Rebels of Akrona

Part Eight

by G. Lawrence

Resolutions on a conquered world

Seven years have passed since the escape from Karak. These are the final chapters of Rebels of Akrona.

* * * * * *

Chapter Thirteen

SCOTTISH BALLADS

Lady Gamtra, Vistra, Livy, and Gretnar climbed up the long marble staircase to the Ashanta Sanctuary at the top of the plateau. Livy's beloved Coltara followed a few steps behind, the loyal caretaker keeping careful watch. The domed structure glistened in the morning sun, the town of Dari below them, the path to Bad Luck Pass beyond.

Asktra met them at the gate, wearing a flowing golden gown, and escorted them to the great hall. The chamber, filled with artworks and relics, had been cleared of pilgrims earlier, allowing the visitors a private audience. Though speaking softly, the sound echoed off the blue granite walls.

"This is a beautiful temple," Gamtra complimented.

"Many have struggled to make it so," Asktra proudly boasted.

Though the sanctuary, and the town, had many leaders, none doubted Asktra was the power behind everything. She swept through the hall like a queen.

"What do the forest creatures think of our presence here?" Vistra asked.

"Some were resentful, at first. But as we have shared our culture, they have shared theirs. It produces a unique energy," Asktra said.

"What does Akeem think?" Gretnar wondered.

"You may ask him yourself. He comes now," Asktra announced.

They saw four young men and women enter, dressed in khaki uniforms, their leather boots clumping on the white stone floor. They wore yellow scarves and red feathers in their floppy campaign hats. The rangers had bows slung over their shoulders but carried no modern weapons. They studied the room, then stood aside.

Their leader appeared, of medium height, entering middle-age, with a closely trimmed gray beard and shaggy brown hair. His khaki wool uniform was worn casually. With him was a young girl, about seven years old, with long blonde hair and mischief in her light blue eyes. She wore a lavender dress with black boots and pink laces.

"Akeem, this is the Lady Gamtra," Asktra introduced.

"Thank you, Priestess. Lady Gamtra and I are acquainted," Grey said, bowing his respect.

Gretnar noticed his Arikhan was well-spoken, though not the accent of the forest people. Nor the provincial accent of the colonies. Akeem's was a military accent, common to soldiers serving on the frontier. He found that very curious.

"It is good to see you again... Akeem," Lady Gamtra said. "You remember my beloved cousin, Livy. And this is my first secretary, Vistra, Countess of Alan' Tay."

"Welcome to Ashanta," Grey greeted, bowing deeply. "And gratifying to see Lady Livy looking so well."

"Thank you, Akeem," Livy said, raising eye-rings. The slender blue alien offered an open claw. Grey brushed it lightly with his hand. Gretnar realized there was a stronger bond between them than he had suspected.

"Allow me to present my daughter, Hope d'Akeem," Grey introduced.

The little girl curtsied and held out a bundle of white flowers to Gamtra.

"We are honored for you to visit my mother's shrine," Hope greeted, her Arikhan spoken with an educated accent. She even added a mild click at the end of the sentence.

Gamtra knelt, studying the precocious child with her large red-brown eyes. Then she dared to reach out. Hope grasped both claws, making strong contact.

"She is beautiful," Gamtra said, speaking with difficulty. "Has your father told you who I am?"

"You are my godmother," Hope answered.

Gamtra's delegation gasped to hear such a declaration. Though a few had heard of Shalli's wish, none knew what to make of it. There was no precedent.

"Yes, I am your godmother," Gamtra acknowledged. "By the strength of Ra'Pall and the prosperity of Sherra, I swear you will have my protection for as long as I live, and the protection of my House for all days to come."

All heard the pronouncement. The confirmation unconditional. Gamtra embraced Hope in the tradition of the forest. Gretnar noted the place and time.

"Who is the skinny male?" Grey questioned.

"This is Gretnar, the playwright," Gamtra revealed.

"I have heard of the Great Gretnar," Grey acknowledged. "Many enjoy your plays, sir, though I find Seventh Moon a bit overwrought."

"My next work will be better," Gretnar promised.

"Father?" Hope asked, looking toward the door.

"Go ahead," Grey permitted.

Hope burst from the group, ran toward the back of the hall where Coltara stood, and jumped into her massive arms. Embarrassed at first, Coltara's cheeks flushed darker. Then she raised Hope up, lashing her long black tongue with joy. Hope hugged the giant Arikhan's neck.

Gretnar stepped back to watch. This meeting was not what he expected. Akeem may be a forest bandit, but he was no wild-eyed barbarian. The creature was grim, yet Gretnar sensed no hostility in him. He had greeted Livy with genuine affection. And the young egg was astonishing. A ray of sunshine.

"High Priestess, this hall is larger than our gathering requires. May we not find a more intimate setting?" Grey requested.

"This way," Asktra agreed, leading them into a private garden.

The delegation found a table and stools waiting for them. Breakfast was being prepared. Sausages and wheat cakes. Gamtra noticed Asktra and Ben lingering behind in deep conversation. There was an obvious connection. Ben was showing her the greatest respect, and Asktra displayed deep admiration.

"Akeem and I must speak," Gamtra said, going toward a small pond. Grey followed, occasionally glancing back toward Hope. They found a bench. When Gamtra sat, Grey knelt next to her. Gamtra motioned for him to join her on the bench. Livy served wine before withdrawing.

"I have feared this day," Gamtra admitted.

"So have I," Grey confessed.

"Do you blame me for Shalli's death?"

"I did, for a time. I know better now."

"Then I am forgiven?" Gamtra asked, eye-rings hesitant.

"You are."

"What of Baron Gamtro?"

"Gamtro was my friend. I hope he still is."

Gamtra drew a breath in relief. Grey noticed her shoulders straighten. The eyes became more animated.

"We have been busy," Gamtra mentioned.

"I did not think our success here was due to my own brilliance. You have done well starving Zenatro's resources."

"You have done well appeasing the guilds. I do not understand how you have prevented Arikhan and humans from engaging in mass slaughter."

"It is not easy, and I fear it may grow more difficult in the coming year."

"You have a plan?"

"I always have a plan."

"Va'ragashant will not yield to food-creature rebels," Gamtra warned. "The day comes that Zenatro will need to strike back."

She waited for him to respond, but Grey remained quiet. He didn't seem overly concerned.

"Asktra is granting Shall' Tree to me for the season," Gamtra continued. "We will talk of what must be done. I would also beg a great favor."

"If I can," Grey replied.

"Let Hope spend the season with me. I will take her hunting. And fishing. We shall make civilized clothing together. And most importantly, I will teach her of the superior race. The more she knows of our culture, the better she will be prepared for an uncertain future."

"You ask much."

"I promise not to pamper her."

"Very well. It will be good for Hope to learn of the stars from her godmother."

Gamtra raised eye-rings in gratitude. A generous gesture from one of her rank.

"My Lord Gamtro said that one day I would see your heart, and I did not believe him. I am glad this day has come."

"Does Gamtro finally command a fleet as he always wanted?"

"He stands second-in-command of the 5th Fleet, with a fine ship."

"Does his fleet patrol the Laros Stargate?"

"No, they patrol the far-side of the western ring," Gamtra said, knowing well why he asked.

"I wish him good fortune."

"What would you have me say, or not say, to Hope about Shalli? And Sherra?" Gamtra asked.

"Speak your heart," Grey answered.

They returned to Asktra's table where Grey saw Black Hands had arrived. She was deep in conversation with Vistra and Livy. As females of power in worlds dominated by males, they had much in common.

"Look at that," Gamtra whispered, pointing a claw.

In the corner, Grey saw Gretnar sitting on a stool as Hope chattered away, her arms waving and small foot occasionally stomping the floor. The children Gretnar had seen at Karak were timid around the Arikhan. There was nothing timid about Akeem's daughter.

"Father, this is Gretnar. The playwriter," Hope said. "He wrote Shalli of Spring and Final Traces."

"And Dotting's Trog," Grey added.

"Have all food-creatures read my plays?" Gretnar asked.

"Do not call me food-creature. Or should I call you hornfeet?" Hope responded, hands on her hips. Her big blue eyes stared in defiance, ready for a fight.

"Daughter, mind your manners," Grey warned.

"Yes, father," she said, taking a step back.

"Do not lecture the egg on my behalf. She is delightful," Gretnar said, eye-rings fully raised. "I see now why Asktra called me naïve."

"You have known other humans. You spent two seasons with Alicia," Vistra reminded.

"Alicia?" Hope asked.

"Come, let me tell you of Alicia," Gretnar said, drawing Hope to the stool next to him.

"Be cautious," Gamtra hedged, looking toward Grey for his reaction.

"Alicia is a young woman, just a few orbits older than you are when she first arrived on Arikhan," Gretnar explained. "When Lady Gamtra and I wanted a real food-- a human in our play, Alicia was entrusted to us by followers of Mordari. Alicia played Shalli in every production for four seasons, traveling to many cities and great estates. She is very bright. And fond of expensive clothing."

"Is Alicia's someone's property?" Grey asked.

"Technically, she was my property," Gamtra said.

"Was?" Grey asked with a frown.

"Alicia has been admitted to the Theater Guild," Gretnar explained. "She is not a citizen, exactly, but she enjoys their privileges and protection."

"What if someone hurts her? Or tries to confiscate her?" Grey questioned.

Gamtra and Gretnar exchanged a mystified glance.

"That is not possible," Gretnar replied.

"In what manner is it not possible?" Grey asked.

"Perhaps you do not know our culture so well as you believe?" Gretnar challenged, eye-rings bent.

"Enlighten me," Grey requested.

"Alicia is accepted by a Guild," Gamtra said, as if the answer was self-explanatory.

"To harm her now is unthinkable," Gretnar added, still shocked by the implication. "Such a thing does not happen. Not on a civilized world such as ours."

"It is true, father," Hope said, tugging his sleeve. "Yassatro told me of this. In the Arikhan culture, guild laws are sacred."

"Where is she now?" Grey inquired, clearly not pleased with the situation.

"Alicia still resides on Arikhan," Gamtra said. "I urged her to rejoin Frontra at Lamby, but she refuses."

Livy, Vistra, and Black Hands came to join them, having heard parts of the conversation.

"Please understand, Akeem," Livy said. "Alicia serves a great cause. She feels blessed to be at the very heart of Sherra's revolution. None who meet her believe the slanders of the Retrenchment. It is true her activities are controversial, but she has many friends among our people."

"Devoted friends," Vistra emphasized with bent eye-rings.

"She has appeared in several productions," Livy mentioned. "Gossips follow her appearances at the nightclubs. Great houses invite her to banquets and remark on her excellent table manners."

"Alicia now stars in a new theatre. The Outlands. Produced by my greatest rival," Gretnar complained. "She owns an estate on Park Hill. With servants. Her wardrobe--"

"Sherra's mercy, Gretnar," Gamtra complained, raising a claw to silence him. "That story isn't even true. The guild owns Park Hill, Alicia merely rents it."

Grey remained dissatisfied, but Black Hands drew him aside, whispering. He nodded and let his shoulders relax. Gamtra noticed the strength of their relationship. They were a formidable pair.

"You are scheduled to visit Shalli's Tomb this morning, and you still need to see the town," Grey invited. "Hope, will you be their guide?"

"I would be honored, father," Hope agreed, offering another curtsy.

* * * * * *

The journey to Shalli's Tomb, four kilometers from Dari up a narrow canyon, left many elders tired. Accompanied by Hope and Garn, the visitors were impressed by the forest youngsters. Gamtra was amazed at the education Hope was receiving, apparently from a yarbel ky of much experience. Gretnar was impressed by Garn's grasp of the Arikhan language.

The tomb was buried under a rockslide near the top of Bad Luck Pass. A moonstone obelisk marked the spot. Plaques told the story of the desperate flight from Karak, the hardships Shalli suffered, and her pleas to Sherra to protect her egg. Offerings filled niches in the granite walls beseeching Shalli's intervention. Few words were spoken.

Upon returning to Dari, there was a final rite to perform as the sun set. To honor their guests, Asktra staged an observance in the theater at the foot of the cliffs. Arikhan and forest dwellers gathered to celebrate.

"I did not realize your people sing so often," Gretnar said, sitting on a blanket between Hope and Garn. Gamtra sat on a stool behind them next to Livy and Vistra. Baroness Darlatra and Black Hands led the ceremonies.

"We heard many songs at Karak," Vistra remembered. "In the tavern. Often while drinking mauck. I did not know all the words, but the way the males chirped, perhaps that is for the best."

"There will be no ribald songs here," Asktra insisted, lashing her tongue in disapproval. "Tonight, we rejoice and remember."

"Where is Akeem?" Gretnar asked.

"He and Barris are on the mountain," Garn said, pointing up to a ledge. "Barris plays an instrument called a reed. Akeem has been teaching him a new ballad."

"Will we be allowed to hear it?" Livy said.

"He did not say. I think the song makes him sad," Garn replied.

The arena sat five hundred guests. Servers provided food and ale. The Arikhan liked their stools. The humans preferred folding chairs or sat on blankets. Arikhan mummers sang ancient choruses. Sacred oils were lit, the tiny flames flaring in different colors. Then a group of forest people sang a traditional Akronian hymn, the voices rising in harmony. After Baroness Darlatra gave a sermon thanking Sherra, a combined group of Arikhan and forest dwellers chanted a blessing. Fireworks were launched into the dark sky.

"Garn? Hope?" a shy voice called.

They turned to find a modestly dressed female Arikhan coming toward them, eye-rings raised. She was young, slender, and excited.

"Greetings, Shevaratron," Garn said. "Gretnar, this is Shevaratron, mate of Cordaris, once commander of the Contingent."

"When my mate left the Contingent, he became Mayor of Lamby Township," Shevaratron proudly said. "Hope, I have wonderful news! My egg is clear. It will thrive."

"I knew it would," Hope said, jumping up to brush her claws.

"It is not just Shalli's blessing. It is yours, too. You took me to the shrine. You spoke to your mother on my behalf," Shevaratron insisted. "Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you."

"It is Sherra's Will," Hope replied.

"Hope, will you be godmother to my hatchling?" Shevaratron requested.

Many who were listening gasped. None had ever heard of a food-creature being named sacred spirit to an Arikhan. Few knew what to make of it.

"Is it truly what you wish?" Hope replied.

"It is."

"I will meet with the High Priestess to seek her counsel," Hope promised. "If Asktra approves, I will happily be your egg's godmother. And thank you for the honor."

"Cordaris will be so pleased. He holds Akeem's friendship in high regard," Shevaratron said.

"Father will share in your happiness," Hope assured her.

After Shevaratron ran off, Gretnar drew Hope close to his side.

"Are you a goddess?" Gretnar asked.

"No, Great Gretnar, I am not a goddess," Hope replied. "Merely a princess."

"This is indeed a land of prophecy," Gretnar mused.

"You were quiet at my mother's grave," Hope questioned. "Were you thinking of a new theatre?"

"No, little tarak," Gretnar replied. "Your mother's resting place is great with reverence. I would not see unbelievers mock her memory."

"Do you grow fond of food-creatures?" Asktra asked with a sarcastic click of her tongue.

Gretnar turned on the Countess, eye-rings flared. Asktra was startled. Gretnar quickly regained composure, lowering eye-rings in apology.

"I am not a follower of Mordari, my lady," Gretnar said. "There is no place in my world for such mysticism. Yet even the blind may see Sherra's Light in these creatures."

Gretnar reached to take Hope's hand, clutching with affection.

"Different paths may lead to the same destination," Gamtra observed. "This has been a long day. Are the festivities concluded?"

"There may be something else," Black Hands said, nodding to Asktra.

"Lower the lighting," the priestess ordered.

Before anyone quite understood, the theater darkened. The larger moon hovered above the eastern horizon. Stars decorated the sky. And then there was a bright light. A torch on a ledge high above the arena. A bonfire appeared.

"Is this a new ritual?" Gretnar asked.

"I do not know," Asktra replied.

A new sound came from the mountain, reflected by the cliffs. It was a piper playing an unfamiliar tune. Not quite a dirge, but mournful.

"Masters of the superior race, people of the forest, we offer a special tribute," Black Hands announced. "Some of the words you may recognize. Some will sound strange. It is an ancient ballad come to us from faraway. From a land that knew great glory, and great sorrow."

"Akeem thought you would find this interesting," Garn whispered to Gretnar.

The music from the cliff intensified, the mountain amplifying the effect. The melody could be heard throughout the town. Garn quietly translated:

"By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes

Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond

For me and my true love will never meet again

On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond."

"That is Akeem's voice," Livy said, sounding surprised.

Gretnar had not recognized him, though now it seemed obvious. The song proved pensive, as Garn had predicted. Not at all what he expected from the terse war leader he had met in the sanctuary that morning.

"O ye'll take the high road and I'll take the low

And I'll be in Scotland afore ye

For me and my true love will never meet again

On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond

It was there that we parted in yon shady glen

On the steep, steep sides o' Ben Lomond

Where in purple the hue, the Highland hills we view

And the moon comin' out in the gloamin'

"Scotland is a province on Akeem's homeworld," Garn explained as the piper played a long refrain. "Loch Lomond is--"

"Enough, Garn," Gretnar said, holding up a claw. "One does not need words to feel Akeem's heart."

Gretnar looked around, seeing the rapt faces of his people. And the forest people. Many were crying. As an artist, he could not dismiss the power of the performance.

"The wee bird may sing and the wildflowers spring

And in sunshine the waters are sleeping:

The broken heart will ken nae second spring again

And the world knows not how we're grieving

O ye'll take the high road and I'll take the low

And I'll be in Scotland afore ye

For me and my true love will never meet again

On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond."

The music stopped. The bonfire that had burned so brightly was slowly extinguished. The amphitheater lights came back on.

"Remarkable," Asktra said. "I did not understand all the words, but I felt Shalli's spirit."

Gamtra glanced at Hope, seeing tears in the youngster's eyes. She held out her arms, allowing Hope to climb in her lap.

"Sometimes father gets so sad," Hope said, snuggling close.

"Your father pays tribute for one lost, dearest egg, but lives in his love for you," Gamtra consoled, wiping the tears with her ruffled sleeve.

"Garn, may you record those lyrics for me?" Gretnar said, humming the melody. "I will take it back to Arikhan. There are mummers who take great pride in such ballads."

"I will transmit them to your globe," Garn agreed, having expected the request.

Atop the ledge, Grey sat on a rock drinking reeba from a goatskin. The flickering lights of the village lay below them. The patrons in the arena were beginning to disperse.

"Don't drink too much. We still need to climb down from this bird's nest," Barris warned.

"It went well," Grey said, sounding relieved.

"They'll call it Shalli's song, but I felt Tak in it, too."

"On my world, the song belongs to all our lost loves. It has for hundreds of years."

"You speak little of your homeworld," Barris hinted.

"It's not so different than this world. People like food, and songs, and family. And when they have no one else to fight, they fight each other."

* * * * * *

"You are brave," Taba said to the lanky Arikhan riding alongside him.

"I am an artist," Gretnar replied, holding onto the saddle.

"How did you learn to ride a horse?" Leena asked.

"Lady Gamtra explained this strange way to travel. I rented a lingra to practice. Lingra aren't as large as her'ret, but move faster," Gretnar explained. "They are also cleaner."

"You were offered a ride in the shaba'kar," Taba said.

"No, my next play must be truth. Always truth. My audience must see the Akrona creatures as you truly are," Gretnar insisted.

Behind them were twenty mounted rangers dressed in forest green. A dozen more horses carried supplies and trade goods.

"Livy says you have never been on a world such as ours," Leena inquired.

Gretnar glanced down at the small female riding next to him. Unlike Taba, her Arikhan was clearly spoken. She resembled Alicia, with long hair flowing gracefully over her shoulders. Though Alicia had become a city girl while Leena was one with the forest.

"There is still wilderness on Arikhan, but few dangerous animals," Gretnar replied.

A few minutes later, Garn rode up the trail on his spirited gray mare.

"How do you fare, Gretnar? Need a pillow?" Garn asked.

Gretnar noticed his pronunciation was better than the tree dwellers. Better than many Arikhan.

"I have survived a week in this endless forest. Would you survive a week in civilization?" Gretnar replied with wide eye-rings.

"Someday I'd like to find out," Garn said, riding on.

They reached Saramont the next morning, much of the village still hiding under the trees but now with farms spreading across the river. The steep cliffs were pocked with tunnels and burrows. A score of mercantile stalls traded under green canopies. Gretnar looked to the top of a mountain, seeing a watchtower. And at least one artillery battery.

"The Contingent does not raid your settlements?" Gretnar asked.

"Not anymore," Leena replied.

Gretnar clicked his tongue, the fine webbing on the back of his head rising just a touch. Livy had mentioned the decreased raiding in recent years but had not said why. He did not realize it was because the forest people could defend themselves.

"Your people know the superior race at Karak, and Dari, and the Green Belt settlements. Have any of your people seen the superior race this far east before?" Gretnar asked.

"We see a few hornfeet from time to time," Black Hands replied, suddenly appearing from under a large oak. She smiled. Gretnar knew she was teasing him.

"I am grateful for this invitation, Lady Minister," Gretnar said.

"Saramont is honored to host such an eminent author," Black Hands greeted, returning the bow. "The younglings plan a performance of Capatra in your honor."

"Such a classic performed by... your people, will cause much speculation," Gretnar said, unsure if she was being serious.

"We needed to change a few words," Black Hands conceded. "Frans, please take Gretnar's horse and give her a good brushing. Garn and Leena, Pie requires your reports. She awaits you in the observatory."

Taba and his troop left for the stables, the youngsters going in the opposite direction.

"We have rooms prepared in the guest burrow. Do you require rest, or would you like a tour of Saramont?" Black Hands asked.

"I have come many star systems to see this place," Gretnar said, studying the village with a sense of awe.

"The Chronicles speak of Karak, not Saramont."

"After the death of Shalli, the child Hope was carried through frozen wilderness to a place of safety, and there found renewed life," Gretnar said, quoting the Fifth Chronicle. "A story is told that Sherra guided her path to sanctuary. I am proud to be the first Arikhan to see this place."

He glanced around, surprised at so much activity. Under the thickest trees were craftsmen trading goods. Young women tending babies. A pack of girls learning archery. Boys were fishing along the riverbank. None were paying him special attention.

"I am afraid you are not the first," Black Hands indulged, directing Gretnar's attention to a sturdy limestone building nestled under a willow tree. Through the drooping branches, he saw a large shuffling figure. A moment later, it emerged.

"Who is that? A prisoner?" Gretnar asked.

"That is Saramont's yarbel ky," Black Hands answered.

Gretnar watched as the portly Arikhan strolled up from the river, nodding at passersby. Most returned the greeting. He was dressed in a long black robe, a bright red tunic, gray pants, and leather shoes. A straw hat protected his eyes from the sun. There was a medical satchel slung under his arm.

Not far from the food carts, a young woman approached the yarbel ky, requesting his attention. No longer young, the Arikhan sat on a bench, and then to Gretnar's utter astonishment, was handed a baby. As if accustomed to such a thing, the Arikhan put a claw to the baby's forehead, looked down its mouth, studied the eyes, and then took a small bottle of powder from his pocket. Using the barest tip of his short claw, the powder was rubbed inside the baby's cheeks.

The mother took the baby back, bowed in thanks, and left with a relieved smile. Black Hands led Gretnar down the hill for a meeting.

"Yassatro, we have a visitor," Black Hands introduced. "This is Gretnar. He has come all the way from Arikhan to write a play."

"I saw Seventh Moon on my last visit to Dari. The mummers here are better," Yassatro said.

"Mummers? Here?"

Yassatro pointed to the young female archers.

"They perform the play in Akronian, but sing the verses in Arikhan," Yassatro said. "Many globe productions are not as good."

"How have you come to be here? So far from--anywhere?" Gretnar asked.

"My shaba'kar crashed."

When Yassatro did not elaborate, Gretnar did not press him.

"Yarbel ky, I have important news," Black Hands said. "With so many Arikhan living at Karak, they have requested another doctor. Raynaar will provide transportation. Or, if you desire, you may return to Va'ragashant."

Yassatro stepped back, eye-rings bent, tongue clicking.

"Am I ordered?" he asked.

"Not by me."

"Akeem?"

"Akeem makes no demands upon you," Black Hands said.

"Then I will stay here," Yassatro announced.

"Hold, I remember you now," Gretnar said. "You were yarbel ky of An'cor, attacked by food-creatures five years ago. All think you are dead."

"I am not dead."

"Brother, you no longer need be captive. Lady Livy has great influence with Akeem. See will see you free."

A group of children ran up, mostly four- and five-year-olds. They laughed and tugged at Yassatro's robe. He reached in his pocket to give them sweet roots.

"Yarbel ky, let's play skull & bones," one youngster said in Arikhan.

"Teach us the Mi'Nera verses again," a little girl asked.

"I will come," Yassatro said, reaching out his claws to take their hands.

"The young eggs are not afraid," Gretnar said, eye-rings wide.

"Brother, I am not captive," Yassatro said, clicking his tongue with impatience. "Once I was yarbel ky of An'cor. I treated the superior race, and I treated the slaves. At the end of my service, I was turned out. Left to decay on half pension. Then I was rescued by Akeem. Given a new life in this glorious wilderness. And now I am home."

Yassatro shuffled away, surrounded by giggling children. The young lady archers paused their practice to join them, singing a verse from Gretnar's play. Yassatro waved a claw in the air, making them all laugh.

"Remarkable," Gretnar whispered. "I think the yarbel ky will center my new play."

"He would be more interesting than an engineer," Black Hands said.

"A what?"

Black Hands pointed up toward the cave housing the power plant. A young Arikhan stood on the ledge speaking with Raynaar.

"That is Valas," Black Hands said. "He manages the electrical generators, which now produce five times the power they once did. Last year, he met a young Arikhan on a trip to Karak and they mated. Though offered freedom, they chose to return to Saramont. Valas and Frelatron are expecting an egg in the spring. The village has built an incubator for them."

"This is getting complicated," Gretnar said, scratching his jaw.

"You find this perplexing, my lord?"

"I am no one's lord. I am an artist. And yes, I find it perplexing. This Valas and his mate live here of their own free will?"

"Can you not guess why?"

"Advise me."

"In Arikhan society, Valas and Frelatron are mere commoners. Lowborn castoffs to the remotest region of your empire. In Saramont, they are much with honor. Valas is chief engineer, respected for his craft. Frelatron investigates native plants, seeking cures for diseases. Both teach their skills, and the Arikhan language. They are not commoners among the forest people, they are leaders."

"But they are alone here."

"Yassatro and Valas are not alone. Traders from Tyradon make regular visits. Livy and Coltara stayed in Saramont for a season when there was an outbreak of green fever, saving many lives. Pollatro has plans for an academy to train workers. Akeem has encouraged the Finance Guild to open an office in Saramont that banking services may be provided."

"Lady Livy warned me that I would find Akrona puzzling, but this is beyond understanding."

"Livy is very wise for such a youngster. And extremely brave."

"Do you know her well?"

"Livy and I have been close friends for many orbits. If my people are ever allowed to travel the Empire, she has invited me to stay at Kall 'Nook."

Gretnar walked down the slope toward the river, seeing the boats. Farms were filling the prairie. Logging was taking place in the far hills. He noticed new construction along a central artery.

"Those buildings are made of stone," Gretnar said in surprise. "Wide windows. Sundecks. Are they using Arikhan architecture?"

"The forest people are not shy about adapting new technologies," Black Hands said.

"Is such common?"

"We in the slave camps learned new ways when Ben and Lord Gamtro reorganized the mines. Now Saramont changes as well. Arikhan medicines treat the sick. Globes teach the young. Energy weapons keep the people safe."

"Though the pens outside Va'ragashant are now closed by order of the guilds, I have seen what they once were. How do your people not thirst for revenge?"

"Do not be mistaken. A great many of my people still hate your people. I think they always will. That is why Akeem has decreed there be no retribution. His will has allowed forest people and Arikhan to meet each other. Perhaps, in time, there will be less hate."

"What do you know of Akeem? Lady Gamtra says little."

"Akeem has known every joy, and every sorrow. His wisdom comes from hard experience. I do not know if he has mystical powers, but he always knows what his enemies will do next."

"None can see the future. Not even the superior race," Gretnar said.

"Perhaps he is blessed by Sherra," Black Hands suggested.

* * * * * *

Chapter Fourteen

BLOOD IN THE GRASS

It was the largest crowd outside of an Arikhan city in years, and by far the largest ever on the Western Peninsula. Bureaucrats, industrialists, ranchers, and even food-creatures.

"This railroad is a marvelous achievement," Governor Zenatro praised, waddling from the new train station. "Built in record time, and I still do not know how you discovered the financing."

"Investors," Cordaris smugly answered, dressed in a blue tunic with three swamp leaves of service. "Many believe in the promise of these untapped lands."

"I see your mate thrives," Zenatro observed.

"Indeed she does," Cordaris confirmed.

Cordaris's young wife stood in a crowd showing off her new daughter, the baby Arikhan's big black eyes and shining brown skin attracting plenty of attention.

"The hatchling looks strong and healthy," a visitor from Va'ragashant observed. "What is her name?"

"Hopeatron," Shevaratron proudly revealed, causing many to raise eye-rings.

Around them was a freshly constructed town made of brick, oak, and limestone: mercantiles, warehouses, taverns, and a hotel. A shrine to the Goddess Mi'Nera had been erected in the square, blessing Far Travelers. The mood was festive.

"Your slaves wander too freely," Bractro complained, leading Zenatro's security detail.

"The slaves do not stray. They are fed and given shelter," Nabbatron replied.

"They serve well and so they are treated well," Frontra elaborated.

"You are too generous," Zenatro maintained.

"We abide in prosperity," Nabbatron answered. "No less is expected from the superior race."

Several guild leaders appeared, including Pollatro and Montran. Each traveled with a finely attired entourage. Zenatro noticed two aristocrats as well, Livy and Vistra, observing from a balcony. Their presence was unsettling.

"Refreshments!" Zenatro demanded.

A young female food-creature approached with a fine Lafarian wine. She had long black hair, dark eyes, a tight leather outfit, and a feisty expression. Someone had called her Roma. Zenatro took the goblet and waved the servant away. A stage had been erected on the fairgrounds for the ceremony. Music was played as mummers chanted popular choruses.

Secretly watching from a loft a hundred yards away were two former slaves of Karak. They were dressed in rough cottons and brown woolen coats, being careful not to attract attention.

"I see Bractro," Barris said, using field glasses.

"Interesting that Kanatro isn't here," Grey mentioned. "With his operations at Drakon in disarray, Zenatro may think him an embarrassment."

"We don't have to kill both of them at the same time," Barris mentioned.

"It would embarrass Nabbatron if we murder one of his guests."

"I would like to murder all of them."

"You're not alone in that," Grey conceded.

"But Akeem won't permit it, will he?"

"Would you kill Nabbatron? Or Livy? Would you kill Frontra?"

"They aren't our enemies," Barris protested.

"What if someone thinks they are?"

"The people know who our friends are."

"No, Barris. They don't," Grey disagreed.

When Grey climbed down the ladder to the ground floor of the barn, Roma appeared with the Lafarian wine. She was no longer the angry teenager Grey had met at Lamby four years before, though she still had long black hair and a lithe figure. Her leather dress hugged all the right curves, the top seductively unbuttoned.

"Refreshments, Ake--"

"Ben," Grey quickly interrupted.

"It's a good wine," Roma said, standing close.

"If it's good enough for Zenatro, it's good enough for me," Grey agreed, taking a sip.

"Am I good enough for you?" Roma asked, pressing against him.

"Didn't you want to stab me once?"

"That was many years ago. Now I have something else in mind," she flirted.

"We'll see. After the guests leave," Grey answered.

Roma returned to the ceremonies with a bounce in her step. Barris came down the ladder, having overheard from the loft.

"You attract women like moths," Barris said. "And you don't chase them away like you once did."

"Even Akeem has his human moments," Grey confessed, for he was not a monk.

"A rail line was built from Tyradon to Dari. There might be a track extension all the way to Owlmont. Now there's a new train here. Why are we building trains instead of conquering their cities?"

"We're not building the trains. The Arikhan build the trains."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't remember you complaining when Taramont began manufacturing rifles using Arikhan molds."

"There's nothing wrong with stealing their technology," Barris said.

"I didn't steal their technology. I bought it," Grey corrected.

There was a burst of noise from the fairgrounds. Drums and cymbals. Grey and Barris saw crowds gathering around the stage where Zenatro was being introduced. The Governor was wearing a fancy gold tunic, his staff dressed in silver. The train was visible behind him, a powerful hydrogen engine with passenger cars and flatbeds for freight. It was decorated with red ribbons.

"Citizens of the Western Peninsula," Zenatro said, his voice loud and pompous. "But a few years ago, this region was a wilderness. Then former Varbaran, and former Varbatro, carved a settlement from trees and stone. Now they produce food, timber, cotton, wool, and minerals. Their prosperity is Sherra's Will, and much earned."

"Blessed be the Will of Sherra," the audience of two thousand chanted. The crowd was restless, formally dressed and eager.

"We have seen troubled times since food-creature bandits began raiding our lands and stealing our property, but those days will soon pass," Zenatro continued. "I have assurances this world will soon find the support it has long needed, and it will be my privilege to guide Akrona back to our traditions. And in our traditions, there will be prosperity for all.

"This noble railroad we inaugurate today is one of many improvements my government has taken to strengthen commerce. Soon air travel to the provinces will be restored. False religions will be suppressed. Advancement given to those deserving. Worry not about the future, it is secure."

Zenatro raised his claws to receive acknowledgement, though the reaction was tepid.

"Free food!" Zenatro shouted, going to a massive tent where succulent dishes were being served.

"I don't like the sound of that," Grey mumbled, watching from the back of the crowd.

"He speaks in riddles," Barris said.

"He's boasting. Prematurely, I hope," Grey speculated.

They retreated to the storage room of a general store. Though slaves were not allowed to own property, some operated shops under the authority of a master. Barris found a chair at the table while Grey poured two cups of reeba. They were soon joined by Nabbatron. His camp guard outfits were gone forever. He looked like a farmer, with long jeans and a straw hat.

"Zenatro seeks mischief," Nabbatron said, finding a cup for himself and a stool.

"His traditional ways will not be good for your food-creatures," Grey teasingly warned.

"My people," Nabbatron corrected, flattening eye-rings. "What did Zenatro mean?"

"I don't know," Grey admitted.

"I thought you always know everything," Nabbatron said.

"Maybe I'm getting old," Grey replied.

"Zenatro must expect reinforcements of some kind. We should find out what," Barris pressed.

"That might be hard," an intruder warned, suddenly entering the room. It was Cordaris, his Akronian rough but understandable.

"This is not a conversation for the Contingent," Barris objected.

"My Contingent days are passed," Cordaris stressed. "Now I'm Mayor of Lamby Township, and what hurts my people hurts me."

"Hurts your people or what hurts my people?" Barris asked.

"Be careful of your words, Barris," Cordaris chastised. "My hatchling's godmother is the daughter of Akeem, which makes her family. My species takes family to heart just as yours does."

Barris realized the Arikhan was telling the truth. It surprised him.

"Have you nothing better than reeba?" Cordaris inquired.

"This is just a poor food-creature store," Nabbatron explained.

"Then it's good I brought Tralling Ale," Cordaris offered, producing a jug.

"Is that not a trifle expensive for a pensioner?" Grey inquired.

"We may thank Zenatro. He brought ten jugs for the celebration, so we are celebrating," Cordaris replied, filling their cups.

"What are we celebrating?" Barris asked.

"Whatever plan Ben has for us," Cordaris answered.

"Why does everyone think I always have a plan?" Grey asked.

"Because you always do," Nabbatron said. "You do have a plan, don't you?"

"Sort of," Grey confessed.

"I am glad to hear that," another voice said, speaking cultured Arikhan. They looked to see Pollatro enter the cluttered room. Grey noticed the Minister of Production was growing rounder in the waist, evidence of his prosperity.

"What brings the guild leader to this humble place?" Nabbatron asked, fetching a stool for him.

"I come to hear Akeem's plan," Pollatro replied.

"Should a member of the Arikhan nobility be consorting with commoners and food-creatures?" Grey asked.

"I have sat in worse company," Pollatro answered.

"Has Zenatro revealed his plans to the guilds?" Cordaris inquired.

"No. But all know he is a greedy fool. Whatever scheme he has concocted will disrupt production," Pollatro regretted.

"That might be unavoidable," Grey said.

"Akeem, you have been a friend to the guilds for many years. Now we will prove our worth," Pollatro promised.

"Thank you. I was hoping not to challenge Zenatro's government for two more years. Now I fear my timetables need adjustment," Grey said.

"In what manner?" Nabbatron asked.

"That depends what resources Zenatro has discovered," Grey responded.

"If the Liberation is preparing to march on Va'ragashant, the home guards will wish to march with you," Cordaris said.

"That would make me proud, my friend, but I'll not have Arikhan fighting Arikhan. When the time comes, I'll call upon the home guards for support, but only to protect the provinces."

"Ben is wise," Nabbatron agreed. "The deliverance of this world should not be tainted with accusations of treachery."

"What should I tell our allies?" Pollatro asked.

"Only that I wish to minimize casualties," Grey replied. "There should be no panic. I will not permit a massacre."

"What if your troops get out of control?" Pollatro questioned.

"Then I will hang the ringleaders. Like I've done a dozen times before," Grey confirmed with a dark frown.

The room fell quiet.

"Ben?" Roma whispered, peeking through the door before entering.

"Akeem," Pollatro corrected.

"I'm not supposed to call him Akeem where outsiders might overhear," Roma replied, helping herself to the ale.

Pollatro was surprised the young female had been allowed admittance. He looked to Grey, and then to Nabbatron. No one was asking her to leave.

"If you manage to overthrow Zenatro, the Supreme Council will seek to intervene," Cordaris warned. "They may appoint someone more capable. The Council of Warriors might send troops."

"That's a possibility," Grey acknowledged.

"Ben, we don't have the power to repel an invasion. Even I know that," Barris said.

"Let's address one problem at a time," Grey urged.

"Ben has something in mind," Cordaris realized.

"But we will not speak of it here," Nabbatron decided. "I know Ben. I've known him for fourteen orbits, and I know that look. We will do our jobs, and let Ben do his."

"Thank you, Nabbatron. I did not wish to appear distrustful," Grey said.

"We understand the need for secrecy," Cordaris agreed.

"I hear quite a celebration going on. Barris and I have work to do, but the rest of you should enjoy the festivities. This railroad is a great achievement, after all. You have much to be proud of."

"What about our night together?" Roma asked.

"On my next visit, little ferret, we'll spend a whole day together," Grey promised.

"Only a day?" Roma said, standing very close.

"Roma, I'm twice your age," Grey cautioned.

"I don't want to marry you, Ben. I just want to--"

"Daughter, be not so bold," Nabbatron interrupted.

"Sorry, father," Roma said, lowering her gaze and blushing.

Now Pollatro understood the female's presence better. For some reason, he was surprised. Akeem always seemed above such frailties.

"My friends, without saying too much, let me thank you," Grey offered, speaking his best Arikhan. "We share this planet. Many of my people do not want that. Many of your people find it uncomfortable. No one says creating a new world is easy, or that it should be. I will do my best."

"You are the Sword of Sherra," Cordaris pronounced. "Everyone in this room believes in your destiny."

"Except me," Grey replied.

* * * * * *

"This is your plan?" Barris asked.

"It's a great plan," Grey said.

"It's a really stupid plan."

"That's an exaggeration."

They were pushing a beverage cart toward the makeshift airfield not far from Lamby Station. The area was mostly dirt, the trees cutback to make room for landing small transports.

"They have a sho'kara," Barris said in surprise.

"Zenatro reluctantly tolerated the long train ride west. Livy told me he didn't want to spend an entire day on bumpy tracks going home."

"I've never seen a sho'kara up close."

"On my homeworld, we call them civilian aircraft. In-flight meals. Drinks. Comfortable seating. There are only a few on Akrona, either owned by the government or the guilds. Asktra owns one, but she leaves it in Va'ragashant. She's afraid it will be shot down by accident."

"Will this one be shot down by accident?" Barris asked.

"Hopefully not."

The evening had turned into an early morning. The first glimmer of sunlight appeared over the eastern foothills. They approached the aircraft, similar in size and shape to a shaba'kar but without the turret gun. It rested on four landing struts, each nestled next to a maneuverable jet engine. There was a pilot doing pre-flight inspection. Two guards loitered at the edge of the field.

"Good day, master," Grey said in broken Arikhan. "We are ordered to bring refreshments for the flight."

"Load them," the pilot said, paying little attention.

They parked the cart near the back of the craft, loading containers through the rear cargo hatch. When the pilot looked around a few minutes later, the food-creatures had vanished.

Late in the morning, Zenatro arrived with his entourage. Their formal outfits from the day before had been exchanged for traveling clothes. Loose brown woolens and comfortable leather boots. Two guards in dark green uniforms followed carrying Zenatro's luggage. Livy appeared in a flowing sapphire tunic, followed by her faithful Coltara.

"Such a horrible place," Pharlatro said. "The bath water is barely warm."

The aide-de-camp was tall and thin, his accent educated, though the barest trace of blue in his cheeks marked him among the lower orders.

"It is not so bad," Bynatro said, Livy's aristocratic cousin still lean and youthful.

"Lamby shows no respect for tradition," Pharlatro complained. "They pay few fiefs, and the slaves roam freely. Maybe the forest bandits will seize the place if we offer them a bribe?"

"Maybe they already have," Bynatro suggested.

"By this time next orbit, the forest bandits will be destroyed, and Akeem's corpse will hang by its heels in Colonial Square," Zenatro swore.

"You have been saying that for quite some time, my lord," Livy suggested, going up the short ramp into the passenger compartment.

"This time is different," Bractro said, the hulking brute wearing a green military uniform without any swamp leaves. For he had not earned any.

"You have come a long way in a short period," Bynatro remarked. "From a guard at Karak to leader of Governor Zenatro's personal security. In what respect do you believe something will change?"

"The forest bandits will find out soon enough," Bractro answered.

"Will you resume raiding the eastern forests?" Bynatro pestered.

"After my Contingent is finished, there will be no eastern forests," Bractro replied.

"It is not your Contingent yet," Zenatro corrected.

"It will be," Bractro said, daring to lower eye-rings.

They took seats on the padded stools, using lap straps as the craft gently lifted vertically off the dirt field. Livy and Bynatro sat near the front with the governor. Bractro, Pharlatro, Coltara, and the two guards sat in the rear, as was fitting for commoners. It would only take two hours for the eight passengers to reach Va'ragashant.

"Is this flight not a risk, my lord?" Livy asked.

"The forest bandits ambush military transports. They are not known to shoot down such as this," Zenatro said.

"Why is that? Do they not hate all of us?" Bynatro asked.

"No one knows why these creatures do anything," Bractro impertinently intruded from the back. "They are skulking vvleen. If not for Lord Zenatro's virtuous leadership, they would slit every throat."

The sho'kara flew east over the Varish Expanse, skirting a mountain range, and then northeast toward the capital. They were just a few minutes short of the industrial center at An'cor when the craft began to descend. The pilot emerged from the cockpit.

"Gerotron! What are you doing here? Who is flying?" Zenatro questioned.

"I may not say, my lord," the pilot answered, going to the back of the passenger compartment and sitting next to Coltara.

"We are going down! We are going to crash!" Pharlatro shrieked, lashing his black tongue.

"We are not crashing," Livy said, looking out the window. "There is a meadow. I see factories beyond the river."

The sho'kara set down in a puff of landing jets. All was quiet for a moment. Then a food-creature appeared from the cockpit.

"Remain calm and you will not be harmed," the hairy thing said, pointing a pistol loaded with explosive pellets. The accent was poor, the words broken.

"It is a forest bandit. We are doomed," Pharlatro lamented, wringing his claws.

Bractro began to draw his sidearm, then thought better of it. The creature was aiming at him and the two guards, not the aristocrats. The side hatch popped open and the ramp dropped to the ground.

"Disembark," a second food-creature said, also holding a pistol. It was just as dirty and hairy as the first one.

"This is an outrage. We accept no commands from vermin," Zenatro protested.

"Then say goodbye to your gods," the second food-creature said, putting his weapon to Zenatro's head.

When none of his guards attempted to intervene, the governor reconsidered and waddled down the ramp. The first food-creature followed, the other waiting until all the passengers had disembarked.

It was a pleasant day. The sky blue and warm. The pasture still had traces of green in the fall grass. The Bastarek River lay a hundred yards away, spanned by an old bridge, and An'cor just a kilometer farther on, gray smoke rising from the chimneys.

The two food-creatures wore forest green outfits, leather boots, and floppy felt hats that shaded their faces. The Arikhan were frightened but too proud to show it.

"What do you want, foul creatures?" Zenatro boldly asked.

"What wealth do you carry? Have you gemstones?" the black-haired food-creature said.

"Do you know who I am?" Zenatro haughtily demanded.

"A rich hornfeet. Give us your wealth," the black-hair said.

The other stood back, quietly. It had shaggy brown hair and a trimmed gray beard. It was shorter than the other but looked more muscular. No, not muscular. Its posture spoke of more danger.

"Are you not Zenatro? The most powerful Arikhan on this planet?" the brown-haired food-creature said. Its Arikhan wasn't spoken well either.

"Will you slay me?" Zenatro asked.

"Perhaps," it replied.

"Let's kill them all. I want their boots," the black-hair said.

"You will not harm my Livy," Coltara growled. She rose to full height, shoulders straightened, black eyes ready for any challenge. She was a formidable sight. A giant.

"Coltara, be cautious. I would not lose you," Livy begged, trying to draw her guardian back. But Coltara would not relent.

"The skinny female looks wealthy. Make her take off her clothes that we might search her for gemstones," the black-hair said. Livy's cheeks blushed the brightest of blue.

"You will not dishonor the Countess of Kal' Nook," Zenatro said, interposing himself. Grey had not suspected the governor of so much courage.

"The females need not be searched. We have their machine," the brown-hair said.

"You will not steal my sho'kara," the pilot objected, stepping forward.

"We take want we want," the black-hair said. "And then we will kill you all."

"You violate the rules of civilization. And the laws of Akeem," Zenatro argued.

"What do you know of Akeem?" the brown-hair said.

"Akeem is a foul, disrespectful forest bandit, but he does not murder," Zenatro replied.

"Slay us, and Akeem will slay you. You will be hanged from trees," Pharlatro said, hoping not to die.

"I am afraid, brother. We should not incur the wrath of Akeem," the black-hair said.

"Would he truly hang us from trees? For killing hornfeet?" the brown-hair incredulously asked.

"He would," Bynatro assured them. "I have met Akeem. He is a noble spirit. Far better than scum like you."

"We should leave no witnesses," the black-hair said, waving his pistol.

Coltara would have no more. She advanced on the bandits ready to rip them apart or perish in the attempt. Livy struggled to hold her back.

"Beloved, please stop. We are not yet doomed," Livy pleaded.

The confrontation in the meadow paused.

"The giant hornfeet will come with me," the brown-hair finally said, drawing Coltara aside. He made her walk down the slope toward the river, stopping beneath the drooping branches of a willow tree. Coltara looked confused, and curious. Both checked to make sure no one could overhear them. The creature removed its floppy hat.

"I love you so much," the forest raider suddenly said in excellent Arikhan. "If you ever leave Livy's service, will you protect Hope for me?"

"Ben?" Coltara said, clicking her tongue in astonishment.

"I merely seek to trick information from Zenatro," Grey explained. "Your mistress is in no danger. I would die before letting anyone hurt her."

"I know this to be true," Coltara replied. And then she lowered herself to her knees in homage.

"You must not do that," Grey said, trying to raise her up. But Coltara was too big. Too strong. He'd have better luck lifting a truck.

"Tell me what I must do," Coltara requested.

"Protect your mistress. I would never ask more."

"There is a war coming, is there not?"

"Yes, I fear so. A terrible war."

"I will come to Dari. None will hurt Hope while I live."

"Thank you, Coltara. You know how much Hope loves you."

Grey returned to the gathering of hostages. Coltara remained near the river, knowing her presence was no longer needed.

"The big hornfeet has moved my heart. Not all of the prisoners will die," Grey announced. "You, the skinny female. Are you called Livy?"

"I am called Livy," she confirmed.

"Go down the hill to your mistress. She requires your attendance."

"The Countess is no servant. Can you not see her noble lineage? Have you no concept of proper hierarchy?" Zenatro complained.

"We care not of that," Grey replied. "A hornfeet is a hornfeet. Go now, Livy-creature. Your mistress awaits."

Livy paused to study the strange, bearded creatures. She didn't recognize the taller black-haired one, but there was something familiar about the other, despite the big hat and dirty face. And then she realized who he was. It took all of her control not to click her tongue in surprise.

"May my cousin come with me?" Livy asked.

"Which one is that? The big fat ugly one?" Grey said.

"The thin one with blue cheeks," Livy replied.

Grey walked up to Bynatro, as if he'd never seen him before, and pawed through his pockets for valuables. He found a bag of cokay nuts.

"Are you the pretty hornfeet's mate?" Grey inquired.

"The superior race does not conjoin with cousins," Bynatro said in insult.

"Go. You are useless," Grey ordered, pointing toward the willow trees.

Livy quickly drew Bynatro away, going down to the river where Coltara was waiting.

"What would you have with us?" Zenatro asked.

"Creeky, search them," Grey ordered.

Barris went to Pharlatro first, dumping the contents of the assistant's pockets on the ground. Then he searched the guards and the pilot. They carried few possessions. Zenatro was next.

"What is this?" Barris asked, taking a small green globe from the governor's pocket. He pressed an indentation and it lit up.

"It might be a weapon," Grey feared,

"No, Lake, it's something evil. We must destroy it. Give me a rock," Barris said.

"Do not break it. It is just a toy," Zenatro objected, reaching to take it back. Barris retreated several steps.

"The Mataks may take this toy in trade," Barris said. "They have blueberries."

"No, raspberries, at least," Grey disagreed. "And quik bread. No one makes quik bread better than Makaks."

"Give it back. I will reward you," Zenatro protested.

"Do you have slaves?" Barris asked.

"A few. None here," Zenatro said.

"Do you have female slaves?" Barris questioned. "Young, beautiful female slaves?"

"I am no judge of such things," Zenatro replied.

"Do you send your slaves to the pens?" Grey asked, pointing the weapon.

Zenatro fell silent.

"All slaves go to the pens. It is all they are good for," Bractro spoke up, earning an angry look from Zenatro.

"A waste of good female flesh," Barris said, as if he didn't care. "What do you hornfeet taste like? I'll wager you taste like pigeon."

"Let us cook one and find out," Grey said. "I like the thin one. The cowardly servant."

"No! No, please forest creatures. I would not have such a fate," Pharlatro begged, the black eyes desperate.

"Would you rather we eat your master?" Grey asked.

Pharlatro looked at Zenatro, glanced at Bractro, and then to the brown-haired food-creature. He started backing away.

"Stop!" the black-hair demanded.

"Don't let it escape," the brown-hair said.

"Please do not harm me," Pharlatro cried.

"Tie the thing's claws," the brown-hair said. "We can roast it over hot rocks."

Barris took a step forward. And another. Pharlatro had had enough. He turned and ran. Ran and ran, nearly tripping in the fall grass.

"Pharlatro! Pharlatro!" Zenatro yelled, angrily lashing his gray tongue. But his aide-de-camp kept going, racing down the hill and plunging into the river.

"It had no meat anyway," Barris dismissed.

"What of these other brown skins?" Grey asked. "Can we take them back to the village for a feast? They should taste good if cooked slowly."

"They will need plenty of ginger sauce," Barris remarked.

The pilot and guards needed no extra prodding. They took off, following Pharlatro's trail down to the river and splashing into the water. The Arikhan were surprisingly good swimmers. Only Zenatro and Bractro remained.

"Wait, I recognize you now," Bractro said, eye-rings flat. "Governor, we are the victims of a charade."

"What do you mean, Group Leader?" Zenatro asked.

"The smaller creature. It is Akeem," Bractro said.

"Do not be absurd. Akeem is tall as an Arikhan. It speaks our language perfectly. This is nothing but a filthy barbarian."

"It is Akeem. Once he was known by another name. In Lord Gamtro's day, he was called--"

"Do you recognize me, monster?" Barris said, pulling off the hat as he drew his hunting knife.

"I do now. You are the mate of that cow we slew. The Tak creature," Bractro remembered.

"And you took her babies," Barris said.

"I know nothing of that. It was Kanatro who confiscated the young eggs. But I remember how the Tak creature screamed for mercy," Bractro boasted.

"Let's see who screams now," Barris said, advancing with his knife. It was a polished steel blade, reflecting the late morning light.

"Barris, we can't. This isn't the plan," Grey dissented in Akronian.

"Bractro beat Tak to death."

"Bractro's guards beat Tak, and I killed his guards. Bractro showed up after the fighting was over. Like he always does."

"The responsibility was his. Tak must be avenged."

"One day she will be, but we aren't here to murder."

"It won't be murder," Barris replied.

Barris walked back to Grey, pulled the hunting knife from his belt, and returned to Bractro.

"Fair fight?" Barris challenged in Arikhan, holding the dagger up. Bractro lashed his tongue in anticipation.

"Fair fight," he replied, accepting the knife and testing its weight. Bractro started down the hill, stretching his long arms.

"Barris, I wish you wouldn't do this," Grey said.

"I've wanted this for years. More than anything else. Are you ordering me not to fight him?"

Grey needed to think, but the decision wasn't his.

"Don't get yourself killed," Grey conceded.

Bractro met Barris halfway down the hill between the sho'kara and the river. Livy, Bynatro, and Coltara watched from the willow trees. Grey and Zenatro stood near the transport.

"Do you wish to stop them, Governor?" Grey asked, his Arikhan suddenly improving.

"I could not stop that fool even if I wanted to," Zenatro replied. "If Bractro wins, will you kill him? Or both of us?"

"Not today," Grey responded.

Barris and Bractro squared off. The Arikhan was taller and heavier. He had a broad build. Barris was strong and agile, the product of hard labor in the mines and six years of rigorous campaigning. He stripped off the baggy jacket, wearing a green shirt and a thick leather vest underneath.

"Bractro is going to kill your friend," Zenatro said.

"He might," Grey worried.

"You have a weapon. You can kill Bractro now."

"Barris has earned the right to avenge his mate, or die like a soldier. I do not have the right to take that away from him."

"Bractro was correct. You are Akeem," Zenatro said.

"I fear that is true, Governor," Grey answered, his Arikhan now excellent.

"Then you know, as well as I, that underlings are difficult to control on this miserable world."

"On that we may agree," Grey replied with a sigh.

The combatants circled one another looking for an opening, neither being foolish. Bractro seemed to be enjoying the contest, feeling confident. Barris merely studied his enemy's posture, as Grey had spent years teaching him.

"Such as you does not beg, so I will make this quick," Bractro said.

"As long as you die, my blood is well spent," Barris replied.

"It will not be me who dies," Bractro said, swiping the blade again and again, forcing Barris back.

Barris countered by ducking and coming up underneath. The blade slid along Bractro's ribs, drawing blood but not penetrating deeply. Bractro grunted and hit Barris in the face with his free claw, and then swiped again. This time the blade found flesh. Barris took a gash to his forehead, blood flowing into his eyes.

Bractro followed up his advantage, trying to knock the knife from Barris's hand, but Barris was ready. He turned sideways, backstepped, and drove forward. The tip of the blade caught Bractro in the neck. Not as severely as he hoped, but enough to cause damage.

Barris had to retreat, using his scarf to wipe the blood from his eyes, but he was watching the whole time. Bractro pulled up his tunic, using the collar to protect the neck wound, and charged.

The blades clashed like swords, the sound ringing all the way down to the river. Strike and counterstrike. Blocked blows. Near misses. Shallow cuts that drew grunts from attacker and defender alike. The battle raged without pause or mercy.

Barris finally scored another deep blow, cutting the claw holding Bractro's knife all the way to the bone. Bractro transferred the knife to his other claw and counterattacked, striking Barris in the shoulder, and then jabbing harshly into his collar bone. Barris fell, then came up to his knees, using both hands on the hilt to stab Bractro in the groin. The Arikhan howled and turned away.

The fighters took a moment to assess their opponents, both winded. Then Bractro saw the opportunity he'd been waiting for. Just as Barris was getting off the ground, Bractro lunged, the blade running through Barris's leather vest into his ribs. And that's where the blade stayed, entangled in the webbing as Bractro frantically tried to pull it free.

"You stupid monster. Do you think I didn't see that coming?" Barris whispered, driving his knife deep into Bractro's lung.

Bractro released his knife, using claws to shake the food-creature off, but Barris kept hold of the dagger with one hand and gripped Bractro's tunic with the other, pushing deeper and twisting. Bractro finally used his remaining strength to smash Barris on the head, breaking free. He staggered back and sank to the ground trying to breathe.

Barris was stunned, laying senseless in the bloody grass. His knife had been torn from his grasp. Bractro began crawling back, reaching for the dagger, and then collapsed. Blood poured from his mouth, the tongue lashing. Barris painfully pulled the knife from his ribs, dragged himself to his knees, and plunged the blade into Bractro's chest. He pulled it out and plunged again. He tried to strike a third time, but his strength disappeared. He toppled into the grass next to his victim.

The fight was over. Grey grabbed a First Aid kit from the sho'kara and raced down the hill, kneeling next to Barris. There was blood everywhere.

"You're going to need a better surgeon than me," Grey said, seeking to bandage multiple wounds.

"I wish Yassatro was here," Barris groaned.

"Never thought I'd hear you ask for an Arikhan doctor. Not Black Hands?"

"I love Black Hands, but Yassatro is a better surgeon."

"Yassatro is visiting Karak. I'll have you there in half an hour," Grey promised.

"You haven't been to Karak in years."

"Then I'm overdo."

Grey tried to help Barris up, but he was heavy, and the wounds were bleeding profusely. Grey wasn't sure what to do, and then he was suddenly thrust aside.

"Follow me," Coltara grunted, lifting Barris in her massive arms and carrying him back up the hill. When they reached the sho'kara, Zenatro was still there.

"I had expected you to be gone by now," Grey said.

"The superior race does not flee," Zenatro replied.

"Bractro is dead."

"It was a fair fight," Zenatro confirmed.

Grey looked the portly Arikhan over. Zenatro may not be a wise leader, but he was no coward.

"An'cor is across the river. It will not take you long to get there," Grey said, waving the governor away.

"We will meet again," Zenatro promised, slowly walking down the hill.

Grey climbed into the sho'kara. As much as he wanted to get airborne, he didn't want Barris to bleed out on the way. Coltara used her claws to rip off the blood-soaked clothes and began swabbing the wounds with congealing ointments.

"Try not to worry," Livy said, following them through the hatch. "As you know, Coltara is well schooled in the healing arts."

"What happened to Bynatro?" Grey asked.

"He will accompany Zenatro to An'cor. And report what he hears to Lady Gamtra," Livy said. "What was this all about?"

Grey withdrew the small green globe from his pocket.

"I stole Zenatro's personal recorder. I'm hoping it has the information I need."

"Did you kill him?" Barris asked.

"Not this time," Grey replied.

"Enough talk. We must depart," Coltara urged.

Grey went to the cockpit, Livy joining him in the co-pilot seat. She took the globe as the transport lifted off and turned south. Within minutes they were crossing the Varish Expanse.

"The messages say Zenatro has gained financial support from the Retrenchment," Livy reported. "They are hiring mercenaries to support his government."

"That is not good," Grey said.

"How are you going to stop such an army? They may come in the thousands."

"They will not come by sea," her friend responded, remembering an old quote.

"Sea?"

"On the planet of my birth, before air travel, a brave island was threatened with invasion. A sailor declared if an invasion came, it would not come by sea. Their navy would not permit it. Does the globe say how long it will take to assemble their forces?"

"They have not gained assistance from the Supreme Council," Livy said, studying the messages. "I think it will take two seasons. Maybe three."

"That should be enough time."

"Enough time? Enough time for what?" Livy asked.

"Their troop transports will need to pass through the stargate to reach Laros."

"That is true," Livy said, lashing her pale tongue in confusion.

"How long will it take their ships to reach Laros without a stargate?"

"Without a stargate? Thirty years, at least."

"Then it looks like I have work to do," Grey decided.

* * * * * *

Epilogue

SHALLI'S LEGACY

They stood in the shallows of a fast-moving creek, each holding a fishing pole. The stream was cold, but they wore watertight overalls. Small insects flew in swarms over the mossy inlets.

"I thought to teach you fishing, but you are teaching me," Gamtra admired.

"I learned to fish before riding my first her'ret, my lady," Hope replied, moving deeper into the current.

"Be careful," Gamtra warned.

"We must catch one today. They have eluded us too long."

"There is plenty of food back at the lodge, and we will not need to clean it."

"When my father sets his mind to something, he does not give up. I am Akeem's daughter. Much is expected of me."

"Child, you are too young for such burdens. It worries your father. Take a moment to feel the spirits. They have given us this beautiful day. And a time for each other."

"Blessed be the Will of Sherra," Hope said, bowing her head.

"Blessed be the Will of Sherra," Gamtra echoed, still surprised by the youngster's reverence.

"What do you remember of my mother?" Hope asked, though she remained focused on her lure. "Father speaks of her, but he always has trouble saying anything. Myra speaks of her as a sister. I do not understand why the superior race would take such interest in a food-creature."

"Shalli was not a food-creature," Gamtra said, lashing her tongue.

"All in Karak were subject to the pens. Shalli's parents were harvested. Of course, she was a food-creature."

"Your mother may have looked like a food-creature, and spoke as a food-creature, but to those who looked closely, she possessed a special light. A joy in life that could lift every heart. And when she told me she had received Sherra's blessing, worlds could be seen in her eyes. I only knew her for a short time, yet I miss her terribly."

"Will they build a shrine to me someday? When I die?" Hope asked.

"You are not going to die. Not for a very long time. And though you are Shalli's egg, her destiny and yours are not the same."

"The High Priestess has me sit next to her at worship. Sometimes the sisters whisper as I walk by. At Saramont, many watch me from a distance, as if they are waiting for something to happen."

"Your father wants you to be an ordinary girl. He is wise in this, but also foolish. I am a countess. So are Asktra, Livy, and Vistra. We know what it is to be female and have blue blood. Much are the expectations. Much is the fear we will disappoint. It is not important what others expect of the daughter of Akeem. What you expect of yourself is important. It is you who has the blue blood."

"I know why my mother loved you, godmother," Hope said.

The fishing line pulled. Hope steadied herself, seeking to draw the prey in slowly. The current was friend and foe. Gradually, a large bass was seen splashing near the surface.

"It is a good catch. I have the net," Gamtra said, moving closer.

Suddenly the great fish leaped from the river, twisted in the air, and broke free of the lure, diving back in.

"Bloody vvleen!" Hope shouted, throwing her pole aside and drawing her knife.

"Stop! Child stop!" Gamtra pleaded as Hope prepared to plunge in after her lost prize.

"I will not let that vexing solet get away!" Hope swore, wading forward.

Gamtra managed to grab Hope's shoulder straps, pulling her back to the embankment. Fire blazed in the young girl's eyes. Gamtra made her sheathe the knife.

"Bollets!" Hope cursed. "Bollets, bollets, bollets!"

"Where did you learn such language?" Gamtra asked.

"The yarbel ky says language has many parts."

"You understand too many of them. Wait until you are older to use such words."

"Yes, godmother," Hope acquiesced.

"You are such a sweet child. I will give you another pony."

"You have given me two already."

"Two is not enough," Gamtra said.

"Did you enjoy the new play last night?"

"Very much. I haven't seen Gretnar so productive in years, though he seems to be missing now."

"Gretnar has gone to Tyradon. They are forming a home guard to support the spring campaign."

"Arikhan? Serving in the field against the Empire? They will be called traitors."

"They serve my mother's spirit. They are not traitors," Hope disagreed.

"Hope, I know that someday your father will attempt to conquer this world," Gamtra cautiously said. "But there are large populations in the cities. Well-trained troops. My homeworld will send a fleet if they must. Please know that I will always protect you, regardless of what happens."

"That is brave of you, godmother, but your worry is unnecessary," Hope replied. "Your people do not know it yet, but my father has already conquered this world."

* * * * * *

This is the end of the Akrona series for now. I hope to write a final book in the next year or two if it seems worthwhile. Writing novels can be a long process.