Zenya

'Maybe.'

'Can you still be in doubt?' Lieutenant Paran clenched his hands, gripping an imaginary rifle, shooting, killing, destroying the threat to his world. 'You heard what he said.'

'Yes,' said Dumarest. 'Recall the rafts from over the hills.'

'Sir?'

'Have them withdraw to beyond the line. Put every man available on watch. I want to make certain that none of the Ayutha get past.'

Paran frowned. 'You expect trouble, sir?'

'A soldier always expects trouble, lieutenant By doing that, he manages to stay alive. But the best way to avoid it is to make sure that it doesn't happen.'

'Sir?'

Dumarest made no answer, stepping out of the tent and staring up at the sky. Cloud swirled over the stars, driven by a mounting wind, blowing strongly from the south. There was nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

At a village far to the south, on the edge of the lofios area, a man rose and stretched and yawned with a gaping of his mouth which revealed the strong white teeth set in his jaws. Bran Leekquan had had a hard day. Everything lately was hard, and now with the two boys off somewhere playing at soldiers, the Ayutha nowhere to be seen, the work was piling up.

From a rocker his wife said, 'Tired, Bran?'

'Beat,' he admitted. 'I guess I'm not as young as I was, Lorna.'

'Neither of us is.'

That was the truth, and he stood staring at her for a minute, remembering the young girl she had once been, the strength which had enabled him to work all through the day and kept him busy half through the night. Well, times changed, and a wise man accepted it. And there was comfort in maturity, or at least there had been until the trouble; with ambition dulled a little and the farm ticking over, there had been time to relax and to enjoy the long summer evenings with others who had grown old at his side.

As he yawned again, a heavy hand pounded at his door. Beyond stood a masked, uniformed figure.

'Red alert,' he said without preamble. 'Wear masks if you have them. Stay apart if you haven't. Orders from the marshal.'

Bran frowned. 'Stay apart? What the hell's that supposed to mean?'

'Separate rooms, locked doors, no contact.'

'Is an attack expected?' Lorna, worried, joined her man at the door. 'I thought we had a truce.'

'We have,' the uniformed man admitted.

'Then what's this all about?' Bran was irritable. 'The army has the Ayutha cooped up in the hills. You boys have made sure there are none of them around. So what have we got to be afraid of?'

The man was a stranger. Casually he shrugged. 'Don't ask me, I'm just the messenger around here. You've heard the order.' He moved off, to pound at another door.

'Crazy.' Bran stared after him, scowling. 'No sense to it at all. That's the trouble with these military types, they just like to see people jump when they give their commands. Well, to hell with him, the marshal too. It's my life, and I'm living it as I damned well please. Come on, Lorna, let's get to bed.'

She hesitated, 'Well, Bran, maybe-'

'Well take the gun,' he said. 'Put it by the door. If any of those savages attack, well be ready for them.' He yawned again. 'Come on, honey, you know I can't sleep alone.'

He woke, restless, irritable, to rear upright in the bed, conscious of something wrong. Habit had left the window open, the curtains torn by the rising wind. Outside, he heard the sound of a shout, the sudden blast of a gun. Rising, he crossed to the window and looked outside. It was dark, cloud scudding over the stars, shadows appearing to vanish again in the fitful light. As he thrust out his head, he caught the scent of something sweet, sickly.

'Bran?'

He breathed again, wind brushing past his face, the scent stronger now. Turning, he cried out, a voice rising as he saw what crouched on the bed. A thing, dripping slime, a mass of vileness fringed with tentacles, beaked, glowing-eyed, horrible. It stirred as he darted toward the door, keening, appendages reaching toward the bedside table. Ceramics splintered around him as he snatched at the laser he had set against the wall, sharp fragments slashing his face, his hands. The keening rose to a shriek as he spun, the weapon leveling, the wordless cry rising to a scream as his finger pressed the release.

Smoke rose from the impact of the beam, thick, heavy with the stench of char. He fired again, a third time, spearing the horror on shafts of searing destruction, gloating as liquids gushed from gaping holes. Beneath it the bed sent up fingers of brightness, the covers catching, adding their heat to that of the laser. Twitching, the creature fell, sprawled in a growing nest of fire.

Tearing open the door, he raced downstairs and into the street, firing at moving shadows, a hopping, toadlike monstrosity, a thing like a flapping blanket. Something shrieked and rushed at him with extended claws.

He burned it down, heard the blast of a rifle, and felt the smash of the bullet which sent him to the ground. He rolled, firing at a looming shape, seeing it fall as the rifle fired again. The slug broke his arm, passed through into his chest, tearing at his lungs so that he lay drowning in his own blood.

Dimly he saw the figure come closer, reach toward him as, one-handed, he fired the laser for the last time.

'Lorna,' he whispered as the thing fell. 'Lorna!'

* * *

On tight beam, scrambled, Colonel Paran relayed the news. 'It's happened, Earl. Another attack. The truce is broken.'

'No.'

'How can you say that?' Paran looked baffled. 'I tell you I've seen it. Fifteen men and women dead. Five soldiers-'

'How did they die? The soldiers, I mean?'

'Shot down by the civilians.' Paran was bitter. 'They had to fire back in turn in order to defend themselves. If the fools had only obeyed orders…' He shrugged. 'Well, Earl, there it is. We have no choice now but to go in and finish it.'

'You aren't thinking, colonel,' snapped Dumarest. 'The Ayutha aren't responsible; they couldn't have been. We've got them sealed in the hills. Not one of them has passed the line since the truce. That village was way to the south. Even one man on foot would have taken a couple of days to get there; more would have taken longer. And the local patrols had scouted the entire area. Damnit,' he added, as the colonel looked dubious, 'why do you think I ordered this line to be established in the first place? I wanted to prove something. Well, I've done it. None of the Ayutha had a hand in what's happened.'

'I'd like to believe that, Earl.'

'You can.'

'But what's the alternative? Is someone working with them, using them?'

'Maybe. I intend to find out. Certainly someone is advising them. My guess is that it's one of the social workers, but I could be wrong.' Dumarest glanced around the command tent, seeing the hard, tense faces, sensing the grim determination, the desire for revenge. Natural enough, but misplaced and dangerous. He added, 'Play this down, colonel. No hysterical publicity. The last thing we want now is to break the truce.'

'If it hasn't already been broken.'

'It hasn't, not by the Ayutha, but it might be to someone's interest to insist they are responsible. Make sure that doesn't happen. In fact, the best thing you can do is to maintain a silence about the whole incident. As soon as you persuade the Council, I'll detach men from the line to fell the lofios, as I suggested.'

'Clear them away for a space of a mile around each village.' Paran shrugged. 'I remember, Earl, but they'd never agree.'

'If it had been done, those people would be alive now,' snapped Dumarest. 'If you won't do that, then evacuate the villages.' As the screen died, he said to the lieutenant, 'Have three rafts move forward to check on whether that party is returning. Have they made contact?'