Rebels of Akrona

Part Six

by G. Lawrence

A new movement changes the landscape

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, but her memory is inspiring a movement among the Arikhan that will have profound ramifications. Rebels of Akrona is being told in eight parts.

Recap; Grey has spent two years building an army and recapturing lands in the southern and eastern regions, but he has not been waging war against Arikhan civilians, only their corrupt government.

* * * * * *

Chapter Nine

GHOSTS OF TARAMONT (continued)

"Is it not as I have said, Akeem?" Lopota asked.

"Yes, it's very odd," Grey agreed, watching the procession moving up the narrow valley. "What do you know of them?"

"What is there to know? They are hornfeet," Lopota said. "Should we slay them?"

"No, chieftain, you must not slay them. Thank you for consulting with me first."

"What should be done?"

"Let's take a closer look."

Grey rode down the hillside on a fine black stallion, Garn and Taba riding on his flanks. Thirty strong, the rest of Owlmont's troop followed from a distance. As they reached the line of trees, Black Hands and Olda appeared with the pack horses.

"What do you suspect?" Black Hands inquired.

"Something strange, First Minister. Ride with me."

Grey glanced at his command, who were never far away, and saw Farina's flash of jealousy. Though some thought they were still having an affair, Grey had kept his distance of late. Gossip spread that it was Black Hands who Akeem preferred.

"I'm taking a small group to contact these visitors," Grey announced. "How many here speak Arikhan?"

The former Karak slaves all raised their hands. Only Olda and Leena of the forest people did, though the rest were learning.

"Black Hands, Leena, Lopota, you're with me," Grey instructed. "And you, too, Garn. The rest of the troop will deploy behind this ridge. Prepare to advance if summoned."

Leaving Taba in charge, the small party rode down into the valley, working their way through giant pine trees until reaching the flatlands.

"The trail comes from a hornfeet settlement to the west. They call it Tyradon," Lopota explained. "From here, the trail leads east into the Ashanta Mountains."

"Toward Bad Luck Pass?" Grey asked.

"If they take the south fork," Lopota confirmed.

They stopped on a low rise to study the travelers, who were on foot. Grey counted a hundred in all, most dressed in brown or yellow robes. A tractor pulled a heavy trailer, but there were also two dozen terrain vehicles carrying supplies.

"I haven't seen them bring machines into the wilderness before," Lopota said.

"Not their usual practice," Grey agreed.

"I don't see any guards. Or weapons," Garn said, using field glasses. "What kind of army is that?"

"Not exactly an army, I suspect," Black Hands said. "It's more of a procession. Perhaps a religious procession."

"What gods can the hornfeet believe in?" Lopota asked.

"Powerful ones," Black Hands replied.

They reached the trail where it crossed a rowdy creek. Garn watered the horses. A few minutes later, the travelers approached. The two parties came to a halt, studying each other.

"Are we close?" a tall female asked, her tongue lashing with anxiety.

"Close to what?" Black Hands said, her Arikhan excellent.

"To Shalli's shrine in Rekellis Pass," the middle-aged leader clarified. It caused a moment of silence.

"Shalli has no shrine," Black Hands said.

"Then we shall build one. Will you show us the way?"

"Your name?" Black Hands asked.

"I am Asktra, Countess of Mill' Tree. Accompanying me are Baroness Darlatra of Mi' Yorr, Lord Captron of Seethran, and Signet Vacatron. We are followers of Mordari."

"What brings Mordari's followers so far from civilization?" Grey asked, also speaking their language well.

"We seek the blessings of Sherra, and will beg Shalli to intervene on our behalf," Darlatra said, a graceful female with delicate blue features.

Grey wasn't sure how he felt about that. Everyone else was stunned, though Black Hands quickly grasped the situation.

"This is Akeem, leader of the Liberation. I am Black Hands, First Minister of the People. Why should we allow the superior race into our lands?"

"We mean no disrespect, but we will not stop," Asktra said.

"You can be stopped," Black Hands warned.

"You will need to kill us," Asktra bravely replied.

Black Hands went forward, studying the strange visitors. Asktra was late middle age. Confident. Privileged. Her robe was made of durable gold silk. Captron and Vacatron seemed like seasoned veterans, acting as guardians. They wore uniforms but carried no weapons. Baroness Darlatra was young. Impressionable. Her cheeks were very blue.

"You put a heavy burden on Akeem," Black Hands said.

"Lady Gamtra said Akeem would understand," Asktra responded.

Asktra stared at Grey with large red-brown eyes, clearly aware of his identity. Glistening blue cheeks left no doubt of her high status.

"The day grows late. We will camp and talk," Grey said. "Did you bring wine?"

They made camp in the meadow. Grey saw the Arikhan may be pilgrims, but they were not poor pilgrims. Their colorful tents served ten sleepers with all the amenities. They were well-supplied with food, drink, and tools. And the pilgrims had communications, though they made no effort to use them.

"I don't understand this," Lopota said, setting up a canvas pup tent near the creek.

"Shalli was Akeem's mate," Black Hands said.

"Yes, I know. The one who died on the mountain giving birth to Hope. Why would the hornfeet care? Especially the blue cheeks?" Lopota asked.

"Lady Gamtra wrote stories about Shalli," Garn said. "They're called Chronicles. Many of the hornfeet have read them."

"Was Shalli a goddess?" Lopota asked.

"No, but she was a spirit," Grey said.

They returned to the Arikhan camp for the evening meal, served on low tables under an open sky. The late spring weather was pleasant. The aristocrats sat on colorful cushions made of thick fiber, fussed over by many servants. Grey and Black Hands were placed next to Asktra and Darlatra. Garn, Leena, and Lopota sat with Lord Captron, whose orange tunic displayed four swamp leaves of military service. Talented cooks prepared the food.

"What is this shrine you speak of?" Black Hands asked, holding a glass of fine wine.

"Once we have located the tomb, we will build a sanctuary nearby," Darlatra said. "Those seeking Sherra's blessings will come to light sacred oils."

"How is Shalli part of this?" Grey asked. The Baroness appeared surprised by the question.

"In Lady Gamtra's Chronicle, Shalli called upon Sherra for the blessing, and it was granted," Darlatra said. "Now Shalli sits at Sherra's feet. If we are true to the teachings, surely Shalli will intervene on our behalf?"

"What blessing?" Leena asked.

"Fertile eggs," Grey realized. "The Arikhan have been challenged in this area for several generations. Baron Gamtro found it concerning."

"Our lack of fertility is Sherra's way of showing her disapproval," Darlatra said.

"Building a shrine in the wilderness could prove dangerous. There are many on this planet who do not favor the superior race," Grey warned. "Perhaps they do not want the Arikhan to receive Sherra's blessings."

"We can do nothing about the past. We must be true to ourselves," Asktra said. "Regardless of the danger, hundreds will come to seek Shalli's intervention. And if you slay them, hundreds more will come."

"One day, there will be thousands," Darlatra added.

Leena interpreted for Lopota, whose eyes widened.

"Thousands of hornfeet?" he whispered.

"Not for many years, I'm sure," Grey said.

"They have much wealth. They travel like kings," Lopota observed.

"The Arikhan are a rich culture," Grey explained.

Lopota looked again at the lush tents. The excellent food served on fine plates. Barrels of imported wine. Machines that hauled enough supplies to burden a hundred horses.

"Akeem, I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but they should be allowed to build their shrine," Lopota urged.

"They would need to establish a road all the way into the mountains. There will be pilgrims coming and going all the time," Grey cautioned.

"My rangers can watch over them. Maybe they'll have something worth stealing?" Lopota said.

"Do you mean trade?" Grey asked.

"Yes, Akeem. To trade," Lopota answered.

"If we allow this, the hornfeet must not be harmed," Grey required.

"If Akeem says the hornfeet may not be slain, they will not be slain," Lopota promised.

"Lopota speaks well," Garn agreed.

"I think so, too," Leena said.

"I believe these pilgrims are spoken of in the prophecies," Black Hands hinted. Though it wasn't a prophecy Grey had ever heard of.

Grey gave Black Hands a questioning look. She nodded.

"High Priestess Asktra," Grey said, turning to his hosts, "my people invite you to build your shrine. But you must never allow spies to travel among your people. We are a world struggling against many oppressions."

"We know of you, Akeem. The forest bandit who frees slaves," Lord Captron said, the first time he had spoken up. "We admire your courage, but planets are not won by hiding in trees."

"You are not the first to say this, my lord," Grey replied, raising his cup.

"Little is known of Shalli's egg. Does it thrive?" Signet Vacatron asked, the decorations on his collar indicating a high warrior caste.

"Shalli's baby was born in the same cave where she is entombed," Black Hands said. "The child has grown strong and healthy. She is smart, good-natured, and beautiful. She lives with her aunt, who is a follower of Sherra."

"This is wonderful news," Vacatron said, eye-rings raised. "We have heard a rumor of the egg's name. May you confirm it?"

"She is called Hope," Black Hands said, the pronunciation in Arikhan nearly the same as in Akronian.

"Hope!" Vacatron declared. The word spread down the table like a wildfire.

"May we see her someday?" Vacatron asked, more fervent than any of them. His cheeks were light blue and shimmered when he grew excited.

"That may be many years from now," Grey said. "But I promise, if your shrine is successful, you will meet Shalli's daughter."

"Vacatron, if I may inquire, do others of your people share this belief?" Leena asked.

"The Retrenchment seeks to silence Mordari's words. They deny the Chronicles. But millions have listened," Vacatron replied.

"Mostly it is the young eggs, for elders can be set in their ways," Asktra explained. "Yet Mordari's Path grows ever stronger. It is the only way our empire will thrive again."

Later in the evening, back in their own camp, Grey and Black Hands shared a private tent.

"You said we might find allies. I never thought of allies such as these," Black Hands said, snuggling under the furs.

"I saw the beginnings of this at Karak. Lady Gamtra's secretary, Livy, was overcome when she heard of Shalli's death. Somehow Gamtra's Chronicles have found a following."

"Could Shalli really intervene with Sherra?"

"As a witch doctor, you would know that answer better than I," he joked.

"No, really. I always thought there was something special about her. She helped so many. She even drew you from a very dark place. And the way Lady Gamtra loved her was extraordinary."

"Have you read Gamtra's Chronicles?"

"I have. They're beautifully written. Haven't you read them?"

"No. I've never had the courage."

"The Chronicles do not mention Mordari, but they make profound observations about the spiritual life of her people."

"My mentors taught me not to take religions seriously. They would have denied such mystical impulses. But much has happened to me since the days of my youth. Events that can't be explained. I have no answer."

Black Hands pressed closer, kissing him gently. She was not seeking to become his mate but knew that physical contact could be comforting.

"You've not seen much of Farina lately. The people say Akeem needs a woman to stay balanced."

"I don't need a woman. I need twenty thousand soldiers."

"Shalli was not your first wife. Have you had many others?"

"Only Kris."

"You rarely speak of her."

"She was a soldier. Fierce and brave. Leaving her was the hardest thing I ever did."

"How did that happen?"

"Our planet was under attack by an Arikhan battleship, the last surviving warship in their invasion fleet. I attached a nuclear bomb to the hull and set it off. The explosion cast me into some sort of subspace dimensional drift."

"Is that why Mordari said your people think you're dead?"

"I may as well be. It's not clear how I reached Laros, but I can never go back. It's twelve hundred light years and dozens of stargates away."

"Myra and I will find you a woman. Maybe we'll find Hope a mother."

"Send me a list of applicants," Grey replied, kissing her on the forehead. "And see if you can find Farina a husband."

The next morning, Grey assembled his rangers in the meadow, declaring the pilgrims under Akeem's protection. Then he pulled Lopota aside.

"I've given your words great consideration, old friend. You're right," Grey said.

"I am? About what?" Lopota asked.

"These hornfeet offer an opportunity. Have you rangers who will patrol this side of the mountain all year round?"

"Willing? We've wanted to all our lives."

"Then this is your charge, Lopota. I appoint you governor of this region. Help these pilgrims build a road to their shrine. Protect them. Open trade with Tyradon. Honest trade, that I expect you to profit from. Am I understood?"

Lopota watched Grey's eyes carefully, evaluating his expression. This was more than an order. It was an entirely new concept.

"You trust me with this?" Lopota asked.

"There are few I trust more."

Lopota puffed up his chest and smiled.

"Then Lopota of the Setua will be the Liberation's first ambassador to these hornfeet. We'll see if they bargain as well as they fight."

"You may wish to learn their language," Grey advised.

"I will come to speak it better than they do," Lopota promised.

* * * * * *

Chapter Ten

GRETNAR'S THEATRE

"This is a brave act, Lady Gamtra," Gretnar said, standing in the wings of the theater.

The large crowd was restless, every stool filled. The backstage crew appeared nervous. The ancient theater rested on a hill overlooking the Arikhan capital, a metropolis of several million.

"Your bravery exceeds mine," Gamtra replied. "Your reputation may suffer."

"Great art requires great risk," Gretnar said, standing tall with straight shoulders. He was still young, fairly thin, with intelligent brown eyes and just enough blue in his cheeks to be taken seriously.

"This is not an ordinary theatre," Vistra stressed, keeping close to Gamtra. Gamtra's cousin was finely attired in a long silver gown.

"No, Countess, this is not an ordinary theatre," Gretnar agreed. "This is a revolution."

Vistra looked at Gretnar with new admiration. Had his lineage not been so far beneath her own, her interest may have gone further.

"It is time, my lord," the Master of Presentations said, approaching with cautious respect. Like most prosperous commoners, he wore a plain brown tunic with a high white collar.

"We are ready, Barkatro," Gretnar said.

"You may still withdraw the play," Gamtra offered, wanting to be fair.

"Thank you, Lady Gamtra, I think not," Gretnar rejected. "When you brought this story to my studio, I thought it a good exercise. Now it is more than that. As you knew it would be."

Barkatro departed for the podium to introduce the performance, while Gretnar gave last minute instructions to the cast.

"Labora, Vosrona, attend me," Lady Gamtra summoned.

The two former Varbaran once attached to the Arikhan fleet, now armed escorts, approached quickly. Though dressed in Gamtra's purple colors rather than military green, the tall females looked fearsome.

"Yes, mistress," they reported.

"Position yourselves before the stage. Do not allow interference," Gamtra ordered.

The guards clicked black tongues in compliance and took their stations. The instructions were not unexpected.

"Is such truly necessary?" Vistra asked.

"Perhaps not, but it will add to the drama," Gamtra explained, arching eye-rings in anticipation.

They joined their party in a private box to the right of the stage, as tradition dictated. Surrounded by a circle of tall crystalline columns, the marble theater seating rose in twenty levels covered by green netting. The weather was warm, the late afternoon light perfect for viewing. The broad stage was empty, though in time, a few props would be added for context. The mummers were in their pit at the foot of the stage, scripts in claw, ready to chant narration or sing songs. The actors were screened by a thin white curtain, preparing to make their entrance.

"Noble patrons, welcome again to our humble theater," Barkatro said, claws raised for attention. "This is not an ordinary play, but these are not ordinary times. So now hear the words of the Great Gretnar, in this most profound work."

Barkatro took a seat on the far left showing signs of anxiety, the manager's webbing lying flat against his head. His shoulders drooped. Gretnar stared straight ahead, betraying no emotions.

A tall female took center stage, her gold tunic of the finest quality, her webbing lustrous. Her skin was colored blue, the cheekbones high. Red-brown lenses allowed her eyes to gaze with aristocratic bearing. She raised an elegant claw to the west where artificial lighting cast a cloudy sunset.

"Our eggs do not thrive. The young lack vigor. Enemies multiply, while the Rocks abide in confidence. Sherra, is this your will?"

The mummers softly clicked tongues in unison, the tones ominous. Thunder crackled in the distance as a cold wind swept the stage. The character of the Great Lady bundled a cloak around her shoulders. A grim male appeared from the wings, a commoner dressed in brown leathers, crude weapons hanging from his belt.

"Great Lady, the food-creatures await your judgment," the Loyal Sentry said. "Shall they be sent to the pens?"

"I have never seen a living food-creature, Loyal Sentry of the Empire," the Great Lady replied. "Allow me to look upon these bloody vvleen before the slaughterhouses do their work."

"The food-creatures are dangerous, Great Lady. Much to be feared. Do not risk yourself in such a way," the Loyal Sentry warned.

"I am of noble lineage. There will be no fear."

"Let it be as you declare, for your House is held in much reverence."

The Loyal Sentry left the stage as the Great Lady turned to her audience, chin held high.

"For fifty thousand moons, our empire has met the tests of Ra' Pall. The tricks of the Rocks could not cloud our minds, nor prevent us from seeking their lair. Troubled times will not deter our destiny."

The patrons clicked tongues in approval, claws tapping their stools. The mummers hummed a new melody, but not the upbeat tune many expected. Thunder crackled as dark clouds filled the horizon. The wind blew hard enough that all in the theater could feel it. And then the wind stopped. The sky brightened. Birds chirped off-stage. The Loyal Sentry returned.

"Great Lady, here comes the food-creature you demanded," he announced.

Many in the audience gripped their seats, remembering the horrors of previous theatres, such as The Keepers, one of the more memorable in recent years. And then the audience gasped.

A new actor appeared onstage, but this was not a youngster in a costume. There was no mask or false body suit. The female was dressed in a delicate yellow dress with brown sandals, her long blonde hair hanging about her slender shoulders. And when she turned, her blue eyes looked at the audience with curiosity. It was a living, breathing food-creature.

Scores of Arikhan came to their feet. Some were clicking tongues in astonishment. Others were close to fainting. A few fled for the exits.

"I come in obedience to your will, Great Lady. How may I serve you?" the food-creature said with a charming provincial accent, adding a click of her tongue at the end. And then she knelt at the Great Lady's feet, forehead pressed to the floor.

"Let me gaze upon you, food-creature," the Great Lady said, raising the young female's chin. "I sense in you a great spirit. Have you a name?"

"Yes, Great Lady. My name is Shalli," the food-creature responded.

For an hour and more, the audience watched the Great Lady and the Food Creature interact. They sewed clothes, the Food Creature showing dexterity with a needle and thread. They tended lush gardens, where the Food Creature nurtured seedlings. They cooked meals using delicate spices. Shockingly, they gossiped about males, finding much in common. The dialog was witty and rich with humor. When the Food Creature joyfully danced across the stage with the hems of her dress twirling, it became a spectacle.

"What brings such happiness, child?" the Great Lady asked.

"I prayed to Sherra for the blessing, Great Lady, and it is answered. My egg will be healthy and strong."

There was another gasp from the audience. Such a proclamation was unheard of. Maybe even indecent.

"You are an innocent. You cannot know of what you speak," the Great Lady said, taking the Food Creature into her arms. "Sherra's blessings are for the superior race alone."

"I do not know of that, Great Lady. Only that I asked Sherra for the blessing, and it has come. How may I honor Her?"

The stage shook, followed by a cold wind. The Food Creature turned in fear, as if surrounded by shadowy enemies, and suddenly fled the stage. The Loyal Sentry returned.

"Great Lady, evil tidings."

"What news is this, Loyal Sentry of the Empire?"

"The pens attempted to reclaim the Shalli food-creature. It fled into the mountains."

"Do you know the food-creature's fate?"

"The creature has died."

The Great Lady dipped eye-rings, strolling across the stage in grief. The mummers hummed a woeful dirge. The skies once again turned dark.

"Shalli was such a sweet thing," the Great Lady said. "What of her egg?"

"The egg grows healthy and strong," the Loyal Sentry said, leaving the stage. An elegant aristocrat entered, younger than the Great Lady.

"Great Lady, you look so sad," the Young Aristocrat said, her eye-rings soft.

"I have lost one I loved. She was merely a food-creature, but she had a gentle soul."

"May I call upon her?" the Young Aristocrat requested.

"In what manner?"

"Though from a distant world faced with many oppressions, Shalli called upon Sherra for the blessing, and her plea was granted. Might Shalli intercede with Sherra on my behalf? I would have healthy eggs."

"We may try," the Great Lady replied.

The Great Lady and the Young Aristocrat knelt, brushing claws.

"Sherra, hear our plea. Our eggs suffer. We beseech your wisdom," the Great Lady said. The storms increased intensity, the wind colder. The Young Aristocrat clung to the Great Lady's cloak in fear.

"The Empire is challenged. Our eggs yellow," the Great Lady said, lifting her claws. "In what manner have we lost our way?"

Lightning streaked through the black sky. The thunder roared. The mummers chanted their displeasure. The Young Aristocrat could take no more, jumping to her feet.

"Blessed Shalli, beloved of Sherra, will you speak for me?" the Young Aristocrat pleaded. "Let my eggs be strong."

The darkness hesitated. The anger of the mummers softened. The Great Lady and the Young Aristocrat held their breath, awaiting Sherra's answer. And then the sky slowly cleared. A warm breeze drifted through. Soothing music filled the theater.

"I sense a new strength," the Young Aristocrat said, raising her arms.

"The True Path is revealed," the Great Lady agreed, standing beside her. "Blessed be the Will of Sherra."

"Blessed be the Will of Sherra," the audience repeated.

As the actors exited the stage, the theater was quiet. And then suddenly, surprisingly, an image appeared on the thin white curtain. It was the silhouette of a young woman, dancing joyfully, the hems of her dress twirling. The mummers sang a hopeful tune as a heavier curtain closed.

There was silence at first, then a light tapping of claws and a few chirps. Few seemed to grasp what they had just seen.

As the performance concluded, the actors congregated backstage. One attracted more attention than the others.

"You were wonderful, Alicia," Vistra said, draping a jacket over the young woman's shoulders. She was just seventeen years old, rather small, and naturally graceful.

"I wanted Gretnar to be proud," Alicia said, her accent stronger.

"It was performed well, and each performance will get better," Gretnar praised. "The show will run a full season, and another season touring the great estates."

"Should I not be consulted?" Gamtra asked, approaching with Livy.

"It is a successful theatre," Gretnar replied, straightening his shoulders.

"Yet Alicia is my property. Maybe she doesn't wish to play two seasons. Perhaps she chooses to return home?" Gamtra pressed.

"No, Dogra--I mean, Lady Gamtra," Alicia said. "This is great art. I must be part of it."

Gamtra was struck by how much Alicia looked like Shalli. Perhaps a cousin. But Shalli was a woman, filled with joys, sorrows and burdens. Alicia was still a child.

"The egg is sincere," Vistra urged. "She serves her people, and our cause."

"Alicia is very brave," Gamtra agreed, using short claws to brush Alicia's long yellow hair. "But Frontra expects your return to Lamby. You are a volunteer, not my slave."

"I like the city, mistress," Alicia confessed. "I like the noise, and the markets, and the fine clothes. I have many friends."

"Friends?" Livy asked.

"Alicia shares the mummers' dorm," Vistra explained. "They were letting her drink kellif until I put a stop to it."

"Now that Alicia's presence is no longer secret, she will cause great debate," Gamtra said. "You must maintain constant vigilance. I do not want the Retrenchment confiscating her."

"Is there such danger?" Gretnar asked.

"There is," Vista replied.

"Perhaps Alicia should return home. I would not have the child risk such a fate," Gretnar conceded.

"I am not afraid," Alicia insisted. "At Karak, our crops were burned. Our homes destroyed. Many were killed. Many of my family were killed. I enjoyed my time with Frontra, but now I want more. I want this."

Standing off to the side, the theatre troupe clicked their tongues with approval. Gamtra realized that Alicia had indeed inspired strong bonds.

"You are courageous enough to be Arikhan," Gretnar said, touching her shoulders with the tips of his foreclaws. "Lady Gamtra, I swear by Sherra's Spirit to protect this child with all of my power. We all will."

Twenty actors chirped agreement, their black eyes eagerly seeking Gamtra's support. Gamtra looked at Vistra, and then Livy, but it was her decision.

"I will approve a season, and then we shall see," Gamtra allowed. "But by orbit's end, Alicia must return to her own people."

"Thank you, Lady Gamtra," Alicia said, offering a curtsy. She was soon surrounded by her fellow actors and whisked away to celebrate opening night.

"Do not drink too much," Vistra called out, but they were already gone.

"Alicia is an enchanting creature," Gretnar said. "If she will not return to Akrona, might you keep her as a pet?"

"No, Great Gretnar. That never works out well," Gamtra said. "Vosrona! Labora! Attend me."

The guards came running. They were large, even for Varbaran, and quite fierce.

"Long have you performed noble service on my behalf," Gamtra said. "Will you now accept a greater challenge?"

"We serve you always, great lady," Vosrona and Labora replied, tapping their chests with sharpened claws.

"Would you protect the food-creature?" Gamtra asked.

"Alicia is not a food-creature," Labora protested, eye-rings bent. "She is a spirit blessed by Sherra."

"None shall give her harm," Vosrona swore, lashing her tongue.

"Then by the authority of my House, I charge you to fulfill my will," Gamtra ordered. "Whatever steps are needed to protect the Alicia creature, you will take. Let none interfere with your duty."

The guards acknowledged their assignment and departed.

"They speak boldly for commoners," Vistra observed.

"I would not have it otherwise," Gamtra responded.

* * * * * *

As the theater crowd dispersed, Gamtra retired to her private meeting room on the upper floor. The limestone chamber was lit by green-tinted globes. Tables offered fine wines and exotic meats. She could see the torches of the Capitol Towers blazing through the open windows. Gamtra dismissed her servants.

A special group arrived, three young aristocrats and three graying elders, all dressed in luxurious fur-trimmed gowns.

"Thank you for this gathering, Baron Abartro," Gamtra said, loosening her collar. "And you, Baroness Fulatron. Baron Shoratro."

"Your theatre causes great controversy. It is best we understand the intent," Baron Abartro said. The senior elder looked grave, his thick eye-rings bent. His cheeks flushed with the bluest of blue.

Gamtra glanced to the three younger participants. There was Livy, Baron Abarto's granddaughter, elegant as always. And Vistra, graceful in her long silver evening gown. Vistra was Countess of Alan' Tay in her own right, and heiress to Baroness Fulatron. Though not so eminent, blue-cheeked Bynatro was nephew to Baron Shoratro, honored for long service with the Fleet.

"Let us sit," Gamtra invited, serving the refreshments.

Once everyone was settled, Gamtra stood at the head of the table, shoulders tense. Livy moved her stool to sit closer.

"That was a real food-creature we saw tonight," Fulatron said. "Are our theaters now a circus?"

"I brought Alicia to shock our society," Gamtra replied. "To show them that change is coming. And now I ask for your help. Mordari is silenced on the Isle of Ta'tar, but she was heard by the Commons. The Voice of Sherra has given hope in the dread times we face."

"Supplicants venture into dangerous lands seeking Shalli's intervention," Vistra mentioned. "They affirm that her favor brings healthy eggs."

"I myself have visited her shrine. It is holy ground," Livy reported.

The elders doubted such could be true, but Livy stood firm.

"These pilgrimages have become known. The Supreme Council is debating whether they should be discouraged," Baroness Fulatron warned.

"Do you believe they can be discouraged?" Vistra asked. "Even in exile, Mordari finds new hearts."

"They are small in number," Baron Abartro dismissed.

"Their numbers grow, especially among the lower orders," Gamtra insisted.

"The Countess of Mill' Tree has built a sanctuary in the Ashanta Mountains," Bynatro revealed. "In but a few seasons, the town has grown to several thousand. Just because the great lords pay little heed does not mean the movement lacks strength."

"What do you expect of us?" Baroness Fulatron asked.

"We must speak to the Great Houses. We must control what this means for our future," Gamtra said. "Three centuries ago, twenty-two great families guided the Arikhan people. Now only fourteen remain. Unhealthy eggs. Lack of prosperity. The search for the Rocks. All have weakened our society. If we continue to oppose the hope Mordari brings, we risk losing our rightful stations. In this room, you represent three Great Houses. I am daughter to a fourth."

"We cannot oppose the Council of Warriors. Four houses have no such power," Baron Alatron said, leaning forward on his stool.

"I am no fool," Gamtra shot back, lashing her tongue. "But you know well that the Great Houses staff the committees. We supervise commerce, finances, fleet resources, and trade. Just as we cannot oppose the Council of Warriors, they cannot oppose the younger generations needed to sustain the Empire."

Suddenly Livy, Vistra, and Bynatro all rose, standing together, eye-rings bent. They locked arms. The elders were surprised, and then taken aback as they realized the extent of Gamtra's ambitions.

"Dogra, you may thrive for a time, but there will be a reaction," Baroness Fulatron cautioned.

"Let me be the focus for such a reaction," Gamtra said, standing with her young supporters. "When Mordari and I went to Karak, and all that Baron Gamtro had built was burned to the ground, she spoke to me in that dark place. She said it is for us to seek Sherra's Truth, and when we find it, we fight for it. If necessary, we die for it. There can be no middle path. Mordari had no fear. I will have none either."

The elders saw Gamtra's resolve, her red-brown eyes shining. There was a profound spirit dwelling in her. An energy they could all feel.

"I have spoken with my council on this," Abartro admitted. "Opinion is divided, but they think Mordari poses little threat to our power. Perhaps we should not provoke her following."

"My councilors are of similar thought," Baron Shoratro said. "It is not good to invite civil unrest in uncertain times."

"The Supreme Council does not wish to see Mordari's power grow, but with marauders plaguing our borders, they are under pressure to restore order," Baroness Fulatron remarked. "It is difficult to know what they will do."

"They cannot violate established law," Vistra warned. "If they do, the Commons will no longer be bound to the social order."

"The planet Shalli came from? What is it called?" Abartro asked.

"Akrona," Livy answered.

"A backwater world. Hardly worth our time," Fulatron remarked.

"I hear stories of Akrona," Abartro said. "Mineral production is hampered by a forest bandit. Might the Council of Warriors not send a taskforce? Could they not destroy the Shalli shrine and crush this rebellion?"

"They might. That is why we must delay such a decision," Gamtra said. "We can extend debate in committees. Gather strength from the trade guilds. And we can promote the cult of Shalli, to give our people hope where little exists."

"What if the rebellion fails of its own?" Baroness Fulatron asked.

"The rebellion will not fail," Livy replied. "Even if the Council of Warriors sends a fleet, the rebellion will not fail."

"How can this be known? Akrona broke under our boots two hundred orbits ago," Baron Shoratro said.

"I have met their leader," Livy said. "He is friend to Lord Gamtro. Mordari believes him divinely inspired."

"The one they call Akeem?" Lord Shoratro asked.

"Yes, he is called Akeem," Livy confirmed.

"I am old-fashioned. I cannot support this new movement," Baroness Fulatron said. "But I will not oppose you."

"I have a request," Baron Shoratro said.

"Yes, your grace?" Gamtra asked.

"May Kamatra and I meet your food-creature? The one in Gretnar's theater? I have never seen such a thing," Shoratro requested.

Gamtra happily agreed with a soft lash of her tongue.

* * * * * *

Chapter Eleven

REBELLIONS

Grey stormed up the hill into the tunnel, flung aside his raincoat, and entered the headquarters. Several embarrassed aides awaited him.

"Conapt, Taba, is this meeting what I suspect?" Grey inquired.

"They have grievances," Conapt said.

"Is that an excuse for treason?" Grey replied.

"It's not treason," Conapt said, straightening his shoulders.

"My friends, you've ridden at my side for two years. I've given you my trust. Must I ask where you stand?" Grey asked.

"We stand at your side," Conapt said, coming to attention.

"Akeem, they only seek a stronger path," Taba added.

"I alone decide the strongest path," Grey said.

Grey pressed forward into the council chamber, his steel-gray eyes glancing about ferociously. None needed to ask the source of his fury, they only regretted he'd learned of their intent prematurely.

"Ben, we must have words," Barris said, bravely speaking for the group.

Grey found a dozen field commanders crowded around the conference table, most from the southern villages. A score of junior officers stood back against the rock walls. Though none of the senior officers were present, except for Barris, it was still an impressive assembly. They were angry. Discontented.

"You may sit, Barris. I already know your words," Grey rebuked, walking to the head of the table.

The room was more than quiet. It was sullen. A great deal of energy had been spent on their complaints, and now their spokesman had been silenced. Grey put a hand on his sidearm, knowing he could outdraw anyone in the room.

"We've been training for eight seasons. Gathering horses. Making weapons. Studying the enemy," Grey recalled. "And now you rebel? Because I won't squander what I've built?"

"Lion Hill was raided. The northern tribes think us cowards. We must fight!" Trustan declared, a lanky youngster from Braggermont with a talent for archery.

Voices rose in support. Fists were pounded on the table. When Grey failed to react, the demonstration subsided.

"Take your militia and go home," Grey said. "Return your weapons to the armory, they are the property of the Liberation."

"We cannot challenge the hornfeet without their weapons," Trustan protested.

"You cannot challenge the hornfeet even with their weapons," Grey replied.

Grey backed away from the table and walked slowly around the room, keeping an eye on the most likely troublemakers. He finally came to a halt back where he began, noticing that Clagg and Helva had appeared, watching quietly from the doorway.

"I've failed you, and for that I'm sorry," Grey apologized.

"You'll let us fight?" Trustan asked.

"No. You will not fight with me," Grey replied.

"In what manner have you failed us, Akeem?" Byrne asked.

Byrne was sitting next to his cousin, Turk. Both were former miners from Karak, in their mid-twenties, tall and husky. Grey had known them since they were teenagers.

"Because you are still undisciplined children fighting a bear, and the bear will tear you apart," Grey replied. "I'll find a way to defeat the hornfeet without your help. Let us part on good terms."

Grey went to Trustan, shaking his hand. He passed by Barris, going to Byrne and Turk.

"You were still boys when we first met," Grey said, putting his hands on their shoulders. "We shared labor in the quarries. You stood witness when I mated Shalli. And now you are men, making your own decisions. I regret we will no longer be friends."

"I am your friend, Ben. I've always been your friend," Byrne protested.

"No, Byrne. No one who endangers the plans I've made to free this world can be my friend."

He cast another glance at Barris, as if making an accusation. Barris clenched his fists.

"I don't wish to leave," Byrne said.

"Or me," Turk pleaded.

"None of us do," Trustan insisted.

"Each of you must decide. Either you follow me or you don't. I'll not have anyone in this army who is disloyal. As Barris well knows."

"Me? You accuse me of disloyalty?" Barris shouted, jumping from his chair.

Suddenly everyone was on their feet. Some thought to intervene, but hesitated.

"You challenge my decisions," Grey said.

"But I've always obeyed you."

"Until now."

"Ben, Barris, you are brothers. Tak and Shalli were like sisters. You shared mating rituals. Set aside this quarrel," Clagg said, coming between them.

"It's not my quarrel," Grey said. "When officers of this army put their own needs above the mission, it's everyone's quarrel."

"I would never do that," Barris complained.

"You already have," Grey answered, letting the moment hang. His audience was barely breathing.

"I will always put the mission first," Barris said. "All of us will."

"All?" Grey asked.

"All of us," Olli of Lorymont said, her voice soft. Like many at the table, she was eager to serve, though lacking knowledge of lands beyond her village.

"Tell us what must be done," Trustan said.

"Sit down," Grey ordered.

The young officers quickly returned to their seats.

"War was a way of life on my homeworld," Grey said. "Not the petty skirmishes you've seen, but violence in which thousands died. Sometimes hundreds of thousands. Several wars killed millions. You don't understand such wars. I do. So do our enemies.

"There was a war, hundreds of years ago, when the people of a faraway land rose up against a tyrant. They wanted freedom. The tyrant had great armies. Great navies. A strong government. Tremendous wealth. The first few times the rebels battled the tyrant, they were defeated. Many said all was lost. But their commander stayed calm. He knew that with a trained army, support from the people, and the right allies, they would prevail.

"Now we're fighting a similar war. The Arikhan are strong. Well-organized. They have superior weapons. They can wage war for years on a horrendous scale. I've not become Akeem to burn a few villages or kill a few hornfeet. I'll win our independence the only way it can be won. If you don't trust me in this, then walk away. And if you choose to oppose me, be prepared for an enemy. I've been opposed before."

Many at the table gazed down. Grey expected some to object. It was their nature. But he was in no mood to bargain.

"I will not walk away," Clagg said, standing at Grey's side.

"Akeem's enemies are my enemies," Helva affirmed.

The rest of the troop captains offered their loyalty. They still wanted to fight, they just didn't wish to fight Akeem.

"Tell us what we must do," Olli urged.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm for battle," Grey approved. "And now that that we have a better understanding, I want each of your divisions to supply one company. The best you have. Gather your finest horses, fresh arms, and full rations for ninety days. We rendezvous here at Taramont on the next double moon."

"We attack?" Byrne asked.

"I'm calling it a reconnaissance in force," Grey replied.

"Why did you not say this before?" Trustan questioned.

"Because it's my decision to make, not yours," Grey answered.

Grey turned to leave, glancing at Conapt and Taba. "What do you think, my young friends?" he asked.

"We think it a proud thing to follow Akeem," Taba boasted.

Grey acknowledged the compliment and continued down the hall, emerging on a balcony overlooking the training fields. Barris joined him there a few minutes later.

"I don't feel good about this," Barris said.

"Your help was important. Focusing on us allowed the commanders to reevaluate their positions."

"It feels dishonest. Like we're tricking them."

"When Clagg heard of this meeting and told the senior staff, they were very angry," Grey explained. "Raynaar and Lopota wanted to hang the ringleaders, but Black Hands calmed them down. I thought this the best way to defuse the situation."

Grey led Barris up the cliff to a wide ledge. The view was spectacular. After two years, the fort was nearing completion. Corrals, supply depots, and training fields. He made himself comfortable in a padded chair. Barris sat with him.

"Reeba?" Grey said, taking out a flask.

"Thank you. I need it."

"There's part of the story I did not tell our comrades. Of that war on my planet so many years ago. After eight years of conflict, neglect, and ingratitude, the junior officers of that revolution plotted a rebellion against their leaders. When the commander found out what his officers were doing, he went to them. Humbly. He read them a testament of the land he wished to build. A land of prosperity. And liberty. And when his eyes grew tired and he could read no more, he apologized for his bad vision, saying he had gone blind in the service of his people. His officers wept.

"Barris, I'll never have that kind of love. Too many are frustrated by my strategies. This army needs discipline, and I'll do whatever it takes to achieve that."

Barris leaned back and took an extra gulp of reeba.

"That day you went after the Wolves, Tak and I were watching from the trees," Barris recalled. "You were one against eight, and they had Shalli prisoner. The odds seemed impossible. But you drew out Ar, Logis, and Seeth, killing them suddenly. Then you killed Winso and clubbed Lace, who arrived too late, and killed Carp even as he stood next to Marne. And then you fought Gronar."

Barris laughed. Grey did, too.

"My people have a legend about David and Goliath," Grey said. "Gronar would have crushed me if you and Tak hadn't jumped on his back."

"We took great pride in the retelling," Barris said. "But you killed Gronar, and after you killed Marne, you freed Shalli and held her in your arms. I knew then that whatever you set out to do, you would do. I don't really know who Akeem is, but I know who Ben is."

"Don't stop questioning my decisions, even if I get mad," Grey said. "Sometimes I need your perspective."

"It's as Mordari told me."

"Mordari? When did you meet her?"

"At Karak, while you were awaiting execution. She said that I considered myself reckless, and that you are my balance. But that I was wrong. She said it is you who are reckless, and that I am the balance."

"The Voice of Sherra speaks riddles."

"It wasn't a hard riddle to figure out," Barris said.

* * * * * *

In the third year of the war, Grey brought Cincinnati to a slow walk, emerging from the trees with caution. There was a ranch, hardly different than the ones he'd studied as a child. He noticed a tall barn made of green-painted boards, a brick bunkhouse, and a wooden corral holding a large herd of sheep-like creatures. There was also a two-story stone house with swamp leaf decorations on the front door.

An Arikhan dwelling, he thought. But where are they? He put a hand on his sidearm and rode forward into the clearing.

"What are you doing on that animal?" a voice asked.

Grey turned toward a water trough. Two men had stood up, each better dressed than the average slave, with checkered long sleeve shirts, canvas trousers, and wide-brim straw hats. They seemed nervous rather than afraid.

"This is a horse. His name is Cincinnati," Grey said.

"What kind of name is that? Why would you name a horse?" the younger man asked, bright-eyed and clean shaven.

"He's a friend. We travel together." Cincinnati shook his head and pawed the ground.

"Who decides where you travel? You or the horse?" he asked.

"Me. Most of the time," Grey answered.

"You had better turn around and travel back. You are not welcome here," the older man warned, tall with a black beard beginning to turn gray. He was speaking Akronian, the accent much like Clagg's. The accent of the salt camps?

"I mean no one harm. This part of the country is unknown to many. I seek to find out more about it," Grey explained.

He noticed two more people emerging from the barn, a young man and a young woman, probably teenagers, similarly dressed as the others. They were not alone. Movement came from behind the corral, two men tending the sheep, and then nearly half a dozen men and women appeared from the bunkhouse. A group of children lingered in the shadows.

"The masters don't like spies," the oldest of the group said, tall with a full head of white hair. "Leave before something bad happens."

"You don't need to be slaves any longer," Grey said. "Have you heard of the Liberation? We've come to free these lands from the hornfeet."

"Did you not hear? The masters don't like spies," a fiery young woman with long black hair said, approaching aggressively. She wore a hunting knife on her belt and appeared ready to use it.

"I hear just fine, thank you. Have you no courage for freedom?" Grey said, growing annoyed.

A noise came from the house, the hinges of the front door creaking. Grey looked over to see a tall Arikhan stepping out on the porch holding a pistol.

"Halt!" Grey commanded, drawing his sidearm.

Suddenly other guns were drawn as well, but not by the Arikhan. The old man was pointing a shotgun. Two young men held bows, their arrows nocked. The young black-haired woman stopped, now holding the steel knife. She looked ready to charge. Grey gave Cincinnati a soft kick, backing him up.

"Hold! Hold!" the Arikhan shouted, running into the courtyard with claws waving. The people stood back but remained alert.

"He is a spy," the black-haired woman said in provincial Arikhan.

"That's no spy. His name is Ben," the Arikhan said, pushing her knife aside. Grey stared for a moment, not sure what to think. The alien was speaking Akronian, and the voice was familiar. With realization came astonishment.

"Nabbatron?" he said.

"It's good to see you again, half-meat," Nabbatron replied.

"What's going on here?" Grey asked.

"Welcome to Lamby. My home."

"Who are these people? Your slaves?" Grey asked.

"There are no slaves here," Nabbatron said, eye-rings flat.

"Though if we were slaves, none could wish for a better master," the young woman said. She was gracefully built, with dark eyes and a determined expression.

"Don't be foolish, Roma," Nabbatron said with an indulgent click of his long gray tongue. He wrapped an affectionate claw around her shoulders until she finally relaxed.

Grey could hardly believe it. Though Nabbatron had mellowed during his last few years as a guard at Karak, he had once been quite brutal. A proponent of the pens. But one would never guess by the admiration in the eyes of the former slaves. Another alien appeared on the porch.

"Who disturbs my cooking?" she asked, shaking flour from her apron. "Ben, is that you?"

"Frontra!" Grey exclaimed.

He vaulted from the saddle and ran toward the house, jumping on the porch. He grabbed her claws and almost gave her a hug before stopping himself.

"Frontra, I've always wondered what happened to you. Were you punished for helping Shalli and I escape?" Grey asked.

"Kanatro never knew," Frontra replied. "It's Amartro who took the blame. Or rather, Amartro's head. The one you left in a steel box."

Frontra's eye-rings rose with gladness at the thought.

"Frontra, what's going on here?" he asked.

She motioned to Nabbatron, who came to her call. The people set aside their weapons and went back to work. All except the young woman. One of the young men took Cincinnati by the halter and led him to the water trough.

Inside the house, Frontra had Grey sit at a long pinewood table. Nabbatron took a stool on the other side. Mauck was served, a heady beer popular among less affluent Arikhan.

"This is our homestead, Ben," Frontra explained, reverting to Arikhan. "We raise sheep for wool, goats for cheese, sell timber, and we have started a glass factory. Like the one you built at Ka'lan. We buy slaves from failing camps and set them free, but we are careful not to attract attention. When strangers come, we pretend to be master and slave."

"You were a follower of Mordari," Grey remembered.

"We are both followers of Mordari," Nabbatron revealed. "You may rightly shake your head in disbelief. I have much to atone for."

"I would say you are doing well," Grey observed.

"Will you share a meal? I know you rarely eat meat, but we have peppered wheat cakes," Frontra offered.

"Are there more homesteads nearby? Homesteads like this?" Grey asked.

"There are many in the western district. All follow Sherra's Path," Frontra said.

"Excuse me for a moment," Grey said, returning to the porch and drawing his communicator.

"Scout," he said.

"Scout," Taba replied.

"Be careful. The slaves here are not slaves. They will defend the hornfeet if you threaten them. Inform the command," Grey ordered.

"It shall be. Scout," Taba confirmed.

Grey went back inside. The interior was paneled in maple, the floors sanded oak. Traditional Arikhan decorations of twisted branches and swamp leaves hung on the walls.

"A company of rangers is riding nearby," he said.

"I will have Roma warn our neighbors," Nabbatron acknowledged.

Her name had barely been mentioned when Roma burst into the house, her dark eyes ready for trouble.

"Are you in danger, father?" Roma asked, looking at Grey and once again holding the knife.

"Come, daughter, I have a task for you," Nabbatron said, taking his young defender outside.

"You must forgive Roma," Frontra said. "She was our first, found orphaned and injured at an abandoned salt camp. Nabbatron and I spent weeks restoring her health."

"I am not surprised you inspire such loyalty. I remember well the love the camps had for you," Grey recalled. "Perhaps Nabbatron is a surprise."

"Nabbatron has always been fierce in his passions. Where he once held contempt for food-creatures, he now struggles to make amends."

"I haven't forgotten when he defended Garn from Kanatro's malice. I will always be grateful for that."

"We were grieved to hear of Shalli," Frontra said. "She was a dear thing. I knew her all of her life."

"She died in the freedom you gave her."

"Freedom is Sherra's gift. Does Hope thrive?"

"What do you know of Hope?"

"Romtra visits often. She hears stories from Lady Livy."

"Hope is four years old now. Perhaps you will meet her one day."

Nabbatron returned, found another cup of mauck, and refilled Grey's cup.

"I almost didn't recognize you. You look like a wolf with that beard," Nabbatron said.

"What do your people think of the Liberation?" Grey asked.

"For a year now there have been tales of forest riders visiting the frontier settlements," Frontra answered. "There are rarely bad incidents. It is said Akeem keeps them in check."

"It's not an easy task," Grey sighed.

"Is it true Akeem has executed some of his own people? Those who harmed the superior race," Nabbatron asked.

"There have been several hangings. When the Liberation moves among lands occupied by the Arikhan, violence must be avoided. Every ranger is warned of this and held to account."

"There are rumors of black-market trade," Nabbatron said. "It has not spread this far west, but villages in the Green Belt seem satisfied. And prosperous."

"That cannot make Zenatro happy," Grey grinned.

"He says nothing. And no one in the cities has ever seen a forest rider. Most do not believe they really exist," Nabbatron related.

"How are you fixed for funds?" Grey asked.

"We manage on our pensions," Frontra said. "It would be better if we could buy more into freedom." She glanced at Nabbatron, who shared the thought. It was a source of anxiety.

"Maybe this will help," Grey said, taking a pouch of fine white diamonds from his belt. He put eight of them on the table.

"These are wonderful stones. Is the forest so rich?" Nabbatron asked.

"I found these at Karak many years ago," Grey answered.

"Baron Gamtro never spoke of gemstones," Nabbatron questioned.

"Perhaps I forgot to mention them."

"Ben, are you Akeem?" Frontra asked.

"Unfortunately."

"Mordari said you have a special destiny," Frontra remembered.

"Did Mordari say I'd be successful?"

"Not in so many words," Frontra admitted.

"What can we do to help?" Nabbatron asked, leaning forward.

"You are already doing much. Do your slaves ..., that is, do your people speak Arikhan?"

"Most of them. Some better than others," Nabbatron responded.

"If your neighbors ask, tell them the Liberation's war is with Zenatro and the Contingent, not settlers who pose no danger. What have the guilds been saying?"

"The guilds are not happy," Nabbatron replied. "Without raw materials, production has stalled. Contracts cannot be filled."

"Under the right conditions, I might be willing to reopen the mines at Karak."

"The guilds would be pleased to hear such," Nabbatron responded, sensing he had something specific in mind.

"Perhaps there can be unofficial talks?" Grey hinted.

"We will inquire," Nabbatron offered.

* * * * * *

The heavy terrain vehicle crossed the suspension bridge over the Rellena River, driving slowly up the valley. It was followed by an armored troop transport. The wooded hills to the left appeared quiet. The passengers saw steep gray cliffs on their right, and a clear blue creek running down the middle.

"I do not like this," Montran said, clicking her tongue as she looked out the window.

"Karak once produced 75% of this planet's Akronium," Pollatro pointed out. "If even a fraction may be renewed, some contracts might still be filled."

"Nothing here inspires hope," Montran said, seeing a ruined barracks and overgrown railroad tracks.

They stopped at a junction near the dilapidated train station. The two-story brick gatehouse was still standing, though the fencing was gone. The rundown headquarters remained on the hill overlooking the compound. A large wooden tool shed lay at the end of the tracks, the walls in a state of collapse. Debris from a battle, fought three years before, littered the grounds. They noticed a large pile of broken slave collars.

Eight Varbaran disembarked from the transport, the female soldiers spreading out in a circle. They wore black armor but carried no energy shields. The weapons were standard small arms. In the first vehicle, Pollatro and Montran waited impatiently with their staff.

"Noise comes from the old slave camp," their security chief said, getting out for a better look. Commander Blytron was glad for her thick wool uniform, the weather turning cold.

"What is it, Blytron? Food-creatures?" Montran asked.

"I cannot tell," Blytron answered.

"Look!" Montran shouted, pointing toward a dozen mounted rangers in the woods.

They saw fearsome food-creatures in green outfits sitting on large beasts. Then a dozen more appeared farther down the valley, watching from several hundred yards away.

"It is a trap," Montran said, lashing her white tongue.

"No, my old comrade Nabbatron said we would be safe. He would not betray me," Pollatro disagreed, bravely getting out of the vehicle. The driver followed, Montran staying behind.

The Varbaran held their positions, the female soldiers awaiting orders. The rangers held their positions. No one drew their weapons. Then another food-creature appeared, coming down the long flagstone steps from the old camp headquarters. She had long black hair and wore a flowing black robe. The woman walked fearlessly past the Arikhan guards, approaching within a few yards of Pollatro.

"Welcome to Karak, my lord," she said, her greeting well-pronounced. "I am Black Hands, First Minister to Akeem. Your guards may stand down. There will be no battles here."

Pollatro motioned for the guards to withdraw. Montran cautiously emerged from the ground runner, looking in every direction.

"I am Pollatro, Master of the Guild of Production. This is Montran, Mistress of the Guild of Transportation. Let me introduce Blytron, captain of our Varbaran, and Diratron, our secretary."

Pollatro looked back, but there was no secretary to be found. Diratron sheepishly emerged from the back seat of the runner, her claws shaking.

"May you speak for the other guilds?" Black Hands asked.

"Our voices are heard," Montran responded, eye-rings lowering.

"We were encouraged to visit Karak. Why is not clear," Pollatro said.

"And yet you venture into great danger?" Black Hands inquired.

"A friend promised it would be worthwhile," Pollatro answered.

"It speaks well to have such friends," Black Hands said.

The middle-aged Arikhan, whose light blue cheeks indicated modest nobility, studied the strange black-haired food-creature. He had seen enough slaves to know that not all of them were mindless primitives, but this woman was something special. A creature who understood power. Black Hands studied the Guild Master just as intensely, sensing more in Pollatro than a greedy bureaucrat. He was a risk taker.

"Let us talk," Black Hands said, leading him up the path toward the old headquarters. The other two Arikhan followed. Then Diratron looked back to see their guards being escorted to the gatehouse. By another Arikhan.

"Who is that? Where are they going?" Diratron asked in alarm.

"That is Frontra. She was once a senior guard at Karak. Your entourage will be treated well," Black Hands replied, continuing up the path.

They stopped on a landing at the top of the steps, finding a telescope mounted on the railing. Much of the valley was visible, as were the towering cliffs on the far side of a blue lake.

"I invite you to inspect Karak," Black Hands said, elegantly waving her hand.

Pollatro stood at the spyglass, studying the former slave camp.

"There is mining activity," Pollatro said, stepping aside for Montran.

"What does this mean?" Montran asked.

Black Hands indicated a wooden crate set next to the path. It was filled with freshly mined stones. She handed Montran a mineral analyzer.

"This is high grade ore. Better than we've seen in years," Montran said.

"There is more," Black Hands said, pointing to a long string of carts lined up next to the old loading docks. "Each of those ore cars are full. Is this something of interest to the superior race?"

"You know it is," Pollatro said, softly lashing his tongue.

"Perhaps we can discuss it over a meal?" Black Hands suggested.

She opened the door. The headquarters that had once served Lord Gamtro was no longer the shambles it had become under Kanatro. The walls were freshly painted and hung with traditional Arikhan artworks. The tables were scrubbed cleaned, the stools well arranged. The smell of succulent meats wafted from the kitchen. A communications globe was active on a side table.

"You impress," Pollatro said, eye-rings raised.

"Baron Gamtro conducted business here for many years. His prosperity was blessed by Sherra," Black Hands lectured.

"What do food-creatures know of Sherra?" Montran asked.

"Sherra freed us from our chains. She has given us food, shelter, clothing. Prosperity. And healthy eggs," Black Hands answered.

Montran showed no reaction at the prospect of healthy eggs, but her young secretary lowered her eye-rings, her breath suddenly short.

Another food-creature appeared, tall and nicely proportioned, with dark brown eyes. His outfit was green wool, but cut differently than the mounted forest riders. The creature's hair was turning gray.

"This is Nole," Black Hands introduced. "Like myself, he was once a slave here at Karak. As the leader of Deer Camp, he supervised the most productive quarries. Now he is trade minister to Akeem."

Pollatro sat at the head of the table with Montran to his right. Black Hands and Nole sat to his left. Diratron sat at the end. Black Hands noticed that all three had mild degrees of blue blood.

"Are you hungry, my lords?" Nole asked, clapping his hands. His Arikhan accent was provincial, typical of commoners such as Frontra and Nabbatron.

Two more food-creatures entered carrying trays of roasted meats and steaming vegetables. The Arikhan responded with twitches of their slender nostrils.

"This is Jarten, once a camp leader here at Karak, and his oldest daughter, Dela. They have been directing the new mining operations," Black Hands introduced.

"Are there many workers?" Pollatro asked.

"There are enough," Black Hands replied.

"Perhaps there will be more workers," Nole said. "If there is a market for silver, copper, nickel, and zinc. And Akronium."

The Arikhan exchanged glances, eye-rings raised.

"You have our attention," Pollatro said.

"If you wish assurance," Montran added, "the guilds may guarantee the slaves will be treated fairly. As they were in Lord Gamtro's time."

"Those days are passed, mistress," Black Hands said, motioning for Dela to bring the communications globe. "Akeem has freed the peoples south of the Varish Expanse, and protects the peoples east of the mountains. In time, his flag will be seen throughout the Green Belt. There will be no more slavery. But there may be opportunity."

"The government will not do business with bandits," Montran said.

"We are not speaking with the government, are we?" Black Hands replied with a sharp click of her tongue.

"Underground markets?" Diratron asked.

"We do not care what kind of markets you call them," Nole said. "If Karak is reopened, our people will mine the raw materials. The guilds will transport the ore to the refineries. The profits will be shared."

Nole activated the globe and pushed it toward Pollatro.

"This is a contract. Written by a scribe," Pollatro realized.

"Is such legal?" Montran asked.

"I sense there is more to this offer," Pollatro said. "What is it we are supposed to discuss with the other guilds?"

"Akeem knows this war has affected production," Black Hands said. "Four years ago, the guilds had contracts for six new cargo ships, but only two were delivered. The contracts will soon lapse. Akeem proposes to fulfil the existing contracts and then build four more."

"Eight vessels?" Pollatro said.

"When the war ends, it will free labor," Nole explained. "Many of the former slaves wish to return home."

Black Hands motioned to Byrne, who brought in a leather case. It was filled with a score of sparkling gemstones.

"The revolt has put a burden on trade," Black Hands stated. "Akeem hopes this loan will help until production resumes. He expects a fair return on his investment."

"You are very generous," Montran said, dipping a claw into the case.

"This news will be welcomed by the guilds," Pollatro agreed. "But Governor Zenatro will not approve. He is not pleased your revolt proceeds so well."

"We are here to discuss production, not politics," Black Hands said.

* * * * * *

To be continued.