Rebels of Akrona

Part Three

by G. Lawrence

Anticipating the Enemy

In Slave of Akrona, a young soldier had been taken captive on a conquered planet 1,200 light years from Earth. After seven years as a slave, he escaped into the mountains with his pregnant wife and 9-year-old nephew. Shalli died on the mountain giving birth to Hope. Rebels of Akrona is being told in eight parts.

Recap; Grey, Garn, and Hope have found an uneasy sanctuary in the forest village of Saramont. After investigating Dorymont, a destroyed town beyond a vast prairie, Grey is returning to the river valley.

* * * * * *

Chapter Four

TAVERN GAMES

The next morning was bright and warm for the first time in months. Grey woke refreshed, found yellow wafer leaves for breakfast, and turned northwest into the grasslands. The animal life on the rolling plain was vigorous and varied. Deer lingered near the woods, antelope grazed out in the open. A species he hadn't seen before, akin to a musk ox with long horns, wallowed in a mud hole. Flocks of birds and the occasional hawk flew overhead. The sporadic howls of large predators echoed off the trees. Not all of the predators sounded as harmless as the wolves, causing him to double-clutch his staff.

Grey stopped to study a herd of horses. The horses were longer in the body than on Earth with hairier legs and broader snouts. The ears were wider. Obviously a much different species than the ones Kris had taught him to ride, but he saw no point in getting technical. They were still horses as far as he was concerned. Most of the herd was shaggy brown with black on the legs and manes, though a few of the horses were beige. A stallion watched over the mares, taller than the rest, black except for a patch of tan on the forehead.

Forty horses, Grey thought. Enough to bring all of Ferret Camp back from Karak if the animals could be captured and trained. And it's not the only herd in the area. He wondered how aggressive the horses might be, his only recent experience being with the few tamed beasts in Ussan's corral.

For the rest of the day, Grey followed the herd as it migrated toward the river munching spring grasses. In time, he tried getting closer, staying quiet and not making any sudden movements. It was not unknown for the villagers to hunt horses, but he was no villager. The black thermal Denesian suit he wore was different, as was his smell. And he wasn't stalking the animals with intent to kill. Perhaps such factors made a difference.

As the afternoon grew late, Grey decided to try capturing one of the horses. Saramont was not far off, and the ford Helva had described was just a few kilometers upstream from his cabin. If one horse wasn't too difficult to handle, he could come back for more. He wasn't quite sure how to capture a horse, having only seen the process in old movies. All he had for a rope was the strap on his shoulder bag, but it still seemed worth a try.

Moving around to get ahead of the herd, Grey found some flat ground within sight of the river, a creek to his right and woods on the left. The grass was almost up to his knees. He set the bag on the ground and held the looped strap up before him. One of the mares approached slowly, sniffing and searching with giant brown eyes.

"Hello there. My name is Ben," he said.

As the massive head came forward, he raised the strap, wondering when the best moment would be to make his move. The mare looked docile enough. Many younger horses stood nearby watching with decided curiosity. All seemed to be going well until the black stallion suddenly appeared directly in front of him, the fearsome leader's suspicious stare accompanied by a frightening whinny. Large hairy hooves ferociously pawed the ground.

Okay, this isn't good, Grey thought, starting to back away. The stallion reared up on its hind legs, snorting and shaking its long bushy tail. Grey stopped backing away. He didn't like the horse's attitude. The horse reared again, a hoof kicking him above the right eye. Grey went down hard, lying stunned in the weeds. For a moment, the world spun around before gradually returning to normal. He slowly regained his feet. The horse stood still, apparently watching for the next move. Grey faced the stallion directly, refusing to be afraid despite the pounding of his heart. He had already spent too much time being afraid. The horse calmed down, snorted one last time, and turned to lead his herd back up the meadow away from the river. Grey knew they would meet again.

"Do you now speak with the long snouts?" a woman asked.

Grey whirled around to see Ussan riding Rotrop up from the river, the mare excited by the departure of the other horses. Ussan was mounted bareback on the wide-bodied horse, loose reins hanging from the horse's neck. In the distance, he saw Raynaar and the rest of his hunting party, all on foot.

"The horse did most of the talking," Grey answered, rubbing the bruise on his forehead.

"Are you crazy to approach a stallion in such a manner? Have you lost all love of life?" Ussan asked, climbing down to inspect the wound.

"Probably both," Grey confessed. Ussan frowned.

"Ben, we're relieved to find you," Raynaar said, rushing forward with a brown medical bag under his arm. "All have searched for you since yesterday."

"I'm sorry you took so much trouble. I'm in no danger," Grey said.

"Yes, we see that," Raynaar replied, poking at the bruise that was already turning purple. He dug an herbal disinfectant from the bag to treat the injury without asking permission.

"Ben, I got worried," Garn said, running to hug him.

"There's nothing to fear. I was just talking with the horses," Grey said.

"And what were the horses saying?" Helva asked, arriving with Conapt and Taba.

"They might be willing to help, but not today," Grey reported.

Conapt took hold of Grey's arm when his knees wobbled. Garn picked up the shoulder bag. As they walked back to the river, Raynaar stayed close to Grey's side.

"We must apologize. What the boatmen did violates all tradition. They will be punished for breaking our word of hospitality," Raynaar promised.

"Please don't punish anyone on my account, Raynaar. Garn and I would rather leave Saramont than cause problems between your people. Let's just forget it."

"Are you sure? Some may think you weak to allow such an insult," Ussan warned, walking just behind them with Rotrop on a lead.

"Let them think what they want," Grey answered.

When they reached the river, Helva waved for a canoe waiting upstream. Though Grey was tired from the day's adventure, he declined passage. As Ussan needed a flatboat to take Rotrop back across the river, and none were in the area, she joined Grey in a walk up the eastern bank toward the northern ford. Raynaar took everyone else in the canoe as it appeared Ussan wanted time alone with their distracted guest.

"I'm concerned. So is Raynaar," Ussan said as they walked side by side on the gravelly shoreline. Grey noticed a fish jump out of the water at a hovering cloud of flies.

"I've tried not to cause trouble, but if you want me to leave, I understand."

"No, you do not understand. You do not understand at all. There's always trouble in a village such as ours. That's what leaders are for. And we don't want you to leave. I, especially, do not want Hope to leave, for I love caring for her as much as Leena does. Raynaar and I are concerned about you."

"What would you do? Grow me a new heart?"

"You're not the first to suffer such pain. Each spring, when the hornfeet come, we lose some who are precious to us. And life is often unfair in other ways. Raynaar and I think you have something to offer our people."

"What can a slave offer such a prosperous community, other than new hardships?"

"We know our people are divided. Village against village. Clan against clan. The ancient scrolls tell of one sent to bring us together. Maybe you are that person. Maybe not. Raynaar and I would know before seeing you disappear into the forest."

"Ancient scrolls? Have your people been able to preserve such things?" Grey asked.

Ussan laughed, glaring at him with gleaming emerald eyes.

"Indeed you must think us a backward people," she said, only the slightest tinge of insult in her voice. "Before the conquest, every township had scribes for making pamphlets and proclamations. We invented electricity and learned to harness natural gasses. Our medicine grew advanced. We made steel from iron. Raynaar is both healer and a student of the old knowledge. But I suspect these wonders are not strange to you. I also think you were never a slave. You were a leader of warriors on your past world. Garn has said it, and much of what you do makes me believe it. Am I wrong?"

"You ask dangerous questions," Grey warned.

"Am I wrong?" Ussan demanded with the insistence of a king's daughter.

"You're not wrong," he reluctantly conceded.

Ussan nodded, expecting the answer. She drew Rotrop closer when the horse started to lag behind.

"Our scrolls say a warrior will come from the stars to redeem our freedom. In tradition, the Liberator will be angry and often unpleasant, but dedicated to the people in a way few others can imagine. You come from the stars. You are angry and often unpleasant. Garn says you're dedicated to your people. This is much to think on."

To Ussan's surprise, Grey reached an arm around her shoulders, hugging her with sudden affection.

"Perhaps I can be less unpleasant. Would that ruin the prophecy?"

"Is this the manner in which the men of your world seduce women?" Ussan asked, though she didn't shake the arm away. The stranger was, after all, somewhat handsome in an odd sort of way.

"No, leader of Saramont, I'm not trying to seduce you. It may be some time before I find the spirit for the furs again. But I grow fond of you and your people. I won't abandon you."

They walked along in silence for a while, Ussan finding Grey's form of expression revealing.

* * * * * *

"It's Eighth Night," Helva said, standing in Grey's doorway.

"What were the other seven?" Grey asked.

"Don't try to be funny. You're not good at it," Helva complained.

"Men have a right to be men. Even you. Get your jacket," Conapt insisted.

"I don't know, my friends, it feels frivolous to spend the evening in a tavern drinking spirits and flirting with pretty girls. Shouldn't I be making sacrifices to the gods instead?" Grey asked.

"The gods?" Helva said.

"Ben, do we have gods who demand sacrifices?" Garn questioned, sitting near the hearth with Leena and Hope. Helva and Conapt laughed. Grey looked back at Garn with a pretend scowl.

"It appears I must sacrifice to the gods another time. Where is this den of iniquity?" Grey asked, taking a thick fur jacket off the coat hook. He buckled on his hunting knife but left the heavy weapons behind. The Arikhan were not known to attack at night.

"The Ragged Banner is down among the trees at Cross Creeks," Conapt said, referring to the estuary where many canoes were concealed under webbed canopies. Grey shrugged, not happy about the location, but the recreation seemed important to Helva and Conapt. He had no desire to disappoint them.

"Stay out of trouble. Taba won't be back from Owlmont for another double moon," Leena said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Taba doesn't need to be my bodyguard. I've managed to live thirty-eight years without one," Grey said.

"All have seen your scars, Ben. That you've lived so long surely has more to do with generous gods than your skills," Helva remarked.

"Make fun, my big friend. We'll see who has the skills when you lay drunk under the table. I enjoy a soft footrest late in the evening," Grey answered.

"You're more fool than everyone says. You'll never drink me under the table," Helva boasted. Grey merely smiled.

The group walked along the top of the lowest ridge, only the moons and stars providing light. Though hundreds of people lived nearby, not a lamp showed. It reminded Grey of the blackouts Earth's cities had endured during their world wars. But none of those wars had lasted two centuries.

They reached a point in the trail where a steep path led down to the river. The tavern was buried under a hill next to the estuary, a narrow staircase with thirteen stone steps descending into a deep burrow. An outer door and inner curtain prevented light from escaping the entry.

The tavern was a large hall filled with dozens of men and a fair number of women. A long row of reeba barrels lined the back wall. The roof was supported by heavy beams and pylons. Carved logs and tree stumps acted as chairs and tables. Gas lamps lit the stone walls, but a darkened electrical fixture above the middle of the room was leaving the corners in shadow. Rushes kept the oak floor clean. Old banners of blue and gold hung behind a lengthy counter where two burly men served drinks.

"This reminds me of home," Grey said.

"You do not speak of the slave camp," Conapt guessed.

"No, not the slave camp," Grey confirmed, remembering the saloons of his youth.

They took seats near a circle in the middle of the room where Grey assumed there would be entertainment. Several patrons held musical instruments as if waiting for an opportunity to perform. Some of the instruments used strings like harps, others looked like flutes. Grey also noticed a drum. His only musical ability, a very marginal one, was on a piano, and he hadn't seen one in years.

A young auburn-haired woman, about twenty-two years old, rushed to join them. Her dark leather outfit showed a finely curved figure, an ample bustline, and long attractive legs. She had a lovely smile. Her deep blue eyes reminded Grey of Shalli.

"Ben, this is Farina, daughter of Jared the Bowmaker. Farina, this is Ben, a good friend," Conapt introduced.

"Hello, Ben, I'm glad you finally made it to Eighth Night," Farina said, her voice husky.

"Farina and her brothers make the best bows in Saramont. Her uncle is a blacksmith. He makes tools and steel arrowheads," Conapt said.

"It's a good talent," Grey said, looking up as Helva brought a pitcher of reeba and several pewter goblets to their table.

"Ah, little Farina comes to visit," Helva said, serving her first. He didn't seem surprised, causing Grey to wonder if Farina's presence had been planned. He looked to Helva with a question.

"We know you miss your wife," Helva whispered. "None expect you to bed another so soon, but you are past the morning period."

"Past? It's only been two months," Grey questioned.

"Ben, the morning period in the forest is thirty-five days. Because of the raids so many suffer, it's necessary for our community to keep moving forward. We mean no disrespect."

Grey nodded that he understood. It wasn't much different in the slave camps. Long morning periods were a product of his home world. And not always there, either.

"What talents do you have, Ben?" Farina asked, sipping the heady brew.

"Nothing to boast of. I was an engineer in a former life," Grey said, tasting slowly. It was different than Helva's brew, sharper and perhaps stronger. Grey liked it.

"There are many types of engineers," Farina said.

"I like to fix things," Grey answered, only slightly more specific.

"Raynaar fixes things, like our light tubes. Can you repair such things?" Farina asked.

"Sometimes," Grey said.

A man across the room snickered. Grey looked to see Farken and two of his brother boatmen sitting at the long counter staring in his direction. Farken whispered to others around him, who also began to stare.

"They don't seem to believe you," Farina said, a seductive challenge in her smile. Grey scrunched his eyebrows, uninterested in proving anything to anyone.

"If the spy is such a fixer, perhaps he can repair the chandelier?" Farken said. Grey looked up, seeing a large metal and glass fixture over the floor area used for dancing.

"What's wrong with it?" Grey whispered to Helva.

"No one knows. Power comes on but the lights barely flicker," Helva answered.

Grey hated the idea of becoming a spectacle, but he was curious. He dragged a table into the circle and climbed up to take a look, standing on his toes to see the connections. A minute later, he nodded.

"Does anyone have a few fingers of copper wire? I can also use a round piece of baked clay and some tree sap," Grey requested, reaching into the fixture and twisting the main connection loose.

He jumped down and put the connector on the table, prying off the wires with his hunting knife as a crowd gathered around. Someone came up with the extra wire. Tree sap was easy to find as the villagers used it to repair their ceramic pots.

"Will this do?" a hunter asked, offering Grey a broken smoking pipe.

Grey nodded, broke off the clay stem, and carefully wrapped the wire around the shank before sealing it with the sap, adding a subtle twist here and there.

"A small knife would be useful," Grey hinted, finding the hunting knife clumsy.

One of the bartenders produced a repair kit with several fine tools. Grey briefly glanced at the kit, impressed by the quality. Then he used a silver trimming knife to continue the project. A few minutes later, he was standing on the table reattaching the connections.

"Throw the switch," Helva said when Grey climbed down.

The lights came to life, flickering at first, and then burst to full strength. The carbon filaments appeared similar to those used in Thomas Edison's early lamps. The people applauded. Grey sat down to drink more reeba as the musicians prepared to play their songs.

"You are clever as Raynaar," Helva complimented.

"What did you do?" Conapt asked in amazement.

"There was too much current for the bus line. I inserted an attenuator to redirect the voltage," Grey explained.

"You talk like Raynaar, too," Farina said, sliding her chair closer. Grey noticed the young woman's interest but said nothing to encourage her.

The first group to play strummed an ancient ballad familiar to all except Grey. The people hummed along but did not sing any of the words, which seemed strange, for Grey could see many mouthing the unspoken lyrics. Helva noticed the insightful gaze.

"The song speaks of our liberation. It's always the first song we sing, but tonight, many think it best to let the thought lay quiet," Helva explained.

"Perhaps I should leave. I don't wish to spoil your evening," Grey apologized, starting to get up. Farina pulled him down, clinging to his sleeve.

"I need someone to dance with, and I don't want to dance with old married men like Helva and Conapt. Or smelly fishermen," Farina said, not being discreet.

Heads turned. Grey realized part of the assembly was inclined to Farken, while others sought to uphold Raynaar's oath of hospitality. There was a power struggle in which he was caught in the middle.

"I'm not old. I'm younger than Ben. Many years younger," Conapt protested.

"Then you are too young," Farina said, shaking out her long, luscious hair.

Though younger than Helva, Grey still considered himself too old for a silly girl like Farina, but he didn't say anything to hurt her feelings.

As another tune was played, several more came to sit at Helva's table, including unmated women who seemed fascinated by Grey's odd accent. And his repair of the light fixture marked him as an educated man, despite what Farken and his boatmen might say about slaves.

Farina tried in vain to get Grey to dance. The most popular form included a waving of arms, a wiggling of hips, and intimate touching of hands and shoulders. The pace was energetic, causing many to drink more reeba. Helva kept Grey's cup full, occasionally adding some grain whisky. After a while, Grey began to feel light-headed.

"What songs do your people sing, Ben?" Farina asked, breathless from her last dance. Grey noticed she had loosened her top halfway to the waist and tried not to stare. She laughed and made sure he got a good look, thinking the grim stranger wasn't so grim after all.

"We have our ballads. Love songs. Songs of victory and defeat. They aren't so different than yours," Grey remarked.

"Little Garn calls you a warrior. Have you any warrior songs?" another young woman asked. She was a beautiful brunette named Karla, a daughter from the leathermakers. Though not as aggressive as Farina, her dark eyes were just as compelling. Farina frowned.

"Too many," Grey said, trying not to laugh, for such songs were a tradition at the academy.

"Sing us one," Karla requested.

"Yes, at least one!" Farina insisted.

Grey grew quiet, flushed with embarrassment. The reticence was intriguing. Though many had seen him sullen, none had seen him so shy. Farina took his hand, pretty eyes pleading her cause.

"I will sing, if you give me help," Grey offered, looking at various villagers who had played instruments during the evening. Not just the twos and threes who played as groups, but all of them.

"We will help," an elderly gentleman said.

Grey sat among the musicians to hum the melody and gave instructions for how each section needed to contribute. There was much excitement as he set his flute players together, put the harp players in order, and had the drummer beat out the rhythm. Then he stood in the middle of the room and dimmed the lights to a soft blue.

"This is an ancient tune, one sung by my brothers and sisters as we marched off to war, and by many generations before them," Grey said. "It's called, 'The Girl I Left Behind Me.' The title refers to our loved ones who wait to hear our fate, and what we leave them if we don't return."

Grey nodded to the harp players, who started the ballad. The flute players slowly filtered in, and then the drum began, gradually setting the pace. Grey took a nervous breath and started singing;

"The hours sad I left a maid

A lingering farewell taking

Whose sighs and tears my steps delayed

I thought her heart was breaking

In hurried words her name I blest

I breathed the vows that bind me

And to my heart in anguish pressed

The girl I left behind me.

As the flutists played the refrain, Grey moved around the circle, offering encouragement, and then jumped back in, gesturing to emphasize the lyrics.

"Then to the west we bore away

To win a name in story

And where there dawned the sun of day

There dawned our sun of glory

In that place, within my sight

When in the host assigned me

I shared the glory of that fight

Sweet girl I left behind me."

Grey let the drummer take the lead. The flute players provided a soft background. He moved back and forth, helping the musicians set an active pace.

"Two hundred years ago, my planet had never heard of the hornfeet," Grey said, turning back to the audience. "We fought nation against nation, region against region, sometimes brother against brother. Those who went to war first were envied by those forced to wait their turn. Every man wished the chance to prove himself;

Though many a name our banner bore

Of former deeds of daring

But they were of the days of yore

In which we had no sharing

But now our laurels freshly won

The old one shall entwine me

Singing worthy of our struggle

Sweet girl I left behind me."

Grey let the flute players repeat the rendition as suspense built for the final verse, nearly everyone in the tavern tapping their feet to the stirring new tune. Some looked at the old banners adorning the walls, the cherished war flags of their grandfathers. All seemed enthralled, except a disgruntled few.

"The hope of final victory

Within my bosom burning

Is mingling with sweet thoughts of thee

And of my fond returning

But should I not return again

Still with thy love I'll bind me

Dishonors breath shall never stain

The name I leave behind me."

The flutists ended the song with a flourish. The drummer slowly beat down to a whisper, as if an army was marching away. Grey returned to his table, breathing hard from a ballad he hadn't sung since his youth. And that under very different circumstances.

"That was wonderful," Farina said with a hug.

"Amazing," Conapt agreed.

Karla came around the side of the table, catching Grey by surprise when she climbed into his lap, an arm wrapped around his neck. Grey's first instinct, to escape, needed to be tempered by their customs.

Helva refilled Grey's glass with furrowed brows, wondering if Raynaar knew more about the former slave than he admitted. That Grey had selected a song with so much appeal to the aspirations of Saramont's young people could not be a coincidence. Nearly everyone in the tavern was stomping their feet and trying to remember the words. One potter whistled the tune better than Grey could sing it.

"Watch out, someone is looking for trouble," Conapt whispered.

Grey looked to see Farken and two big friends coming toward the table, stopping with arms crossed.

"We've had enough. No more spies in our sanctuary. No more slave songs to poison the people," Farken declared.

"It's a good song," Karla protested, jumping up.

"No slave song is good. It brings false hope," Farken said.

"That's not for you to decide," Conapt protested, standing to face the boat leader.

"And it's not for you to interfere. I will have the spy's words, and then I'll have him thrown in the river to remind him of his place," Farken threatened.

The room grew quiet except for Helva and Conapt, who were ready for a fight. For the first time, Grey noticed a curtain move. Someone was secretly watching, presumably Raynaar. Grey sighed, impatient with tribal games.

"I'll leave now. Thank you for the invitation, Helva. And thanks to everyone else. This has been a pleasant evening," Grey said. "In what manner may I pay for the refreshments?"

"You fixed our light. It's payment enough," the burly bartender said, offering a grateful smile.

Grey glanced at the tense crowd and started for the door. Farken blocked him.

"I will have an apology, slave. For my brothers and all the people you have sought to fool," Farken demanded.

"Consider yourself apologized to," Grey mumbled, trying to go around him.

"That's no apology," Farken complained.

"It's apology enough," Grey responded with a growl.

"What a coward you are. Leena says your mate was much loved by the hornfeet. Did she pleasure them on your behalf?" Farken asked.

Grey stopped cold. The room that was quiet before grew deathly still. Grey stepped back to confront Farken, eyebrows furrowed.

"You have one moment to take that back or pray to your gods. Your choice, make it quick," Grey growled.

"This is a small room to fight in. Let's go outside," Farken suggested.

Farken turned toward the main doorway with his two friends close behind. Grey started to follow, as did everyone else.

"Ben, don't. His words mean nothing," Helva said, trying to stop him.

"He's dangerous. He fights dirty," Conapt warned.

"So do I," Grey said, shaking Helva off and going toward the door.

Farken was already up the thirteen flagstone steps, turning with the estuary at his back. It was dark outside except for a single full moon and a sliver of light coming from the tavern doorway.

The two brother boatmen were halfway up the stairs when, without warning, Grey suddenly grabbed one by the ankles, pulled his feet out from under him, and pounded his forehead on the stone steps. The man groaned, his hands grasping. Grey bashed his head into the steps again, breaking his nose, and hurled him backward down the stairs.

Farken's other friend turned in surprise just as Grey punched him in the groin. As the boatman doubled over, Grey used the close quarters to deliver three quick blows to the face, bashed the man's skull against an oak pylon, and rolled him head-over-heels back down into the tavern.

Farken stepped forward, seeing his comrades sprawled on the floor, their bodies blocking the stairway. People were trying to lift them out of the way. Grey took a step up, then another, no emotion in his expression. Nothing but a dark determination. Farken backed toward the estuary drawing his knife.

Grey reached the top of the landing, paused for the barest second, and charged. Farken swiped with the long blade but Grey ducked low, tackling him at the waist and driving him backward. Caught off balance, Farken stumbled, landing in the ribbed bottom of a narrow canoe. Grey landed on top of him, keeping the big man pinned.

Farken was in a desperate position. His elbows were squeezed by the sturdy sides of the boat. One foot was pinned under Grey, the other dangled over the side. The force of the fall had driven the canoe off its mooring, leaving them bobbing in shallow water. Grey put one hand on Farken's throat and drew his hunting knife with the other.

Having lost his knife in the fall, Farken reached for Grey's neck, but instead of his enemy's windpipe, his hands closed on a metal slave collar. Grey's knife came down within a whisker of Farken's cheek, cutting a jagged hole in the bottom of the boat. Grey ripped the knife backward, tearing the hole bigger, and within seconds the canoe was filling with water. He struck again, catching a piece of Farken's ear, but when he tried to pull the knife back, he found the blade wedged in the wood framing. He put both hands to Farken's throat instead, holding him down as the water level rose.

"Stop! Stop!" Farken hoarsely shouted, struggling to push the attacker off. But he had no room to maneuver, and Grey's grip was secure.

"You wanted an enemy, now you've found one," Grey hissed.

The water came up to Farken's ears and lapped over his face, froth filling his mouth. He tried pushing with his hands, slapping and punching. Then Farken's head went underwater, the eyes rolling as bubbles burst on the dark churning surface.

"Ben, don't! Let go!" Helva shouted.

Grey found himself grabbed by Helva and three others as the boat was pulled back to shore. He was breathing heavily.

"There's no need to kill him," Helva said, dragging Grey from the canoe. Fifty people were standing between the tavern and the estuary, a few carrying lanterns. Farken was helped from the waterlogged canoe, choking and spitting water. Blood ran down the side of his face. Raynaar came forward.

"You're a dangerous man," Raynaar said, returning the knife to Grey's sheath.

"Is that what you wanted to find out?"

"Stories told by Helva and Conapt are not the same as seeing for oneself."

"Was it worth Farken's life?" Grey asked.

"I didn't ask Farken to make an ass of himself, nor should he have said what he did," Raynaar answered, looking at the shaken boat leader with disapproval. Farken stood soaking wet, a friend wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

"Beating up one stupid bully doesn't make me the Liberator, nor do I feel like liberating anyone tonight," Grey said.

"Let's find you dry clothes. My burrow is nearby," Farina offered. And it wasn't the only thing she was offering.

"I'm going back to my lodge, hopefully to forget what's happened here tonight. I will especially try to forget Farken's insult or his life may yet prove short."

Grey disappeared into the dark. Farken was taken back into the tavern, his friends lying near the door still moaning. Helva stayed outside with Raynaar.

"Did you do this on purpose?" Helva asked.

"No. Not all of it. I only wanted to see him interact with our people. But I did lead Farken to believe his opinions held my favor," Raynaar confessed.

"I wanted Ben to meet Farina and some of the other women. Give him a reason to stay at Saramont. He has skills to offer. Now he'll leave," Helva said.

"I don't think he'll leave," Raynaar disagreed. "Not until he's gotten what he wants."

* * * * * *

Chapter Five

THE SKY SHIP

As spring arrived, Grey continued to feel resentment from some villagers, though most tolerated him. After the fight with Farken, he was rarely insulted, and the few who dared always had friends standing nearby. Grey would merely walk away. The boat leader had decided to live downstream at Riverdawn for a while.

"Garn! Hey, Garn!" Conapt shouted, seeing the popular youngster stroll through the marketplace. Garn smiled to see his friend. Conapt was wearing traditional village dress, beige leather trimmed with dark green strips and a pair of moccasins. A wide brim hat decorated with a red feather protected his eyes from the late afternoon sun.

"Hello, Conapt. How are Olda and Vanark?" Garn inquired. He had gone native, too, wearing a green shirt and khaki trousers given as gifts. He wore a straw hat that he'd made himself.

"They're upset. There's a story that you're leaving," Conapt answered.

"Ben would like to leave. If Leena and Ussan weren't taking such good care of Hope, we'd have packed already."

"For Ussan to take such interest in your cousin is an honor," Conapt said, expressing what many in the villages thought.

"Ben thinks so, too. Ussan is spending the day with Hope so Leena can go shopping."

Garn pointed to the edge of the trees where Leena was bargaining with the vegetable sellers.

"I'd be sad to see you leave. Does Ben not care for Saramont?"

"He enjoys talking to Ussan and Raynaar about your people. Ben respects good leaders. And he has many good things to say about the craftsmen. There are others he's not so impressed with."

"I'm sorry more people aren't your friends," Conapt apologized, walking with Garn toward the tree of the leatherworkers.

"Everyone is friendly to me. They'd like Ben, too, if he'd let them," Garn said, his tone betraying a rare hint of criticism. "I was just a baby when Ben first came to Ferret Camp, but Myra said it took him a long time to open his heart."

"Has he spoken more of the training?" Conapt asked.

"He's still thinking. He worries your people aren't ready. Ben thought maybe if we move south, we could set up a special camp. Have training and capture horses."

"Horses?" Conapt said.

"To ride. He's been working with Ussan's horse every day. Riding, turning, stopping. Going in circles. I didn't know horses could do so many tricks."

"Rotrop is a smart horse. I've seen Ussan ride her," Conapt said.

"Ussan wants Rotrop back. She's afraid Ben will steal her," Garn said with a laugh.

"I was dared to ride a horse once, when I was young. Some people use horses to pull things," Conapt mentioned.

"Ben says his people use horses in war."

"War? How would a horse fight?"

"I don't know. Even Rotrop isn't that smart," Garn said.

They reached the leatherworkers where several hunters had brought meat and hides to trade. In exchange for a share of the kill, the craftsmen shaped the leather into clothing and equipment. Nearby were the other centers of commerce, all nestled under the thick old growths. Conapt saw how much Garn enjoyed the marketplace and wondered if he would be happy living in a secluded part of the forest.

"Hello, Johann. Will you be able to finish the saddle soon?" Garn asked.

The stocky man with strong hands set aside his work to show Garn his progress.

"It uses much leather, and all needs extra bonding. I will ask a high price," Johann said, a thoughtful expression showing the pride he took in his craft.

The saddle was small but correctly shaped, just like the drawing Johann was working from. Garn had never seen anything like it. Or the bridles that had been easier to make.

"Ben has been repairing generators. We have many things to trade," Garn said. "But he wants this saddle right away. Eventually he'll want more. Maybe fifty."

"Fifty! It will take months!" Johann exclaimed.

"I can ask Sasset to make saddles, but some think you're better," Garn dared.

Johann laughed.

"You negotiate well, little brother," Johann said, slapping Garn on the shoulder. "When I make your saddles strong, you'll know who the best leatherworker is."

"Ben will be grateful. He's riding Rotrop on an old bear coat tied down with straps. It hurts his butt," Garn smiled.

Garn and Conapt stopped at a water trough bringing creek water down from the cliffs. The area was crowded as women filled pots for evening cooking. From the oaks down to the river, the ground was mostly flat. The trees sparse.

"Taba has returned from Owlmont," Conapt reported. "He seeks a mating with Leena, if Raynaar and Ussan approve. Taba also wants to stay with you and Ben. Despite what people say, he thinks much of your uncle. He thinks something is going to happen."

"Do you ask a question, friend Conapt?" Garn asked.

"You know what I ask. Many would not be sad to see Ben go. They think strangers are unlucky. But I would be sad. And jealous if Taba is right."

"Ben told me not to talk so much. Many want to fight him, but he doesn't like fighting. I shouldn't have mentioned his other name. It's caused a lot of trouble."

"The people have a right to know."

"No, they don't."

"I want to know," Conapt said, softening his voice

"Ben says titles mean nothing, and opinions are like tumbling weeds. What good would happen if Ben made a claim? How many would believe him?"

"I know you're right, but it's frustrating. If you leave, where will you go? Ben won't be able to hunt for everyone and trade for saddles, too. Or have time to catch horses."

"I don't want to leave. I like your people. I like having freedom. But I want my mother and father to be free. They'll never be free if we stay here."

Conapt put a sympathetic hand on Garn's shoulder, realizing how hard his life had been. And still was. Suddenly, a bell rang through the trees to the south, followed by another nearby. People started running.

"Hornfeet! It's a raid!" Conapt yelled.

Garn looked up to see a large cigar-shaped transport on the southern horizon. It was a shaba'kar coming in their direction low over the river, all six thruster jets pushing the craft along.

"To the caves!" Conapt shouted, hurrying Garn toward a gently sloped hillside that terminated in a low ridge. From there, several increasingly steeper slopes led to the granite caves at the foot of the mountain.

Garn started up the slope, but when he saw Conapt gathering people out of the oaks, he went back to help. Swarms of men, women and children were scurrying in the opposite direction, braving the open space to reach the caves more quickly.

Many villagers had been down near the river. The raid was late in the day, catching them by surprise. Hunters raced to help stragglers through the marketplace and over the open ground to the ridges, but not all of them were fast enough.

As the Arikhan craft circled the area, its upper turret fired red hot energy bursts into the trees, forcing villagers into the open. Then the hovercraft set down between the river and the lowest ridge seventy-five yards away, cutting off the escape. When eight heavily armed raiders jumped from a side hatch firing their weapons, Olda and a dozen others fell to the ground in terror.

Unable to do more, Conapt dragged Garn to the top of the low ridge where twenty archers had taken position to cover the retreat. Garn drew his hunting knife but Conapt pulled him down out of harm's way.

"Their weapons burn. Arrows bounce off their shirts," Conapt said. "We never get close enough to hurt them."

More archers appeared along the ridge, including Helva and Raynaar, watching helplessly as the Arikhan chased down and trapped more victims. The women were screaming, trying to protect their children. A few men were with them, some beaten to the ground when they tried to defend their families.

Taba arrived and let loose an arrow without Raynaar's permission. The arrow struck armor and deflected away. The Arikhan warrior returned fire with an energy pistol, burning a swath of red beams along the crest of the ridge that injured a group of archers, including Raynaar, who shouted his displeasure.

The pilot emerged from the shaba'kar to hold the cargo hatch open, dropping a ramp for easier access. Garn guessed the ship was sixteen meters long and about five meters in diameter, double the size of the passenger craft he had seen at Karak. The silver hull reflected sunlight with bluish traces. The cargo compartment looked big enough to hold forty people, if they were alive. More if they were stacked in dead.

Two Arikhan guarded the prisoners until they could be herded up the ramp. The other six fanned out searching for stragglers.

Conapt turned to see many who should be hiding in the caves had stopped to watch from the higher ridges. When he looked back toward the river, he saw the raiders had captured a group of villagers hiding near the canoes, including some young boys who had been fishing. A mother screamed to see her ten-year-old son among them.

"We must fight!" Garn shouted, standing up again.

"We must live to help those who survive," Raynaar said, making sure Conapt pulled the young hothead down. Taba finally relented, too, realizing he was only drawing enemy fire without helping anyone.

More victims were captured as they were forced from the oaks by the fire. Garn saw Leena with her baby.

"Leena! Leena! No, not Leena!" Garn yelled, tears welling up.

Leena heard Garn's shouts as she was dragged by the hair into the circle of captives. Almost the full number the raiders had come for. Helva was forced to hold Taba back, the young hunter desperate to save his love even if it cost him his life. As if to show how useless it would be, two Arikhan raked the hill with small arms fire, the explosive pellets wounding several archers who ducked too slowly.

"This is a heavy day. The worst in years," Helva lamented, his fleshy cheeks sagging.

Having gathered their quota, six soldiers set a perimeter while the others prepared to drive the captives into the cargo hold. The Arikhan were so confident of their position that they ceased shooting at the ridge.

Suddenly, the women stopped crying. The Arikhan soldiers turned, their attention drawn to a small treeless hill thirty meters north of the shaba'kar. The archers half stood along the ridge, trying to see what had happened, the only noise the sound of the burning forest just beyond the transport.

A horse had appeared at the crest of the small rise, brown but lightly draped in black and forest green. The horse snorted and pawed the earth, restless to move. On the horse, a lone rider studied the Arikhan position, two weapons holstered on his hips, another in a shoulder holster, a knife in his belt, and a bola in the free hand not restraining the horse's reins. The rider was stripped to the waist, his torso and face painted with red and black stripes, his long brown hair splayed over his shoulders. There was a cold, studious gaze in his eyes, a visage so grim even the Arikhan were unnerved.

"It's Akeem!" Garn shouted, leaping to his feet.

The whispering on the ridge subsided as Grey stirred the horse forward, slowly at first, then rapidly before disappearing down into a gully. The Arikhan raised their weapons waiting for the horseman to emerge, but seconds went by and nothing happened. Then, ten meters farther down the ravine, the horse suddenly galloped up and over the rim, the rider high in the rope stirrups screaming a bloodcurdling war cry while swinging the double weighted bola over his head.

"A curl!" the closest Arikhan shouted, stepping back. He tried to point his weapon, but fear of the demon caused him to tremble.

The others fared no better. The surprise angle of attack, the war whooping and the thunder of the fierce hooves momentarily paralyzed the Arikhan. Grey rode directly at them covering the ground in mere seconds. He let the swinging bola go, wrapping the nearest soldier around the neck with crippling force. Then he drew the energy blaster and fired at point blank range. Armor protected the first enemy, but not without serious burns to his face. The second alien had its brains blown out, the greenish cloud of blood soaking into the sand.

Grey rode past the Arikhan perimeter firing repeatedly, then wheeled Rotrop around in a sharp turn and charged into the far end of their line, wounding the raider there even as the horse trampled him down. The soldiers tried to close ranks, but Grey guided Rotrop in so near that their formation broke, allowing him to injure another defender. The others retreated toward the shaba'kar, pulling their wounded and dead comrades with them.

Rolling off Rotrop's back, Grey slapped her rump to send her away. The war horse had fulfilled her mission superbly and he didn't want to see her hurt. Mordari's blaster was exhausted so he threw the weapon aside and drew both pistols, running to the circle of frightened captives.

"Run! Run fast and don't look back," Grey ordered, firing a barrage at the shaba'kar to give them cover. The raiders backed off, unable to hold their formation under the onslaught of explosive pellets pounding their armor.

As the captives scrambled toward the ridge, an Arikhan fired his energy weapon at Grey. Remembering his childhood training, Grey danced sideways, then backstepped and returned fire. The shot struck home, hitting the careless soldier in the throat. The creature was hurt but not crippled, shooting back several times before sinking to its knees.

The return fire grew intense, forcing Grey to crawl for a tree stump. His ammunition grew low and he still had three functional enemies at his front, not including the pilot who was dragging their wounded into the cargo bay.

Believing Grey had been hit, the three Arikhan advanced firing with enough intensity to set the stump on fire. One burst all the way through, catching him painfully on the elbow. With his position untenable, Grey rolled out and emerged through the smoke, firing repeatedly at the nearest opponent. The first shot tore through the chest armor. The second ripped a hole in its helmet and took a piece of skull with it, but the bold assault left Grey vulnerable to the other two warriors.

An arrow struck an Arikhan. Then another. Both arrows bounced harmlessly off their armor, but the distraction was well-timed. As more arrows dropped around them, Grey fired his last four shots into a stunned enemy.

The surviving raider retreated toward the shaba'kar as the pilot scrambled for the cockpit. Grey drew his hunting knife and pursued, screaming another war cry as he charged. He caught the alien half a dozen yards short of the cargo hatch. The Arikhan pulled a dagger to fight back, but Grey ducked under a wild swing and used his momentum to drive forward, knocking both of them into the scrubby grass.

The Arikhan was a warrior, a member of the Contingent by the bronze leaf insignia on his tunic, but he was not a street fighter. The Arikhan of Akrona had little need to practice hand-to-hand combat. They exchanged blows, rolling on the ground grappling for the best hold. Grey felt the Arikhan's heart pounding with fear. The black eyes were wild. It was fighting a curl! A demon spirit!

Grey held on to the psychological advantage, keeping in too close to receive more than minor cuts from flailing claws. Finally, he managed to drive his knife under the raider's belt, shoving deep and twisting the blade. The Arikhan groaned, striking hard to break free, but it was too late. Grey pushed the blade deeper until the Arikhan ceased to resist. A violent slash to the throat ended the battle.

Grey turned to see the prisoners had reached the safety of the first ridge. Archers were coming forward slowly, not sure what to expect, for the shaba'kar's turret gun was aiming in their direction. Two Arikhan lay dead on the field, the rest had been pulled into the storage compartment. Grey looked at the cockpit where the pilot was frantically working to get the ship airborne. The engines ignited, six powerful jets struggling to get the transport off the ground.

The cargo hatch was still open, the ramp extended. Grey got to his feet and whistled for Rotrop. The horse came running, seemingly aware of its mission, only slowing for an instant as Grey leaped on her back. Then she burst into a run, chasing the shaba'kar.

The transport was having trouble gaining altitude, the open cargo hatch and frantic efforts of the pilot acting at cross purposes. The ship turned south toward a ridge where no trees would interfere with the escape. Rotrop accelerated to a full run as Grey rose in the stirrups, his hands stretching for the ramp. A pain in his back slowed him down. The burns hurt. None of that mattered. The shaba'kar was still at a low altitude. Rotrop ran faster, snorting with exertion as they raced up the slope. Grey grabbed for the foot of the ramp, missing on the first attempt. He reached again, his fingers finding a steel support. His other hand secured a hold. At the crest of the hill, the shaba'kar jumped into the air, dragging him off Rotrop's back high into the late afternoon sky. In less than thirty seconds, the transport, the raiders, and Grey had disappeared beyond the horizon.

* * * * * *

"Try not to worry, Garn," Conapt said.

"He's been missing for hours. The search parties found nothing," Garn said, fighting back tears.

In the safety of a cave overlooking the smoldering marketplace, a dozen people kept vigil. Others were deeper in the caverns while some had retreated to villages upriver. No one expected another attack in the dark.

"Maybe he fell off in the river and is resting someplace?" Leena hopefully suggested.

"It's my fault," Garn said. "Ben didn't want to fight anymore. I kept pestering him. I made him get killed."

"You're wrong, Garn. Ben would have fought them anyway," Helva said, tending their small fire where a plucked duck was roasting. "He always intended to fight, he just didn't want anyone pushing him. If he has died, he has died the way he wanted. In blood against the enemy."

"He'll come back," Taba said, sitting cross-legged on a fur.

"Taba is right," Leena agreed, wrapping her arm around Garn's shoulders.

"How do you know?" Ussan asked, sitting with Hope in her lap.

"Nothing will stop Ben from returning for his daughter," Leena answered. "Not hornfeet. Not death."

Everyone looked up as Raynaar entered the cave. He looked tired.

"The last searchers have come back. There's no sign," Raynaar reported, sitting by the fire to pick off a roasted wing. "Many will celebrate this victory over the hornfeet, but I will mourn Ben. Never was so brave a battle fought. Garn, you'll always have a place at my fire. Ussan and I will accept Hope as our daughter. She'll grow up with honor. A princess of Saramont."

"I'll care for Hope until the day Ben returns for her," Garn said. "And if he doesn't, I'll free my mother and father to raise their niece, who are her blood."

"You have courage, boy, but freeing slaves is impossible," Raynaar replied. "Our people gave up the attempts generations ago. Even Ben could not find a way. Content yourself. Life here can be good despite the hornfeet."

"I will not be content. I'll never accept their tyranny. If Ben leaves no other memory, it should be that," Garn said, tears filling his eyes.

"Ben saved my life. And Olda's. We'll be your family until better days come," Leena said, kissing him on the cheek.

Hours after the sun set over the tall mountains to the west, a dark object appeared against the stars in the southern sky. Sentries cried out warning and bells rang. People abandoned their campfires for the caves, grabbing children as they ran.

"They come for revenge," Helva said, recognizing the outline of an Arikhan transport.

"Let them come," Taba said, stringing his bow.

Garn drew his knife, standing between Taba and Conapt on the ridge overlooking the river.

The shaba'kar approached slowly, probing for a place to land. After making two circles, it bypassed the area used earlier in the day and set down south of the estuary in a sandy depression. The engines stopped. The craft emitted no light. No soldiers disembarked.

"It's not the hornfeet! It's Ben! Ben has come back!" Garn shouted.

Many thought Garn delusional with grief, but they followed him down the slope anyway, hurrying to the area where the shaba'kar had descended. Some thought to bring torches, the area dark except for a new moon breaking through the clouds.

The transport lay still in the gully, the engines cooling. Archers nocked arrows while others drew knives, all prepared to flee if raiders suddenly emerged from the cargo hold. They held their breaths when the cockpit hatch began to slide open.

"Careful," Helva said, holding his old broadsword in one hand while keeping Garn back with the other.

Conapt and Taba also went to stand by Garn, fearing he wouldn't run from the hornfeet if attacked. They were surprised when the hatch finally opened. It was Grey, standing in the doorway, silhouetted by a blue light. He gazed at the villagers for a brief moment before jumping to the ground with a painful grunt.

"Ben! Ben!" Garn yelled, rushing to hug him with all his might. "I'm sorry, Ben. I'm sorry. I'll never call you Akeem again."

"Call me whatever you want, Garn. You've earned it," Grey said, returning the hug just as warmly. "Are you all right? How's Leena?"

"Only a few bruises. No one died, except the hornfeet," Garn said.

Hundreds of people were now arriving from all directions, some with torches, others with lanterns. The area near the gulch brightened enough for them to see the shaba'kar up close, the hull reflecting light with faint rainbow traces.

"Where are the hornfeet?" Conapt asked.

"In the delta south of here," Grey said. "I set the bodies on fire before dumping them in the current."

"Will the hornfeet not seek revenge?" Helva asked.

"It's unlikely. I shut down the transponder after issuing an emergency signal. I also scattered damaged equipment on the shoreline. Unless the Arikhan investigate carefully, which isn't their way, they'll assume the shaba'kar caught fire and crashed in the river."

As the torchbearers pressed closer, they saw Grey covered in dried blood. There was no evidence he had treated his wounds, beyond a torn cloth wrapped around his elbow. His long hair was dirty and tangled. The black and red body paint had smeared. But though weary, there was a victorious glint in his eyes. The confidence in his voice energized the crowd. He was no longer the troubled stranger who had come down from the snow fraught mountains.

"I need help," Grey said. "We need to lay camouflage over this ravine. And we need a secure cave for this equipment. I've got weapons and communications gear. There's even an energy rifle. The next time the hornfeet raid this valley, they're in for a surprise."

Grey's rapidly delivered requests were met with silence. There was hardly even a loud breath. Everyone was staring.

"What's wrong?" Grey asked.

"It's you. It's really you," Conapt said, dropping to one knee.

"Yes, there is no doubt," Helva declared, kneeling next to him.

"Thank the gods I've lived to see this day," Raynaar shouted, quick to join them.

Grey started to lose patience. His back hurt and he was hungry. Then suddenly Leena dropped to her knees, as did Taba, Olda, and Ussan. By the dozens, and then by the hundreds, the forest people knelt in homage.

"Forgive us for doubting you," Ussan begged, her teary eyes shining in the torchlight.

"Rejoice my people! The Liberation has come at last!" Raynaar summoned, his voice trembling with emotion.

"Liberation! Liberation!" voices chanted.

The villagers cheered and cried. Some began to sing the ancient songs, reciting the words Grey hadn't heard in the tavern. He scratched his head and looked at Garn. Garn was also on his knees, overcome by the intensity of the moment.

Grey didn't acknowledge Raynaar's pronouncement, nor did he bother to deny it. The people would believe what they wanted to believe.

"Listen, everybody," Grey said, raising his hands for attention. "Today we won a small victory. A very small one. But with this transport and the captured equipment, much can be accomplished. I have many difficult tasks ahead and would deeply appreciate your help."

"Speak, Akeem, and it is yours," Raynaar said.

The people shouted their support. Some started singing again.

"Your enthusiasm is heartening, but there's no time now," Grey interrupted. "We need to hide this craft before the sun rises. The weapons must be carried to the caves. I want to pull the auxiliary generator to power the communications array. Help me and I will be grateful."

Without another word, the people responded, breaking into teams. Grey spelled out exactly what he needed to Raynaar, Ussan, and Helva, pleased they understood so quickly. Then he moved back from the scene to catch his breath, sitting on a fallen log.

"You're hurt. Come in the caves where the healers can help you," Leena said.

"I need to make sure this gets done. Afterwards, the assistance will be welcome. But I do have a special request," Grey asked.

"Tell us, Akeem," Olda requested.

"What are my chances of getting a hot bath?"

* * * * * *

When the shaba'kar was finally hidden in the gulch, Grey supervised the storage of the equipment. He tried not to appear excited, but the small arsenal of weapons and tactical gear was more than he ever dreamed of having. Those working with him felt the excitement. None could remember such a night.

Grey didn't pause until almost sunrise, but he managed to find a jacket and wash off the worst of the dry blood. Some was his. Most of it wasn't.

When Leena led him into one of the inner caves, he found a rock basin filled with hot, soapy water. A boiler kept the room warm. Grey stripped off his soiled clothes and sank into the pool, a heavenly groan escaping his throat. With Hope in a basket only an arm's reach away, Grey forgot his usual modesty, allowing Leena and Olda to fuss over him with lotions and medicinal ointments. It was the first soaking he'd had since the revolt at Karak. The purple bruises were soon forgotten.

As the tasks were completed, team leaders entered the cave to make their reports. Many brought flasks of parra to enhance the celebration. Raynaar came to sit next to the basin, picking up Hope and rocking her gently in his arms. From time to time, he would test the temperature and demand more hot water, which caused Grey to grow embarrassed.

"All is done, Akeem," Conapt reported last. "The people return to their villages. Sentries are posted. Our hunters will find game for the victory feast."

"Thank you, Conapt," Grey said, finding the room so crowded he decided to get dressed. A new outfit of fine forest green was brought for him. The leather boots were particularly fine, a gift from Johann. Those who saw the scars on his body had no doubt he was a warrior of hard experience.

"What's next, Akeem? When do we attack?" Taba asked.

"We do not attack," Grey said. "The hunters will go hunting. Farmers will till the fields. Everyone must stay alert. I'll deal with the hornfeet."

"But Lopota comes with a hundred warriors," Taba said. "Messengers are sent to Lorymont, Braggermont and Riverdawn. We're ready for war."

"You aren't ready for war," Grey disagreed. "Even I'm not ready. Impatience leads to defeat. I've fought many battles, and lost some, but I've never lost a war. I'm not going to lose one now. Does everyone understand?"

"We must do something," Conapt begged.

"There's much you can do, if Raynaar and Ussan agree, and if your people are willing," Grey replied.

"It's you who doesn't understand, Akeem," Raynaar lectured. "You don't ask my permission. You don't make requests of the people. You are Akeem, the Liberator we've waited for all our lives. The one waited for by our fathers and their fathers before them, as spoken of in the prophecies. You command, we obey. That's the way of it."

Conapt and Taba nodded. All in the cave expressed agreement.

"Everyone in the villages feels the same way, Ben," Garn said.

"And once word spreads, more tribes will rally to you," Raynaar advised. "We have cousins along the Great Rivers. When they hear you've been proclaimed by Saramont, and that our old foe Lopota marches at your side, none will doubt the Liberation has come. In time, the northern tribes may follow as well."

"Does it scare you, to rule a world?" Ussan asked.

"No, but we don't rule very much of this one. Not yet. I saw an old fortress about a hundred kilometers southwest of here. High rock walls and large caves. Is it abandoned?"

"You speak of sacred ground," Helva said. "Taramont is where our forefathers made their last stand during the conquest. Thousands died but the hornfeet were made to pay a heavy price."

"I'd like to visit Taramont. The location will make a good training base," Grey said. "In time, we'll build corrals for horses, storage rooms for food and supplies. A factory to produce weapons. We can start making plans after I get back from Karak."

"We're going back? When?" Garn said, leaping to his feet.

"I'm going back. Alone. Now that I have the shaba'kar, a surprise rescue will free thirty or forty people," Grey said. "The trick will only work once, so I'll need to time it near sunrise. I'll drop right into Ferret Camp for Myra and Clagg. Hopefully Pie and Keep will be there, too. And the children."

The room was extra quiet. Many seemed to disagree, especially Taba and Conapt, but it was Garn who dared speak.

"Ben, would you free more of our people, if you could?" Garn asked.

"I'd like to free them all, Garn, but where would I shelter two thousand refugees? How would I move them from Karak to the eastern forests? How would I feed them?"

"We'll help you. Everyone will help," Helva said, clenching a big fist.

"Every village in the free lands will help!" Raynaar declared.

"To free our brothers and sisters of Karak would send a message of great hope," Ussan agreed.

"Hear the wisdom of Saramont's leaders, Akeem," Taba urged. "To bring so many from slavery would set fire to every heart. Tell us how to bring this about."

Grey sighed. There were thirty people in the cavern anxious to press the cause against the enemy. Ready to challenge two hundred years of occupation. Was it fair of him to dampen their spirits?

"My friends, I must apologize. I've not only underestimated your courage, I've doubted your resolve. Please forgive me," Grey said.

"With gladness do we forgive you, Akeem," Raynaar answered with a big grin.

"Does this mean you'll let us help?" Taba asked.

"That depends on Garn," Grey replied.

"Me? Why me?" Garn said.

"I can reach Ferret Camp in a matter of hours. A day from now, Garn can be sitting here with his parents and little brother. But if we want to free everyone in Karak, it will need to be a ground attack. Scores of trained warriors and hundreds of horses. Food depots placed along the trails. Burrows to hide the refugees, and volunteers to train them for a new life in the forest. All of this will take months to arrange. Fall, at the earliest. Maybe early winter. And there's the risk that if we wait too long, we'll arrive too late. You need to tell me, Garn. What do you want me to do?"

"You put a heavy burden on the boy," Helva disapproved.

"It's not the first time, nor will it be the last," Grey said.

The room grew quiet, all watching to see what Garn would say. Everyone knew their lives were about to change forever.

"Thank you, Helva, but this isn't a hard decision," Garn said, standing in the flickering light of the cave lamps. "If mother and father were here, they'd say to free everyone. We fight for our people, not for ourselves."

"Bravely spoken, Garn!" Raynaar heartily approved.

Shouts of admiration echoed through the cave as the floor was pounded and fists waved. Leena jumped to her feet, embracing Garn's thin shoulders, followed by Olga.

"Garn! Garn! Garn!" the people chanted. Grey smiled, too. He couldn't think of anyone who deserved the honor more.

"I'm going to like this Clagg," Helva said. "I'm the first to volunteer. Let Clagg and his family be welcomed at my fire."

"There will be guests for all," Grey said. "I've never asked, but does anyone know how many people live in these eastern forests?"

"The tribal leaders meet every eight years. We suppose the number at two star fields," Raynaar said.

"How many is a star field?" Grey asked.

"Ben, a star field is about a million in Sol numbers," Garn explained.

"Two million? Are you sure?" Grey inquired.

"Are you so surprised, Akeem?" Helva responded.

"The slave population to the west is about two hundred thousand. The Arikhan themselves barely number a quarter million," Grey considered.

"You find significance in this?" Raynaar asked, able to see the calculations racing through Grey's mind.

"Baron Gamtro lied to me. He knew there was a large population east of the mountains. Your people know the forest. Trees, food, hides and wildlife. Clagg's people know farming and mining. Slaves to the north work in assembly plants. You have the basis of an economy. And the Arikhan ..."

Grey's voice trailed off as the implications nearly overwhelmed him.

"What? They have what?" Taba asked.

"I need to give this more thought," Grey said. "We have plenty to do in the meantime. Raynaar, call your leaders together. Ussan, we need horses to train. Hundreds of them. And people to train them. We must gather food and clothing. Make weapons. All must be ready by the end of summer."

"This is it, isn't it? The beginning of the war to free our world," Conapt said.

"It's a first step," Grey replied.

* * * * * *

An escaped slave now has an army.