided a situation in which those governments which made disproportionate contributions to the Authority's budget would have acquired an equally disproportionate amount of clout with the authority Board of Directors. That was why he tended to believe the rumors about Ternathia's behind-the-scenes involvement in creating the arrangement in the first place.

Rather than develop and mine those deposits itself, however, the Authority had chosen to lease the mining rights for a percentage. Union City had been built largely for the specific purpose of overseeing and accommodating that exploitation.

Still, "Union City" had been a silly choice of names, whatever the Authority's reasoning, given the fact that the one thing exploration of the multiverse hadn't done was to unite all of Sharona. When Jalkanthi had been much younger, his grandfather had told him how so many people had hoped that the abrupt appearance of the Larakesh Portal truly would bring their own world together at last. The old man had cherished the dream of a restored Ternathian Empire as a worldwide bastion of freedom and just governance, both welcomed back to the many lands it had voluntarily freed and extended beyond them, as well, and he'd scarcely been alone in that.

Unfortunately for those dreams, Sharonians had been too attached to their nations and their national identities. And, his grandfather had grudgingly admitted, the Portal Authority had done too good a job of administering the portals in everyone's name. There'd been no need to create a true world government, and so "Union City" had remained no more than a name. No more than an unfulfilled promise, in the eyes of people like his grandfather, at least.

But maybe that's going to change at last, Grandpa. And it looks like we may even get the Empire back, just the way you wanted, Jalkanthi thought as the endless train of passenger cars, freight cars, and flatcars loaded with the tools of war moved steadily forward. Thick black smoke plumed from the funnels of both Paladins. Steel drive wheels flashed, and the trucks of the cars behind banged, grated, and squealed with ear-stabbing shrillness, then began to sing as they moved faster. Buffers rattled and banged thunderously as the double-headed train crossed the switches, swinging onto the mainline.

Jalkanthi watched the familiar landmarks, watched the front end of his own streamlined engine cross the portal threshold. Unusually for portal connections, Larakesh and Union City, although they were almost six thousand miles "apart" in their respective universes, were in the same time zone. Of course, what was fall in Larakesh was spring in Union City, and the sun was at a totally different angle, whatever clocks and watches might say. But Jalkanthi was accustomed to that. He was more concerned with getting through the vast Union City side of the enormous Larakesh Central yard and its innumerable sidings-the biggest and busiest rail terminal in the entire known multiverse, by any standard of measurement-and out into the Ricathian countryside, where he could open 20887's throttle wide.

Not much longer now, he told himself, caressing the smooth bronze lever like a lover. No, not much longer.

Chapter Forty-Three.

Sarr Klian tried not to swear out loud.

It wasn't easy.

"So, Master Skirvon," he said instead, "as I understand it, then, my instructions from Two Thousand mul Gurthak are to defer to your judgment where any contact with these people is concerned?"

"I suppose you could put it that way," the senior of the two civilians who'd arrived at Klian's fort that morning replied. "Obviously, Five Hundred, no one is going to try to take away or undermine your military authority," he hastened to add, which softened Klian's frustration quite a bit. "But, as you yourself so cogently suggested in your dispatches to Two Thousand mul Gurthak, it's clearly essential that we get a civilian diplomatic presence established here as quickly as possible." He smiled. "Men in civilian suits and carrying briefcases are much less threatening than men in military uniforms carrying arbalests," he pointed out.

"I couldn't agree more," Klian said. It was, after all, as Skirvon said, exactly what he himself had asked for. But mul Gurthak's orders seemed to imply that Skirvon did have authority, even in purely military matters. Klian didn't like that a bit. Besides, there was something about this Skirvon and his sidekick that . . . bothered the five hundred. He couldn't quite put a finger on what it was, and he couldn't help wondering if a part of it wasn't that he resented having any of his own authority supplanted by a "mere civilian." He hoped it wasn't, but he couldn't be certain.

And I truly don't think that's what it is, either, he thought grimly. In fact, he looked back down at the message crystal from mul Gurthak, I'm pretty damned sure it's at least as much the tone of mul Gurthak's orders and dispatches as anything about these two.

"Well, gentlemen," he said aloud after a moment, looking back up at them, "how soon do you want me to arrange transport forward? And how big a military escort are you going to require?"

"I don't see any reason to be in a blazing hurry at this point," Skirvon replied. Klian's eyebrows rose, and the civilian shrugged. "Master Dastiri and I are still studying this language primer Magister Kelbryan was able to put together. Fortunately, we both have good ears for foreign languages-frankly, his is better than mine-but both of us could still use a few more days of study before we get dropped into the deep end. And since there's no present contact between our forces and theirs, it would probably make more sense for us to do just that rather than rush forward with incomplete preparation and risk some overly hasty contact that could have additional unfortunate consequences."

Klian nodded. His instincts all shouted to get the two sides talking to one another as quickly as possible, yet Skirvon had made at least two very telling points.

"As for military escorts," Skirvon continued thoughtfully, "I don't know that one's going to be required at all, at least initially. It seems to me that, so far, both sides have been reacting militarily to immediate, perceived threats. I don't think either side's gotten much beyond that so far, and it occurs to me that making the next move from our side by sending in two unarmed, civilian diplomats without any military presence at all, might help us pour a little water on the flames."

Klian frowned. What the man had said made sense, but the professional officer in the five hundred wasn't at all happy with the thought of sending out an official embassy without any military protection at all.

"You don't think that leaving everyone behind-not taking even a token honor guard-might be misconstrued as a sign of weakness?" he asked.

"Not everyone is automatically impressed by the presence of soldiers armed to the teeth," Dastiri, the junior diplomat, said, speaking up for the first time. "And not everyone will automatically interpret their absence as a sign of weakness. Under the circumstances, I think it would be best all round for us to proceed as cautiously as possible. In fact," his tone was cool, "part of the reason the situation is as bad as it is at the moment is that we've had military people on both sides who were too close to things, too unwilling to give ground, to back off and deescalate the situation."

Klian bristled. He couldn't help it. It was possible Dastiri hadn't intended to sound insulting-or at least dismissive-in his analysis of the Army's actions to date. Unfortunately, it didn't sound that way.

"Contrary to what you may assume, Master Dastiri," the five hundred said in an equally cool tone, making no particular effort to hide the dislike in his eyes, "not every military man wants to charge into every situation, sword in one hand and arbalest in the other. As I indicated in my report to Two Thousand mul Gurthak-which you and Master Skirvon have obviously had an opportunity to read-I concur with Hundred Olderhan's view that we would have been far wiser to simply pull back to Fort Rycharn in the first place. I allowed myself at the time to be convinced by Hundred Thalmayr, which I deeply regret, given what happened to Charlie Company when these Sharonians attacked. Or counterattacked, or whatever. I'm in favor of anything that allows us to-how did you put it? 'Back off and deescalate the situation.' My only concern is how best to go about doing that."

Dastiri flushed and his almond eyes hardened, but Skirvon laid a hand on his subordinate's shoulder and smiled at Klian.

"I apologize if it sounded as if either of us intended to denigrate the Army or your legitimate concerns, Five Hundred. That certainly wasn't our intent. All the same, I think my colleague here has a point. Two Thousand mul Gurthak is mobilizing all available forces to support us if and as required. We'll have quite a lot of firepower available, very shortly, if we need it. In the meantime, however, I'd very much prefer to keep this a completely civilian contact from our side, initially at least. After all," he smiled again, more broadly, but there was a faint, unmistakable tang of iron in his voice, "this is what we do. I'd never try to tell you how to conduct a military operation, because I wouldn't have the least idea where to begin. But with all due respect, I believe Master Dastiri and I are probably rather more experienced at diplomacy than you are."

"No doubt," Klian conceded, yet deep down inside, he wasn't fully convinced. After all, the Union of Arcana hadn't really needed diplomats for the last two hundred years. With the emergence of the Union, traditional international diplomacy had been replaced by what were effectively bureaucratic administrators. Or perhaps "facilitators" would have been a better choice of word: arbitrators, with full authority to issue binding decisions and full access (officially, at least) to all information on both sides of any issue which had to be settled. There wasn't a single living "diplomat" in the entire Union who'd ever had to sit down across a bargaining table from a completely separate and sovereign entity, far less one about which the "diplomat" in question knew absolutely nothing.

That's what bothers me, he realized. These two keep talking about diplomacy and diplomatic judgments, but they don't really seem to understand that they're dealing with something completely outside their experience. They really do think they understand what's going on, and I suppose it's possible they do. But what if they don't?

"Very well," he said, standing behind his desk to signal an end to the meeting, "please let me know if there's anything I can do for you during your stay. And whenever you're ready to move forward to the swamp portal, I'll be happy to arrange transportation."

"Thank you, Five Hundred," Skirvon said.

He and Dastiri departed, and Klian sat back down, toying with the message crystal from mul Gurthak and considering the two thousand's dispatches and their implications.

He couldn't say he was particularly surprised by them, except, perhaps, for how quickly the two thousand was moving. He could hardly disapprove of that, of course, although he didn't much look forward to finding himself superseded by someone else.

Come now, Sarr, he told himself. Mul Gurthak specifically says you'll remain in command of Fort Rycharn whatever happens. Surely you didn't expect anything else?

No, of course he hadn't. On the other hand, he hadn't exactly expected to find himself superseded by Commander of Two Thousand Mayrkos Harshu, either.

Of all the officers it could have been, why did it have to be Harshu? Klian demanded of his office's silent walls.

There was nothing at all wrong with Two Thousand Harshu's military credentials, but the man had a reputation within the Union Army. Worse, he knew he did. In fact, he'd deliberately cultivated it.

Harshu was a throwback, one of those who bemoaned the fact that he'd been born into such "boring" times. He embraced what he believed was the true Andaran tradition, although Klian had always suspected that men like Thankhar Olderhan were truer keepers of that tradition. Harshu's version of it was heavily laden with the trappings of military glory, which there'd been precious little of in the two centuries since the Union was formed, and he seemed remarkably oblivious to just how much that "military glory" had cost in lives, as well as money. It might not be precisely fair to call him a hothead, but Klian was unable to come up with a better term, and that worried him.

Of course, he's always been a top performer in every maneuver, too, the five hundred forced himself to concede. However full of himself he may be, he didn't earn that reputation by sitting around being stupid. And if he's the next most senior officer in the area, mul Gurthak doesn't have much of a choice about putting him in command, unless he wants to come forward and take the field command himself. Which, now that I think about it, presents an interesting question of its own, doesn't it? Why isn't mul Gurthak moving himself closer to the point of contact, since he's ultimately responsible for whatever happens out here?

Klian frowned. There could, of course, be all sorts of reasons for mul Gurthak to choose to remain in Erthos. For one thing, his lines of communication were substantially better, and he might well feel that he needed to keep himself available to browbeat anyone who wanted to drag his feet when the two thousand ordered him to send all of his available fighting strength forward. But judging from mul Gurthak's message crystal, he was going to be sending at least the equivalent of a full air-mobile brigade-possibly even a division-to Fort Rycharn. With cavalry support, no less.

A brigade was a commander of five thousand's billet, and a division was properly commanded by a commander of ten thousand-neither of which, unfortunately, Arcana had available at the moment. And this was the first time in the Union of Arcana's entire history that its army had confronted the possibility of open combat with another power. So why was the officer with the ultimate responsibility for what happened-not to mention the opportunity to command the most important troop deployment in the Union's history-staying behind and sending someone junior to him forward to assume operational command?

Klian tipped his chair back, arms crossed, and thought about it. And the more he thought, the less he liked it.

You're just being paranoid because he's Mythalan, he scolded himself. After all, he didn't say he intended to stay behind in Erthos forever, did he? Harshu's in command of the immediate deployment; there's no reason mul Gurthak can't come forward and relieve him as soon as he's convinced he's got everything running smoothly in the rear areas.

In fact, that actually made more sense than rushing forward would have made. As long as mul Gurthak stayed in Erthos, where he had his own command staff well broken in (not to mention far better hummer and dragon lines of communication than he could possibly expect from Fort Rycharn), he was well placed to see to it that the troop movements went as smoothly as possible. And that was at least as important as-if potentially much less glamorous than-actually commanding in the face of the enemy.

Maybe it's because he is Mythalan, Klian thought, then shook his head with a wry snort. You're worried about Harshu because he's a throwback to what he thinks were the good old days of Andaran militancy. And you're worried about mul Gurthak because he isn't acting like a throwback to the good old days of Andaran militancy! Not very consistent of you, Sarr.

He grimaced and let his chair come back upright. Whatever might or might not be going through mul Gurthak's head, Klian's immediate responsibilities were unpleasantly clear.

The voyage between Fort Rycharn and Fort Wyvern was completely unacceptable from a logistical viewpoint. There were only two true "transports" in Mahrithan waters, and only one of them was configured to carry dragons. Even that ship could transport only two dragons at a time, for that matter, and that wasn't even a fraction of the sealift required to move or supply the troop strength mul Gurthak was talking about.

There was a way around that, of course, but it came with its own price. No dragon, not even one of the long-range heavylift transports, could make the flight from Fort Wyvern to Fort Rycharn in one hop. But any dragon-even one of the shorter-ranged battle dragons-could make the hop from Fort Wyvern to the long isthmus connecting the continents of Andara and Hilmar. From there, they could proceed southward overland, which would permit them to make it clear to Fort Rycharn in a four-day flight rather than a five-day voyage.

They'd have to delay their flight at least once to permit the dragons to hunt, but this universe's Hilmar teemed with game animals which had never heard of dragons and could be expected to be relatively unwary-for a time, at least. And by flying the transports forward instead of sending them by ship, mul Gurthak could send in as many of them simultaneously as he could lay hands on . . . and take advantage of the beasts' airlift capacity, as well. Whereas a medium-weight transport like Windclaw could carry perhaps half a platoon of infantry and its personal weapons, the heavy transports could lift much bigger loads, even before the Quartermaster Corps' spell engineers got into the act.

With the proper levitation spells added to the equation, a pair of heavylift transports could easily tow a freight pod capable of transporting an entire company of infantry, its support personnel and weapons, and enough rations for several days of operations. Cavalry units devoured transport volume at a much higher rate than infantry outfits, of course, but with the cargo pods and levitation spells, even heavy cavalry could be airlifted to within striking range of the enemy. The spells were difficult-more because of the power levels involved than because of their technological complexity-and they didn't last long. The same accumulator that could power a surface ship for a week would support levitation spells of that level for less than twenty-four hours, although freight pods were routinely fitted with multiple accumulators to give them more endurance.

Even with the pods, though, transporting the numbers of men mul Gurthak's message crystal suggested were en route was going to be a massive undertaking. And it was going to tie up an incredible number of transport dragons. In fact, the availability of transports was probably going to prove at least as big a limiting factor as the availability of manpower, when all was said and done. Which probably explained why mul Gurthak was busy gutting the air transport network for at least half a dozen universes rearward from Erthos-thus neatly illustrating one of the many unpleasant costs involved in getting significant numbers of troops forward deployed in a hurry.

It explained Klian's rapidly approaching problems, as well, because there was no provision in mul Gurthak's orders for all of those transport dragons to turn around and fly back to Erthos. Instead, he wanted them held at Fort Rycharn, available to Two Thousand Harshu in the event that military operations became necessary, after all. That, too, made sense, Klian supposed, but Rycharn had never been intended to support that many men and-even more difficult-that many dragons for any length of time.

Fortunately, dragons were quite willing to eat fish or whale meat, and the water between Fort Rycharn and Fort Wyvern was just as rich with life as the continent. The entire Fort Wyvern fishing fleet-such as it was, and what there was of it-was already on its way forward to help feed the dragons once they arrived. And, also fortunately, it was going to take at least four waves to get all of mul Gurthak's earmarked troop strength forward.

According to the two thousand's tentative movement orders-which were undoubtedly going to suffer considerable revision as the realities of moving that many men impinged upon them-he'd have the first two Air Force strikes and the first battalion of infantry at Fort Rycharn within the next week. A strike was a standing formation which consisted of three four-dragon flights (and why, Klian wondered, not for the first time, can't those Air Force pukes use the same names for their formations everyone else uses?), which meant he was going to have to figure out how to feed twenty-four battle dragons, with their notoriously overactive metabolisms, in addition to all of the transports necessary to get the rest of Harshu's force forward. Worse, according to those same orders, mul Gurthak would have an entire three-strike Air Force talon-thirty-six battle dragons, not twenty-four-at Fort Rycharn within a month. In fact, he might have as much as twice that many.

Feeding seventy-two battle dragons and their supporting ground crews would be a gargantuan task, all by itself. Adding in the two hundred or so transports mul Gurthak was projecting (and their ground element), plus the reconnaissance and strike gryphons, plus the fodder for the unicorns and heavy cavalry mounts on the movement list, not to mention all of the men he was going to have to feed, was only going to make things incomparably worse. And the responsibility for managing all of those "minor" housekeeping details was going to land squarely on Sarr Klian's shoulders.

No wonder mul Gurthak is staying safely in Erthos! he thought with another snort. He knows damned well what kind of nightmare he's about to dump on me.

It was the first truly amusing thought the five hundred had entertained since Skirvon and Dastiri had turned up in his office.

He didn't expect to have a great many more of them over the next few weeks.

Chapter Forty-Four.

"You look tired," Regiment-Captain Namir Velvelig observed dryly, tilting back his head to regard the enormous young officer who'd just dismounted from the magnificent blue roan Shikowr.

"Thank you, Sir," Platoon-Captain chan Calirath replied with exquisite politeness. "Somehow that had escaped my notice."

Velvelig's lips twitched. For the hard-bitten Arpathian, that constituted the equivalent of anyone else's deep belly laugh, and Prince Janaki smiled. He'd been attached to Velvelig's command for just over six months before being sent forward to New Uromath when Company-Captain Halifu appealed for help covering the vast new frontiers the Chalgyn Consortium had been so unexpectedly opening up back in those ancient days-all of two months ago-before everything had gone straight to hell. During that time, he'd developed a deep respect, even admiration, for the shorter, squarely built regiment-captain, and in turn, Velvelig had made it clear that he intended to treat young Platoon-Captain chan Calirath like any other junior officer . . . within limits, of course.

"I didn't expect to see you back so soon, Platoon-Captain," Velvelig said now, his voice lower, as Janaki handed his reins to an orderly and stepped up onto the wooden veranda which fronted the administrative block of Fort Raylthar.

No, he reminded himself, it's Fort Ghartoun now.

He'd noticed the new name on the signboard outside the fort's main entrance, and he wondered whose idea it had been to rename Raylthar. From what he knew of Velvelig, he rather suspected what the answer was. The regiment-captain was as immune to fear and as implacably determined as any Arpathian stereotype, but there was a warm and caring human being down inside all that armor.

The fort itself lay on the eastern flank of New Ternathia's Sky Blood Mountains, barely ten miles from the deep, beautiful waters of Snow Sapphire Lake and within twenty miles of the legendary Sky Blood Lode, probably the biggest silver deposit in history. The discovery of this portal was going to make the Fairnos Consortium, which had first surveyed it, unbelievably wealthy once the railhead steadily advancing from Fort Salby reached it. Although the portal and the fort which covered it were located at little more than forty-five hundred feet of altitude, the Sky Bloods' higher peaks between Ghartoun and Snow Sapphire rose to almost ten thousand snowcapped feet. Their lower flanks were heavily forested, although Ghartoun itself got precious little rain or snow, even in the winter, and the lower mountains and foothills east of the fort were drier and far less hospitable. Still, Janaki preferred Fort Ghartoun's normal climate to the soggier environs of Company-Captain Halifu's post. This late in the year, the temperature was dropping close to freezing at night, but it was no more than pleasantly cool during the day, with just enough nip to make a boy from Estafel feel refreshed and vigorous. For the last two weeks, Janaki had been looking forward to spending at least a day or so out on the lake, but Velvelig's remark reminded him of why he'd really returned to Ghartoun.

"I didn't expect to be back so soon, Sir," he said now, his expression turning grimmer. "Then again, a lot of things no one expected have been happening lately, haven't they?"

"That they have, Platoon-Captain," Velvelig agreed. He looked up at Janaki for another few seconds, then twitched his head at the admin block door. "Come into my office."

"Yes, Sir."

Janaki followed Velvelig into the administration building, down the short, rough-planked corridor to the regiment-captain's office, and through its door. He closed it behind himself and started to brace to attention, but Velvelig shook his head impatiently.

"Forget that nonsense," he said briskly. "Consider yourself already reported on-post."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you."