Prologue

Robert Matah looked up from the keyboard when he heard a warning chime transmitted from somewhere in the bowels of the starship Iskander. A caution signal - with the overhaul of the Intruder complete, the workers were clearing the hangar in preparation for a launch.

He stared at the viewport across the empty control room. Below the starship's stationary orbit the distant globe of Gaia shone like a turquoise jewel in full sunlight. It looked a lot like his Earth, but with a few big differences - no signs of space traffic, no huge grey blotches of cities, no Twenty-second Century bustle. This Earth was primitive, a world cast back in time -- the nearest guess they'd been able to make suggested five hundred years back. Nothing but sailing ships and cannon here, until his father got the steelworks and factories going.

Robert hated visiting the surface, resented losing the sophistication and stimulation of the world he'd grown up in. He and his sister, Gisel, had come along with their father on a mission to develop industry and resource extraction for a new colony called N-3 in their own galaxy. Intended as a ten-year stint, they'd go home with enough salary banked to set up any career they desired. Instead, they'd wound up here -- another Earth, but one with a different history. Five goddam years wasted so far! Somehow the Iskander had jumped right out of their own reality and wound up in something he'd believed was only a wild theory -- an alternate universe.

He glanced at the Situation Screen, almost the only instrument in the control room they hadn't transported down to their base on the surface. It showed a map of the world, oh so similar to the map of home, but with enough differences in place names and coastlines to make it foreign.

He'd built up the map with individual strips of spectroscopic imagery from the low orbit satellite system he had charge of. The Intruder would launch one more of the satellites on its way down to the surface. One more with imaging capability as well as communications and navigation systems -- all brought from Earth to be used around N-3. Hope those folks were okay without them. He'd had to calculate an orbit that would allow this satellite to keep checking on a huge army headed their way from the Skathian heartland.

More goddamn trouble, it looked like -- as if they hadn't enough. Gisel, the crazy one of the family, lapped this world up. Who would have thought the gawky little gymnast kid would blossom into their best agent, and damn-near best officer too? He had to admire her, if only begrudgingly. She'd switched from competition gymnastics to foils when she hit thirteen. Talk about landing in a pile of gold dust. Turned out, swordsmanship was the one damned thing they'd needed to make their way when they arrived. She'd been every crew member's instructor. If you could carry a rapier, and at least keep from getting spitted, you were counted a gentleman among the locals. Lady? Not so sure, but Gisel carved her own way. Status was everything -- too bad he couldn't even draw steel without damn-near cutting his own fingers off.

He stared down at the jumble of numbers on his computer screen, that he'd hoped would show how they'd wound up here. Another false trail -- nothing here to explain the jump out of their own universe. Best he get back to his other priority project. He was debugging the routine he'd written to decipher the Trigon Empire's primitive radio messages they'd intercepted. It had to be in some language nobody had heard of. If only he had the key to it.

President Scopes -- plain old Dirk Scopes, intended to be N-3's administrator five years ago -- had given him the task of piecing together all the data they'd gathered on the mysterious rulers of the Empire. He was damned certain the Trigons were also off-worlders who had wound up stranded on Gaia as well. Hardly anyone believed him, except Gisel. She'd sent him an account of an empire based around the Mediterranean, that the Trigons had conquered two hundred years ago.

That empire had probably descended from the Carthaginians -- seemed there'd never been a Roman Empire here, nor any of the institutions that had grown out of it. Nobody knew where the Trigons had come from, but rumors of some weapon called the Sky Thunder abounded. A spaceship? If it was, it seems it had crapped out in the intervening years; the Trigon Empire now enjoyed the same technology any other Seventeenth Century nation would have -- except for their analog radio.

The Emperor and his Trigon cohorts ruled this Empire with a heavy hand. They allowed no one to make a voyage of exploration or invent anything -- not even a mousetrap -- without Imperial say-so. Until the Iskander arrived.

As a team of resource scientists and engineers sent to develop the technical infrastructure on N-3, it had been a foregone conclusion they'd set themselves up to do the same here. They'd landed in Sweden -- called Tarnland on Gaia -- and intervened in a war of independence to ingratiate themselves with the Autarch and his nobles. Now his father, Henrik Matah PhD PEng, ran a modern steelworks and factory complex -- well almost modern. The Old Man had decided on a gradual development in order to train the locals to carry on the Iskander legacy. These people could learn steam engines and iron founding; whereas semiconductors, nuclear physics, and bioengineering were right out of everyone's league. Damned hard to find enough of these dumb Gaians who could learn to swing a wrench without stripping every thread in sight. And even half the Iskanders were lost in anything more complex than matrix algebra.

So the Empire was out to get them. Gisel had experienced trouble with some heavy called Zagdorf, and the Imperial army had intervened in the war Iskander was helping its Tarnland ally win. Whomped the bastards at sea, though. The Empire ships were small sailing ships armed with a mess of mismatched cannon, so Father's updated warships from the Napoleonic era had swept them from the Inland Sea. Baltic, that was. Yeah, sailing ships -- all the locals knew, except for the few steamships Iskander and the Felger Partnership had put to sea in the past eighteen months.

In the past year they'd made a big jump in production, now they had the Felger family enterprise to help move the products of Iskander factories. The Felgers were locals who owned the biggest trading, banking, and mining business in European Gaia. Gisel had been instrumental in getting the family on their side, probably because she could twist the Baron and his nephew Yohan around her little finger. Yohan was her new lover, the third she'd had since hitting the planet, and she insisted she was going to marry this one. She'd said that before. Good luck to the girl. She certainly carried more than her share of the load down there on the surface.

The warning chime came again; that meant the Intruder was about to launch. He'd better get back to work and quit staring out at Gaia floating amid the stars. With only six people who could work on the space plane, out of a hundred off-worlders, it had taken two months to complete a thousand-hour overhaul. Intruder was their lifeline, the shuttle between the Iskander in its stationary orbit and the surface. He hated the surface, so why did he feel so claustrophobic whenever Intruder left? If anything happened to it, he'd be even more stranded than his sister below, immersed in Gaian society.

Iskander had no fuel to move out of orbit, and couldn't enter the atmosphere. Father had said it would take at least ten years to build and send a rocket up from the surface -- and he had no people to spare to work on such a project. Every person they had was stretched to the limit keeping what infrastructure they already possessed working. With only a hundred people trying to make over the whole world, they hit their heads against a wall as often as they made a breakthrough. Every small movement was a victory.

Chapter One

Major Gisel Matah walked aft, the sharp breeze of the Swift's passage becoming a reek of steam-scented mist. She pulled the collar of her quilted jacket higher to ward off the first threat of a northern winter. The two steam engines below thumped a steady rhythm into the soles of her feet. As she passed the bare mizzenmast she trailed a hand along the furled sail on its boom, and looked up at the moon: not full, but nearly so, a bright lantern for their night passage across the Inland Sea.

A crewman passed, heading for the wheelhouse from some errand at the stern. No one else showed up in the moonlight on the aft deck, but she hoped to find a man sheltered in the slanting shadows. She'd been surprised to see him board. She'd slipped a message under his cabin door. He'd better be there.

Swift was the first steam packet in the Partnership, making the 250 km crossing between Skrona and Lubitz in less than fifteen hours. Yohan had seemed uneasy this morning at breakfast when she'd told him she'd be accompanying him on this trip. "Is the manager going to refuse his security chief's request for passage?" she'd said in response. "This is my opportunity to bring our guards for the river traffic." He'd recovered his poise after that; his eyes regaining their brilliant blue sparkle; his over-long sandy hair threatening to fall across them.

But she guessed the reason for his concern when she'd reached the dock and seen how deeply Swift lay in the water. She'd known the hold would contain the last two steam powerplants for the tugs under construction in Lubitz. Other than her eight guards, most of the passengers on this trip were technicians picked to assemble the powerplants. It'd be interesting to see how guilty Yohan looked when he tried to hide the third powerplant from her.

She paced her stride to the moderate roll of the ship. The sea was calm, and as she reached the stern rail, the moonlight glinted off the water and broke into a million shards in the propeller's wake. She stood to watch their movement through the water, although she listened for sounds of human origin on deck. She smiled fleetingly, the iron rail in her hand reminding her of ships back home.

To Gisel's left and right hung lifeboats on their quarter davits. These two crafts were those most handily used as tenders when in harbor. Around them were stacked a few cargo items in readiness for their arrival, and from the shadow of one of these piles a large man emerged. She recognized him instantly from the withered left hand he held to his chest. Gisel turned to lean her back against the rail and face him.

"What work is done in the light of the moon?" she said quietly.

"The peoples' work, Major."

"What are you doing aboard, Markov?"

"Control hasn't told you? Then neither will I."

She stared toward his face, shadowed in the slanting moonlight. This man took pay from Iskander's Security Service, but she knew his activities were little changed from those he followed before his recruitment. In every society, some men live very well by fetching and carrying that which more timid -- or perhaps more manifestly honest -- men eschewed. In Iskander's service, only the nature of his merchandise had changed. Now he traded names and information more often than valuables with an aura of spilled blood about them. Was he here because of Yohan's extra steam engine, or the Radicals?

"Are you watching the men brought to assemble the steam plant? You needn't trouble yourself about them."

Markov shook his head slowly. "I am told the lead man is far greater in skill than the task ahead requires. Some say he would be counted an engineer in Iskander but for jealousy against a man born in Tarnland."

"He's an able man. Sure, we Iskanders can be a conceited bunch. Would you doubt me if I said I persuaded my father to send him so he could prove himself?"

The shadows around Markov's mouth stretched into a smile. "If you say so, Major."

"Yohan asked for him to be posted in Lubitz."

"Your lover would steal him from Iskander? What will your commanders say?"

"That's my concern, Markov. And the word isn't lover -- you'll stir up scandal. We're engaged. As soon as his stubborn father relents, we shall marry."

"And as soon as our commanding officer gives you leave to be a proper wife, you can take on a woman's duty. I'd love to see you give suck to a bairn -- it would restore my faith in motherhood."

"The day you have faith in anything outside of a purse, the moon will faint into the sea, Markov. You may safely leave mothering to me. Now tell me what I want to know."

She strove to steady her breath and skim over the anger she felt at his words. Goddamn the man, but he knew how to get her goat. How the hell did he know how uncertain she felt about her nurturing abilities? Did your mother kill as many men as I have, asshole?

"I hear the Radicals are active in Lubitz," Markov said, leaning on the rail beside her.

"Are they? What of our man -- have you news of him?"

"Ah, that is what I need to learn."

"God dammit! Don't go poking around the underworld and lead the city's security to everybody."

"I pass among the underclass of Lubitz as easily as this ship rides the Inland Sea. That is why Iskander pays me so well. You know that, Major."

"The Radicals cannot be planning to start strikes and riots -- I doubt if they've a dozen hotheads in their cell yet." Gisel frowned -- all change breeds opposition, and Iskander had caused more change in the past five years than this world had experienced in a millennium. Her father's operations had already suffered sabotage in the factories and mines. Nothing too deadly… yet. She wasn't convinced they were all the actions of anarchists -- the Empire's ringleader could be responsible for more than the spying she'd uncovered. "The Radicals will be useful to Iskander -- everyone sees that. The unrest could be worth an army to us if we can get them into the Empire's factories."

"Yes, I know. You want to pass troublemakers through into the Empire from a tame Radical movement in Lubitz. You hope your Industrial Revolution can make over the world the way you Iskanders want it. Do you think you can manage a bloody revolution as well?"

"We'll watch and wait. As long as we can keep the lid on it --"

"And keep allies from knowing what you do. I suspect you'd not fret if the Radicals did get out of hand. What would your lover think?"

"Yohan has enough to worry about with the management tasks he has. I'll take care of the revolutionaries in the factories for him."

"You hope to keep them quiet. But what happens when he finds they are there? What if he learns you know all of them -- more -- that Iskander even pays and helps them?"

"Iskander is prepared to live with people's aspirations, not kill to silence them. That's the difference between us and the Empire."

"Until they threaten you. Then the knives will come out."

Gisel looked away. She didn't know how Iskander's leaders would react in that event, but she still believed they should ride the social changes as they rode the technological waves. "If we can guide the Radicals well enough, that may never come to pass."

"But someone must be prepared to act. Better a puddle of blood than a torrent."

Gisel turned her head sharply. Did she understand his mission? That was the bitch of it -- running her own secret program separate from Iskander's. But she and her father agreed -- their leaders had too great a phobia about popular movements to be told. They were inclined to cater to their royal allies too much. Time would come when Iskander would need to go its own way, and a secret power base among the Radicals could prove its worth. They must build it up, and keep leaders they valued safe. "I don't care what secret instructions Control might have given you -- don't terminate anyone without my say so."

"Who do you value, Major?"

"No names. There are people among the Radicals who can be of service."

"To Iskander, or to the Matahs?"

"What makes you think there's a difference?"

Markov shook his head slowly. "What makes me useful to you?"

Gisel laughed to mask her concern. "Goddammit, Markov! You'd suspect your mother's milk. Don't you think I've enough to do keeping the peace in Skrona?"

"I'm sure you can handle Skrona."

"With your help, perhaps." Iskander's security was tenuous at best. That's why she scrounged for information everywhere she could. The war against the Empire was at a stalemate -- they could even lose it. She'd do anything to make a difference. "I've told Control I want you back -- as soon as this business is done."

"A pleasure, Maj . . . What's that?"

A loud splash came from the starboard side. Gisel jerked away from the rail. She scanned their wake in the scattered moonlight. Something lifted momentarily -- a hand.

Markov pointed. "Someone's fallen overboard!"

Gisel didn't answer. She yanked out her new communicator, stabbed the position button, and sprinted along the deck toward the wheelhouse.

*****

Just before eight bells, Slin Murrin sat uneasily on the stool Major Matah indicated. The Swift had long turned back on course, and the engines pounded harder as the Master tried to make up the lost time. Poor Durden, all they'd found in the water was his corpse. Did the Major know Durden had been a friend? Perhaps all she knew was that they had shared a cabin.

She stared at him with eyes that seemed to see right through him. "How long did you know Durden?"

"Nigh on four month, Major. We was buildin' boilers together."

"Did you get on well?"

Murrin swayed back on the stool. What did she want to know? High-up folks was all the same . . . couldn't trust they . . . they was always looking to punish a fellow. "We was good workmates, Major. Foreman called us his num'mer one team."

"What did you do this evening?"

"Nort, Major. We was in the cabin, fixin' our kit. Ee were darnin' 'is overalls an' I was oilin' my tools."

"But he left the cabin. When was that?"

"Don't know . . . were after three bells."

"In the first watch? Right ... Did he say why he was going?"

"Some man came for 'im. Called 'im up on deck."

"Did you see the man? Did you recognize him? What did he look like?"

Murrin put his hands to his head. "Nay, Major. I di'n see 'im. Stood outside the cabin door."

"He must have spoken. Did you recognize the voice?"

His heart thumped -- why all these questions? Poor Durden had fallen overboard, and this officer acted like he could have pushed him. Best he say nothin' more -- she doubtless disbelieved him. Lookin' for someone to blame -- twas the same in the factory. You made a mistake . . . broke a castin' or set a valve badly, an' foreman an' engineers was all over ye.

Major Matah stared into his eyes. "Apprentice Murrin, I'm waiting for an answer. Did you recognize the man's voice?"

"Nay, Major. Why is you askin' all this? Poor Durden have drowned . . . baint that enough?"

She leaned forward so closely he could feel her breath on his face. "Machinist Durden didn't drown. He was thrown overboard -- after his throat had been cut."

"Cut! Th . . . th . . . throat cut?"

"Yes, lad. Now you know why I'm asking. Would you recognize the man's voice if you heard it again?"

He stared. Now his heart really raced. Who would want to kill Durden? If he did remember the voice -- would he be killed next? Didn't do to get mixed in with evil doin's. "I dursen't think I would, Major. Wasn't a . . . a strange voice -- jus' summat like a man hears ever' day. No -- I'm sure I wouldna know it again."

"How much money did Durden have on him?"

"Lor. I expec' the same as me. We was paid twenty thalers allowance for us to arrive in Lubitz."

Major Matah nodded. "It was still in his money belt. What about in the cabin -- did he have more?"

"Not as I knows."

"You'll come with me. We'll search his things."

"Fer certain, Major. If ye chooses."

*****

Yohan looked up as the wheelhouse door opened, to see Gisel step inside. She looked very official in her black Security uniform, its silver insignia gleaming like stars above evening thunderheads. She had her black hair in braids and piled under her service cap, businesslike. Tonight she hardly seemed the same gentle creature who shared his bed. He smiled and raised a hand -- then guilt knotted his stomach and he tasted bile. She gave no sign, although her eyes were the same dark lances they always were when she was onto something.

She turned to the Swift's Master. "I'll interrogate the rest of your crew in the morning, before we dock. What time will we get in?"

"We lost nigh on two hours, Major, pickin' up that corpse. Lucky us was to dock afore high tide -- I think Swift has steam enough to catch her mooring afore it drops."

Yohan took three steps across the wheelhouse to place an arm around Gisel's waist and smile into those eyes, just a couple of inches below his. For the hundredth time, the desire to tell her about the steam engine surfaced in his mind. He wanted to, but would she think his betraying the Baron a weakness? She was too intent upon this new trouble to notice his unease. "You should get some rest now, dearest. I'll see you're called in time in the morning."

"Thanks. That'll give me about an hour. I may as well stay up."

Yohan sighed; he sometimes wondered if she needed no sleep. "What have you learned?"

"Not much -- yet. I've interviewed all the passengers, and no one seems suspicious. No obvious Empire agents among them."

"You suspect the Empire is behind this, then?" Yohan said. The words sounded like lies in his head. After several generations of preventing innovation, the Empire had recognized the need to match the Iskanders' knowledge. They had approached the Felger mercantile enterprise in secret -- and the task of obtaining the engine, the extra one in Swift's hold, had fallen to him. But had some Imperial agent misunderstood the plan and tried to sabotage the shipment by murdering Durden? He knew no reason to suspect the fellow of any subterfuge -- he had been an artisan in the Felger's employ for several years. The Baron had approved him for the steam training himself. "Why would an Empire spy want to kill Durden?"

Gisel shrugged. "Seems the most logical suspect. No doubt they have people somewhere in the Inland Sea area, with a brief to disrupt our operations." She turned to the Master. "You can vouch for all your crew?"

He scratched at his grizzled chin. "Most be fellows what served on Swift afore the dockyard work. We hired a few more from Skrona . . . an' then there is the steam artificers an' stokers what was sent by your own factory."

"I don't think we can suspect any of the Iskander men," Yohan said.

Gisel shook her head. "I'm not ruling anyone out. We've caught two Imperial spies in our industrial complex this year."

"You are sure?" Yohan said, aghast. "Why did you not tell me?"

"I'm telling you now. One committed suicide, the other won't talk. We have no proof. I wanted to let the man escape to see where he goes, but Control won't hear of it."

Yohan stared at her. What else had she kept from him -- as much as he strove to keep from her? If she learned of the Felgers' duplicity -- that he was even now conveying the secret cargo to ship to their enemy -- their engagement could be over. Would she ever trust him again, or forgive his treachery? His stomach squirmed at the thought. If only there was a way he could tell her without betraying the Baron.

Gisel seemed oblivious to the turmoil inside him. "I don't think we have a robbery here, and likely no crime of passion. There's no suspicion that he was a boy lover. Do you know of any business in the shipyards and factory which would give rise to murder?"

She looked hard at him as she said this. Was she testing him? Did she suspect?

He strove to hide his secret -- keeping the awful image of Durden's waterlogged corpse before his eyes. "No, nothing at all. You know as much as I do."

Chapter Two

As the dawn sky brightened into morning, the Swift headed in to Lubitz harbor under steam power. Gisel climbed up the companionway from the engineroom and blinked as she emerged into the light and fresh air. She'd drawn a blank with the engineer staff, they'd all been below when Durden was murdered and none of them knew or had seen anything. She stood to watch the shoreline a minute, while she let the ringing in her ears from the racket below subside. The only thing she could do was ask all the same questions again to see if anyone's story changed. No time now; they'd anchor within the hour.

A plume of black smoke drifted across the harbor entrance; a dark smudge across the towers and steep roofs of the fortified city. Probably the Lubitz harbor tug towing a vessel out against an onshore wind. Then she saw Yohan up on the tiny fo'c's'le deck staring toward the shore and walked forward to join him. As she climbed up the steep companionway he turned to smile. "Did you get any rest, Dear?"

"What do you think? I must look like hell."

"No, you're wonderful. A little red-eyed," he said with a smile, "but you make my heart race whenever you have that intense gaze."

She shrugged and looked away, taking a deep breath of sea air and tasting the salt in the flying spray.

"What's wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?"

"Yohan, one of our steam technicians has been murdered aboard the Felger's own ship. Doesn't that make your goddamn heart race? It should."

He frowned and leaned against the forward rail. "Yes, sorry. I was trying to lighten things a bit."

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know . . . you meant well. You realize I will have to stay here until I learn what's behind it. I didn't find any clues in Durden's belongings, but Zagdorf could be involved -- trying to sabotage our transportation plans."

"Yes, of course. You could be right, but I'm more inclined to believe it was some personal quarrel. How could Zagdorf place a man aboard the Swift?"

"Zagdorf placed his spies right in Iskander's steelworks." She stared ahead as the tug and its tow appeared around the curve of the fairway. "And I checked back through our security records -- he was there himself two years ago."

Yohan rose from the rail. "What? Are you sure?"

"I found his picture . . . called himself Marten Zulik."

"Picture? What picture?"

"Iskander Security photographs every visitor. They don't know cameras even exist." She grinned at him. "You are one of the few people who even knows we can take photographs."

"When did you learn this?" He stared into her face. "You kept it from me."

"I was ordered to. Don't tell me the Baron doesn't give you orders to keep things from me."

His face screwed tight as if she'd kicked him in the groin. He turned away quickly. "There are business matters, naturally. You know . . . you know I would never keep anything from you . . . if there was some way . . ."

"Hey, don't have a cow. We knew things would be difficult at times. This is one of them." She reached out to swing him around. "If there is anything you know about Durden that I should hear --"

"There is nothing. But . . . I'm worried." He avoided meeting her eyes. "Perhaps some things are being kept from me."

"If they are -- it's not nothing. We'll need to fix this together -- do you agree?"

His right foot tapped on the planking as if eager to get away. "Yes, I do. But I must make inquiries of my own first. Look, Gisel . . . I'd like to say more -- Flame knows I do -- but give me some time."

She'd pushed as far as she dared. She wanted to say 'I'll give you until the ship arrives to take that steam plant away', but there was no way to even hint without revealing she had been part of Iskander's subterfuge. She stared at the approaching tug and its charge as the Swift turned slightly to give them a wider berth. A hired sailing merchantman. By the look of all the armed men on deck, carrying more troops to reinforce the besieged garrison at Leki.

Yohan followed her gaze and spoke. "Soldiers. Does Iskander have a new attack planned?"

"You know I can't answer that -- even if I know."

"The Baron is worried about the siege of Leki. Iskander has misjudged the Emperor -- he is not going to accept defeat there. How close are you to losing the city?"

"We're not going to lose the city. It's just . . . yeah, you're right in a way. We didn't think the Emperor would pour this much effort into a fight so far from his center of power." Gisel frowned. When Iskander had decided on landing an army in the port city, the Empire hadn't even been in the war. Had they misjudged? The Emperor Zarl had seized the opportunity to oppose them on land. Even though the Empire's armies weren't armed well enough to defeat Iskander's garrison, the continual strain on resourcessappedIskander and their allies more than she cared to admit. Something had to change, and soon.

"What is going to happen this year?" Yohan asked. "Think they will try to maintain the siege; as they did last winter?"

"We expect so. There's no way they can break through our lines. We've used all our knowledge of trench warfare in Earth's history to build a defence against them. I feel sorry for those poor devils trying to attack our modern rifles and artillery, but the Emperor cares nothing for his soldiers' lives."

Yohan regarded her fondly, then he shook his head. "We lost many men during the coldest months."

She watched the soldiers on the deck of the merchantman as it was towed past. Some stared and a few waved. They were Lubitz militiamen; she saluted back. "Yes, trench sickness. I wish we had a way to negotiate a truce."

Yohan spread his hands. "If the Baron was held in higher esteem he might offer to mediate, but the Emperor is still angry at our agreement with your father."

She nodded. Yep, she knew -- that was why Iskander had let the Felgers pull the steam engine caper. "Best he stays away from the Emperor Zarl entirely. Zarl's a stubborn bastard -- what does it take for him to see sense?"

"The Emperor has never been held to such a stalemate before. I still have faith in Iskander -- eventually he will be ready to discuss terms."

Gisel scowled and turned from the tug and merchantman, now pulling away rapidly astern. "Yeah, in ten years time."

Yohan reached an arm around her to give a quick squeeze. "I have to go. Things to do before we arrive."

"When is Swift leaving? Do I have time to interview all the crew again?"

He paused at the top of the short companionway and creased his lips into a rueful smile. "I hope not, there's cargo waiting here for your father's steelworks. Talk to them again when Swift returns." He stopped at the bottom of the companionway, his face level with the fo'c's'le deck. "I'll be going straight to the shipyard when we anchor. What about you?"

"I have to report to the Gravhalle. Courtesy, to let them know a security agent is in the city -- and maybe I'll need to ask their help. I'm no Sherlock Holmes."

"Who?"

She grinned. "Nobody. I'll tell you tonight."

When he departed she turned her head back toward the harbor mouth and the first glimpse of the docks beyond. Time to get her mind back on this murder investigation. Policing crime was not her business, but this was no ordinary murder -- Durden had been an Iskander Security plant in the Partnership. The implications went much further than the loss of an agent -- who had ordered his death? If it hadn't been carried out under Imperial orders that left only one possibility. Felger orders.

Did Yohan know more than he was saying? She didn't want to believe that.

Swift slowed as it entered the channel between the sandspit to starboard and the fort on the opposite headland. She sighed as she scanned from one side to the other -- the murder had presented her with two problems. Who had carried it out -- and who benefited from it? She'd interrogated everybody, crew and passengers. None had acted guiltily, or given a story that raised her suspicion. The only person who seemed to know more than he said was the apprentice Murrin. She would put pressure on him ashore when she had a chance.

Her problem would be less if she could work with Yohan on it, but she'd elected to deceive him. She tried to convince herself she had to avoid placing him in an impossible situation. She didn't want to test his allegiance that far -- was it to the Felger family or to her? Yeah smart -- it merely shifted the shit to her. And now, she was even more tortured. Yohan moving a contraband steam plant was one thing -- Yohan weeding out an Iskander agent and having him murdered quite another. She didn't want to suspect him, but professionalism dictated she had to.

How much time did she have to solve this before the Felger's ship arrived to take the contraband steam engine away? She'd be able to make a guess when she knew the progress on the tugs here in Lubitz. They were building six powerplants -- four were already in the city. The last two were aboard Swift, along with more crew for assembly and operation. In addition to those units was the extra one -- if she had any doubts it was aboard she had only to lean over the ship's rail and see how deep the Swift lay in the water. Some of the new men would be for the crew the Felgers were planning to send to the Empire to assemble the steam plant. Durden had been in that crew -- how could she get another Iskander agent infiltrated to replace him?

*****

As Gisel was ushered into his office, Captain Rolt stood up from behind the desk, running his fingers along his thick cavalry moustache. He smiled warmly, as well he might -- working with her on the security for the Peace Conference had gained him this post. But she owed him one, too. When their ally's representative had given her problems Rolt had placed himself and his own security guards under her command. It cut the ground out from under her balky colleague's objections.

"Major Matah, so good to see you again. Please take a chair. What can I do for you?"

Gisel was glad she didn't need to revert to stratagems the men in this society condemned as women's tricks to get a hearing in Lubitz. Helping put down the coup d'etat had earned their respect. She scanned around the office as she explained some of her purpose in Lubitz and gave an account of the murder on the Swift and her investigation. "I don't have any theory to go on with this murder, but the worst thing could be an Empire plot." She told the lie with a straight face; easy after she'd already concealed the other part of her planned mission in the city. "Have you sniffed out any Imperial agents in Lubitz?"

"Sniffed?" Rolt appeared puzzled momentarily. "Oh, you mean have we found any? Not really, but I have people under observation."

"What kind of people?"

"Troublemakers, radicals -- some itinerant workers and local apprentices who want to band together to defy their masters. I have my eyes on them because they have a secret meeting planned. I mean to catch them all."

Oh, shit. That likely included her own agents -- the last thing she needed was to have them rounded up. "We've had the same trouble with workers drawn to our factories, but I doubt they're in the Empire's pay. What will you do with them?"

"Oh, I don't know, the Margrave hasn't given me his decision. But I want to hang the ringleaders and deport the rest." Rolt said this with a satisfied smirk on his face. He set his hands on the desk with a gesture of finality. "I would rather discuss some other business of yours, Major. I believe the Partnership wants to place a private army in Lubitz territory."

"I take it you don't approve." Gisel took a deep breath and switched her mind to this question. Damn. The other matter was more important to her. "I have responsibility for the security of Iskander's steam developments on the river. How much will Lubitz do to ensure the tugs and their barge cargoes are not pirated?"

Rolt frowned. "Is our local watch not sufficient?"

The local watch on the river spent most of its time catching salmon poachers, or collecting river-tolls. Each small force came under the control of a different local landowner. "We need an Iskander-trained force to guard our vessels. You can be damned sure the Emperor would like to get his hands on a steamship -- even if it's only a river tug."

"Yes, I expect he would. But he can hardly carry one away to the Empire across the mountains."

"I wouldn't want to bet on that. It's not impossible to cut the engine into mule loads and carry it that far. Before he died, Wolk Kachupin had plenty of loyal supporters willing to do the Emperor's bidding. Are you still watching them?"

"Of course, but they're all acting like loyal followers of the Margrave now." He paused, touching the tip of his moustache. "There is one man I'd suggest you check out. He owns the Black Dog tavern."

"Thanks for the tip."

"He's the kind of man who would undertake anything, for pay."

"Too many would. You can bet the Empire would pay plenty for some of Iskander's secrets. How many men do you have assigned to guard the new harbor tug here in Lubitz?"

"Just a half-troop aboard. They serve as port watchers as well."

"I want to do much the same. Arm the tugs with swivel guns, and place some guards on them. I don't see that will cause you a problem."

"It may. The landowners will resent the Margrave's approval of any limit to their local prerogatives. The city fathers will not want to see Iskander's permanent military presence on the river -- not that they are ungrateful for Iskander's cavalry protection now, of course . . ."

"Of course." Iskander's cavalry division was based on the city to strike at the supply convoys and rear of the army besieging Leki. Gisel knew more than she'd admitted to Yohan this morning -- Iskander's cavalry had moved into camps close to the city to be reorganized for a new attack. Iskander's leaders had persuaded Lord Ricart to gamble some new strategy before winter, to make the Empire's besiegers withdraw into winter quarters. Not her problem -- she was only here for the Partnership's security. And the less she had to do with Ricart the better. Yohan was bound to feel jealous.

"Let the Margrave make a presentation before the Council," Gisel suggested. "Get them to allow the guards as a temporary measure, until the enemy is driven away."

Rolt regarded her steadily. "And when will that be?"

How the hell would she know? It was damned certain that Iskander's steam tugs would become a target for Imperial countermeasures. If Lubitz wouldn't defend them then she would have to set up something. "There is a plan . . . but I'm afraid I'm not authorized to talk about it. If Lubitz would set up a River Guard, a trained and centrally organized force, the Partnership wouldn't need its own. Except outside Lubitz territory, of course. I have to go to your neighbor to clear arming the tugs south of the border."

"I can understand Iskander's concern. Perhaps you will need to gain the agreement of both nations."

She sighed. "You're probably right. And in the meantime?"

"If you arm your tugs, and keep quiet about it, I can overlook the matter . . . at least until spring."

"Thanks. If I can return the favour -- these troublemakers, for example -- I'd be pleased to help you."

Rolt smiled. "I don't think you need trouble yourself about them, Major."

"Actually, I may want to . . . trouble myself, as you say."

"Why?"

Gisel sought his eyes with a warm expression. "I'm not sure how much I'm authorized to tell you, but Iskander has an agent infiltrated into a radical group. What if he's here? It would be a blow to our operation if you arrested him. Hung him, even."

Rolt frowned. "Should I not have been notified about him?"

"I don't have definite information; I merely think his presence a strong possibility. But we can't afford to have anything happen to him."

Rolt looked down at his desk and shifted a pile of papers from one side to the other. "Yes, I see that. But I have to stop their meeting."

She could see Rolt's anger at having this sprung on him and his plans questioned. It hadn't taken long for him to become a typical jack-in-office. "What about placing some person of your own in the meeting? Learn more about the ringleaders."

"If I had such a man, I would consider that. I have very few good people -- wouldn't want to have one's throat slit."

"When is this meeting?"

"I don't know, yet. Why?"

"I would go to the meeting for you."

"You, Major? Would that be wise?"

Gisel laughed. "When have I ever been wise? I think a young woman could infiltrate the group more easily than a man. They do have women involved?"

"Yes, some garment workers in the factory set up with Iskander's new textile machines. They have complained about their pay. Cheeky little bitches! If they don't like it, then let them stay at home with their children." Rolt's face darkened, but then he glanced guiltily into Gisel's eyes. "Begging your pardon, of course. I find these newfangled ideas -- "

"Yes," she said with a smile. "I run into those feelings all the time. I'd like to stay at home to be Yohan's helpmate as well, but I don't have the choice. These women may not either, if they are widowed from the war and trying to feed their children."

Rolt stared down at his desk. "I suppose. I had not thought of it that way."

"But please tell me when you learn where and when the meeting will take place. I'll take care of it for you."

"Very well, I do not want to interfere in an ally's operation."

Gisel breathed a silent sigh of relief. This conversation had served its purpose. Rolt was not going to be easy to manipulate, but cooperated so far. "I'm sure the Margrave will agree."

"You may be right. As long as the rabble are not allowed to disturb the city. We can discuss the matter again. Perhaps when I know more about the meeting."

Chapter Three

A row of fine merchants' and ship-owners' houses stood across from the quayside in the Thalian capital of Gira, overlooking the river harbour. One of these had been leased by a man who called himself Marten Zulik, merchant venturer from Wasbia; a bull of a man with a bullet head set firmly against his shoulders, close cropped hair, and an expression suggesting he'd just swallowed a mouthful of vinegar. His actual name was Drago Zagdorf, Commandante in the Imperial army and the Emperor's spymaster in the Inland Sea region. To his house, on a sunny morning early in September, came two visitors.

Zagdorf received them in his study on the second floor, a spacious room with its outside wall brightened by an array of windows modeled after the stern gallery of a sailing ship. The first to arrive was a genuine merchant venturer from Wasbia, Han Petkre, a senior manager from the Felger enterprise in the city of Argsberg and a representative of Baron Anton Felger, head of the family business.

"Meister Petkre," Zagdorf said warmly as the manservant admitted him, "I am so glad you have arrived in the city. Please sit here and take a glass of fortified wine."

"Good day, Meister Zulik. I will be pleased to sit and take wine with you."

"How was your journey? Did you sail from Tarnland yesterday?"

"My ship tied up at high tide this morning, Meister. The winds were quite fair, but the vessel took two days and nights to make the passage from Stadholm."

"Ah, soon you Felger people will be taking passage on your own steam packets. I hear the first one is in service already."

"The Swift. Yes indeed. Unfortunately she is berthed in Skrona and it was unwise for me to visit the city. Besides, her passage is only to Lubitz at the moment."

"Unwise, sir? Surely you have no enemies there?"

"No, but it could have revealed my presence to the Iskanders."

Zagdorf nodded and cracked a smile, which he twisted into a sympathetic grimace. "The Wildcat is there, I'm told. Likely she would have interfered with this business." The Wildcat had interfered with everything he'd done in the region, curse her. He'd almost had her in his grasp several times and she'd escaped him. The next time she showed herself, he'd make doubly sure to catch her.

Petkre accepted a glass from the manservant and waited until he left. "Young Meister Felger, the company's manager, requested the precaution. He did not want to be associated with my activities any more than necessary."

Zagdorf took up his own wineglass. "No doubt. But everything is completed satisfactorily? You have the . . . steam engine here?"

Petkre shook his head. "It was not possible to carry it here, not under the eyes of the Iskanders. Meister Felger will send it to Lubitz on the Swift this month -- it may be on its way even as we speak."

Zagdorf kept his face impassive. "Loading it was the problem?"

"InTarnland, yes. But once the machinery is in Lubitz it will be easier to transship without the Iskanders noticing."

This time Zagdorf couldn't keep from frowning. More delay. It meant he would have to send his ship to Lubitz to collect the cargo. The city was now the Empire's enemy, but the ship sailed under Thalian papers -- it should be safe. He raised his glass. "Then you will sail with my ship and take care of the loading?"

"Yes, I can leave as soon as it is ready to sail." When he raised his wineglass, the two men drank. "I'm sure our precautions will pay dividends in the future. There is plenty of other Iskander merchandise the Empire will find useful."

Zagdorf nodded. The Iskanders produced weapons that had prolonged the siege of Leki a year. Duke Solerar insisted he be provided with comparable guns before he made another attempt to take the city. In the meantime the Emperor had decided on a new plan . . . a secret he was not about to mention. "If the Felgers can supply some of those new Iskander cannons, I'm sure the Empire will be in your debt."

"Ah, I believe that may be harder than this steam engine. But . . . who knows . . .?"

"Well, one thing at a time." Zagdorf stood and poured the glasses full again. At that moment came a knock at the door and the manservant appeared in the opening. "Meister Cyrian is here, Sir. Shall I show him in?"

"Yes, at once."

Lieutenant Cyrian was Zagdorf's second in command. Broad shouldered and nearly six feet tall, he wore a blue tailcoat and carried a fur cap in his hand, although the weather was not yet cold enough for anyone but a southerner to need one.

"Cyrian," Zagdorf exclaimed, signaling the manservant to serve another glass of wine. "Come and join us. This is Meister Petkre from Wasbia -- he has obtained the merchandise you will escort. How is our ship progressing?"

"I just came from the dockyard, Meister. The patches to Thalian Star's hull planking should be completed by tomorrow. And if we can launch with the high tide, the new masts will be rigged a day or so later. We can be at sea in less than five days."

Petkre looked surprised. "The ship is not at sea?"

Zagdorf shook his head and waited for the manservant to leave. "For this shipment I thought it wiser to have the vessel refitted. We want nothing to imperil the safety of our merchandise. Do you not agree, sir?"

"Certainly," Petkre said with a smile. "Especially since I will be taking passage myself."

"We also found it necessary to widen the hatches to the hold," Cyrian said. "According to the dimensions in your message from Tarnland, some of the components were too large to get aboard."

"The boiler?" Petkre said. "Complete, my informants tell me it weighs twenty tons. But it will be disassembled for shipping."

"The tube assembly will be shipped complete. The steam engine is another thirty tons. The shipyard had to reinforce the floor of the hold, but it will be ready for your cargo in a few days." Cyrian ended with a reassuring smile.

Zagdorf turned to him. "Meister Petkre could not bring the engine to Thalia. You will have to sail to Lubitz for it."

"To Lubitz? Is that safe?"

"My own concern exactly. We must trust our Felger associate."

Petkre smiled a little too readily. "Meister Yohan insists it is the only way. He assured the Baron that it can be transshipped from there in secrecy."

Cyrian looked down and counted on his fingers. "We can be in Lubitz in a week, I expect."

"Weather permitting," Zagdorf interposed. "I hope the cargo is ready for it. We don't want the ship to be anchored in Lubitz too long, to draw notice."

"And the escort?" Petkre asked, draining his glass.

"Leave that to Cyrian, Meister," Zagdorf said. "Part of the crew will be armed marines from the south."

Petkre smiled. "Imperial marines? How did you get them secretly to Thalia?"

Zagdorf exchanged a pained expression with Cyrian. This fellow had best keep his questions confined to the journey. "There, Meister, a matter you need not concern yourself with. Just be assured of your safety."

"But the harbour authorities in Lubitz will not recognize them?"

Zagdorf followed Cyrian's glance out the windows to the river. A disguised privateer with letters of marque from the Emperor lay at anchor among the merchantmen. "My men will not go ashore. Yourself and the Thalian master of the ship will conduct all our business there."

"Very well, Meister Zulik," Petkre said. "You seem to have the matter well in hand. I will take my leave and return to my lodgings. When the ship is ready to depart, you will find me at the Happy Return, the inn at the end of the quay."

Zagdorf stood and picked up the wine decanter. "You'll have one last draught before you go? A toast to your service and our success."

"Certainly, sir. The Felger Enterprise is always pleased to be of service to . . . to its friends."

The two Imperial officers stood when Petkre was ushered out by the manservant. As the door closed on him they stepped to the windows to look out. "The privateer will have to wait for you off Lubitz," Zagdorf said.

"Very well. Will it escort us through the Narrows, Sir?"

"To the Narrows, only. Even so, we must hope the Iskander warships do not see you."

"The Iskanders will not search a Thalian ship too thoroughly."

"So we believe. They try not to test Thalian neutrality too strongly."

"We might get to the Narrows without being stopped, but what if they have ships waiting for us beyond? We know they have the electric communication."

Zagdorf was certain they had much better communications than their own crude radio, but he would not discuss it with Cyrian. "From the Narrows an Imperial warship will conduct you to the coast of Frendland. You will be in charge of the shipment until it arrives at Genua. The Emperor should be pleased -- you may well get a promotion out of this."

Cyrian watched their departing visitor come into view on the quayside below the window. "I would have preferred not to have sailed into the harbor of an Iskander ally."

"I was in the city a year ago. They were easy to bribe then."

"So will I take gold --?"

"No, let the Felgers take care of it. This man will not fail -- if the Baron is to keep a head on his shoulders."

"This one would not be my choice if I had such a threat hanging over me."

Zagdorf watched Petkre walking along the quay between groups of stevedores and townsfolk. "You are right. That man does not seem clever enough to have pulled off such a coup against the Iskanders."

"We had men helping him."

"Even so, it took place very easily. Every other activity of ours has had lesser fortune. Why was this so blessed with success?"

"Do you suspect a trick, Sir?"

"I do not know what I suspect, but keep your wits about you. The Felger artificers who join you in Lubitz with the shipment are to assemble the plant at the end of your journey. You realize they will have knowledge dangerous in the Empire. They have trained under the Iskanders' guidance."

"Must we take them?"

"We need them to prepare the engine and train the Imperial men who will take charge of it, but watch them carefully."

"You suspect they would sabotage it?"

"In the heart of the Empire?" Zagdorf shrugged. "No. I cannot tell you what to watch for, but question them thoroughly on the voyage. We must take responsibility for their activities."

"I wish you were coming with me, Sir."

Zagdorf took Cyrian's glass to refill. "Impossible. I have to go to Novrehan, another cursed nation that seeks to protect its neutrality. An Imperial army is on its way there from the East. A plan to destroy the Iskander army and take Leki is afoot. I have to ensure the troops cross the duchy without delay."

"Surely Novrehan would not dare defy the Empire's wishes?"

"Normally they would not. However, I have received information that Crown Prince Jeury is on the way to Vonrogrod with a large army."

"The Skathians are threatening the Empire's plans?"

"Not necessarily, but Novrehan was declared a buffer state between the empires two hundred years ago. I doubt they would break that peace treaty over an army merely traversing the country, but who can tell? The Skathians are madmen, and proud. Even mounted archers are a danger when there are said to be a hundred thousand of them."

"That many? Surely not."

"Prince Jeury is the Great Khan's heir -- he will not move with a smaller army."

Cyrian raised his glass. "Then I wish you the greatest success in Novrehan, Commandante."

Zagdorf copied the gesture. "And good fortune to you. That steam engine could be vital to the Empire if war with Skathia should resume. Aye, as would many others of the Iskanders' weapons. Every event makes me more determined to make ourselves rulers over the Iskanders and their fiendish arts -- the Emperor agrees."

"Then may you outwit them this time. And cool the Prince's concerns, too. Surely pacifying such a threat will be worth the Emperor's sincere gratitude."

Zagdorf stared. No doubt Cyrian made a good point, but what if the Prince had come west to investigate the Iskanders' artifice himself? A far greater threat should he become friends with them -- the thought of Skathian cavalry armed with Iskander weapons made his blood run cold. He saw a great challenge before him, but one whose mastery could be worth a great reward.

Chapter Four

Yohan stood in the Swift's engine room with two engineers and the Chief Engine-room Artificer, looking gloomily at the huge cylinder connecting rod and crankshaft of the starboard engine. He felt sweat beading on his forehead from the heat. The smell of steam and thick oil filled the air, and water dripped from the deck above and from all the metal parts and cloth-lagged pipes. The Chief Artificer explained the problems that had developed during Swift's increase in speed during the night to make up time lost recovering Durden's body. Yohan couldn't help wishing Gisel had been less quick-witted in fixing the position, and they had never invited aboard the troubles that threatened them.

"Yon great bearing were shaking and givin' off such groans, Sirs," the Chief Artificer said.

Iskander's engineer-in-chief of the joint project, Sepp Berzoni, reached up to place a hand against the metal. "You know what to do, man. Cool it with water."

"And that we did, Sir," the man answered. "Two hoses pumping continuous -- twas like a rainstorm in the engine room. But I fear the damage had already been done."

Technician Wolfram leaned down into the engine bed. He reached out and raised some oily fragments for them to study. "Bearing metal I don't doubt. We're lucky we did not lose the engine entire."

Berzoni picked some fragments from the other's open palm, and examined them. "Damn! How many revolutions were you attempting to hold?"

Yohan knew they had pushed the engines hard. They had been tested to 28 rpm before, but not for such a long run as Swift had made in the night. Mellish, the master of the ship should have eased their speed a little, but Yohan would not reprimand his best people for developing such confidence in the machinery. Even if they had proved to be overconfident.

The Chief Artificer took a hesitant breath. "Well, Sir. It fluctuated between twenty- seven and twenty-nine for half the night. All was well until nigh on daybreak."

"Damn fools." Berzoni said, dropping the fragments back into the engine bed and wiping his hands on the rag the Chief Artificer offered. "There's nothing for it but to strip the bearings down and pour new metal. It will have to be done here in Lubitz. That engine cannot run again to get back to Skrona, and I'd not advise the journey on the port engine alone."

Yohan slammed a fist into his palm. "By the Flame! How long will that take? Swift has cargo waiting -- this could cost the Partnership a great deal of money."

"Cost you a damn sight more to lose the Swift," Berzoni snapped, swiveling to make for the companionway out of the engine room. "It'll be good practice for you Felgers."

"Wait," Yohan said. "You mean you will leave the repairs to us?"

Berzoni paused part way up the steep stairs. "Sure. It'll do you good. Be more careful to stay within the limits you're told, next time. I have work enough on the tugs and barges here. Number six is not being built to specification, Meister Yohan. You had better come and look at it with me this afternoon."

Yohan watched him climb up and disappear from view. Sepp Berzoni came from Iskander's crew and seemed to regard his work with the steam engineering with contempt. Gisel had confided he was an engine room specialist from the starship, and so regarded this primitive technology beneath him. Added to that, he had acquired a companion since arriving in the city -- Reba, the young beauty who had been an enemy ambassador's mistress -- and had other things than engineering on his mind. He delegated much of his work to his subordinates.

Wolfram picked up the rag that Berzoni had dropped on the engine frame. "You want me to set a crew on the task, Meister?" he said, wiping his hands. "It will delay our . . . our other project."

"It cannot be helped," Yohan answered. "Chief, have the starboard boiler cooled, but keep steam upon the other for auxiliary power. Set your first watch upon the task of preparing the engine for work. When Technician Wolfram brings in his machinists you will all work with them."

"Yes, Meister Yohan."

"And next time you see a problem with the engines do not hesitate to do what you see is necessary. I will discuss this with you and Master Mellish at dinner tonight. You must realize the extent of your authority -- the sailors do not command the engine room. If the Master demands too much from the machines, you must have the confidence to refuse him -- do you understand?"

"Yes, Meister," the Chief said, raising his knuckles to his forelock in salute. He turned about and walked through the opening in the bulkhead toward the boiler rooms.

"We will use our crew that will accompany the . . . extra . . . engine. It will indeed be good experience for them," Yohan said to Wolfram when they were alone.

"I'll assemble them at once, Meister. I believe we might have the work finished for tomorrow's evening tide, if we work through the night."

"Do that, then. But don't forget to attend the First Officer in the hold when you leave me. I want the -- shall we call it, the number seven engine -- unloaded along with number five. But keep number six and all its components hidden in the corners of the hold. With Gisel in the city and perhaps more attention from Berzoni, we cannot possibly unload three engines without being discovered."

"But what will happen to number six, Meister?"

"It will have to be kept aboard until we have the chance to unload in secret."

"Then it rides the Swift, back to Skrona?"

"Back and forth, if need be. Until I find a way to confound the observers. Perhaps this engine trouble is a boon after all -- at some future time I can explain that parts of six were kept on board to repair this. No one will be any the wiser."

"Yes, Meister. It seems a plausible explanation, if any should be required."

*****

Yohan climbed to the spar deck of the Swift and looked around at the harbor. The city and its shipyards lay off the starboard side as Swift rode at its mooring. If he turned to look over his left shoulder he could see the fort which protected the harbour, with extensive building in progress to add a new battery of larger Iskander cannon to the defences. The bustling shipyard was far different than it had been a year before when Gisel had used its silence to meet Hannan and her SEALs from the Stellar. One of the ships on the slip at that time had been completed and launched -- the keel of a new warship now occupied the space. Two others had been drastically altered to suit the new Iskander way of building, and the ribs of the abandoned vessel had been cleared away to make room to build a ship to the Partnership's specifications. A ship the Iskanders called a clipper, with frames of iron to be sheathed with timber -- a composite construction which made best use of the iron and the timber building skills of the available workmen.

The city had also changed in the previous year; new buildings going up, and hoists and scaffolding visible about those under repair of the damage sustained in the fight against the citadel. The city still looked like the ancient fortress begun five hundred years before with its lofty perimeter walls and guard towers. But on the harbor side at least, new constructions to Iskander ideas were taking shape. The Misikers had financed the erection of piers into the harbor, where Swift and her successors would dock to save the extra work involved in unloading into lighters in deep water for conveyance to the quays.

Yohan watched as one of the Partnership's completed tugs, Number Two he guessed, pushed the great floating crane closer to the Swift's mooring to unload the larger components of the steam plants. Tug Number One steamed down the shipyard inlet, laying a thick haze of black smoke across the waterway as it hauled several of the new dumb barges to take the cargo unloaded by the crane. The harbor tug, much larger than the Partnership's river craft, was somewhere out of sight, no doubt on some duty for the city, its new owner. It suited Yohan to have their own vessels work around the Swift, though they would hardly have the time when their service upriver commenced.

Mellish joined Yohan at the starboard rail and asked about that very matter.

"I believe the accommodation barge will be ready very soon," Yohan answered his question. "We will convey it up to the Blackrock Ford for the workmen to begin blasting the channel through the shallows."

The idea of smashing open a river path through the ford, which had occasioned them such grief on their nightmare journey, afforded him some satisfaction. The shelf of hard rock had served the purposes of land travelers for generations, but had meant that larger river traffic had only been able to pass in the early part of the summer when the river ran higher from spring melt in the mountains. The Partnership would use explosives to make a channel that could be navigable for their tugs and barges during almost every month. To keep the road open, they'd also provide a large ferry, which could take carts and wagons across the river. A small community would be started a little downstream, with a dock for river craft in the oxbow where poor Marc had hidden the scow for them.

"When dost expec' the first cargoes for Novrehan will leave Tarnland, Meister?" Mellish asked.

"Next spring, I suppose. I will travel on the inaugural journey to Novrehan before winter, if ice cover permits. It will serve to open peoples' eyes to the fact that the Felgers can move heavy merchandise at most times of the year. That alone will repay the costs of our venture."

Yohan watched Tug Two belch steam and smoke as it reversed its stern paddlewheel to bring the crane barge to rest alongside. Crewmen ran about the decks of Swift and the barge to exchange mooring lines and secure them. "This is the dawn of a new age, Mellish! You shall have the honor of bringing the first cargo bound for the Baron's storehouses in Wasbia across the Inland Sea."

"I looks for'ard to it, Meister. But when shall Swift's new sister take the sea?"

A new ship neared launching at the Iskanders' dockyard in Tarnland, three times the size of Swift and constructed entirely from iron. Folk still feared to ride in iron ships, although the iron barges riding high above the water behind Tug One showed they would both float and carry a heavy cargo. The new ship would be identical to the warships Iskander would put into service next year, even as far as armament if the Partnership planned to make the ocean voyages the warships were intended for.

"In the early Spring, I'm told. Iskander has not given me a definite date because their own ships of the class will take precedence. If they need to take something from our vessel to solve a problem they will do so."

"They ships has problems, Meister?"

"Indeed they could. As did the Swift last night. We will discuss the matter further this evening, with the Chief Artificer, but I see a need for the system of command aboard a steamship to be modified. You must consult with the engine-room staff, as you would a commander of marines in wartime."

Mellish's eyes narrowed and his mouth made a thin line. "If you says so, Meister."

"I do. I hope that in time you will both learn to trust and respect one another -- then the Swift will be better served."

Mellish obviously did not like the idea. He soon made his excuses to get back to the wheelhouse and left Yohan alone, thinking about the need to have better understanding between the quarterdeck and the engine-room on the new ship. Yohan glanced at the crew running to open the hatches; the crane had been moored alongside and its chimney began to belch black smoke.

The Allies ruled the Inland Sea, it was time to begin contesting mastery with the Empire in the oceans beyond. The cruisers, Alabamas, Gisel called them, would close off the Empire's vital links with the Kosmoneos, and dry up the flow of gold and silver that financed its armies. The Partnership's steam cruiser would become the only vessel able to carry goods and passengers to the Kosmoneos for the neutral nations once the Empire's ships were swept from the seas. An audacious plan, but exactly the kind of move he had come to expect from Iskander.

Which made his mission to send the contraband engine to the Empire even more distasteful to him. The principle of steam propulsion would be a stolen secret. Not that this machine was Iskander's best -- Gisel had explained that the steam engines being supplied to the Partnership today were their earliest model. They were of low power, whichmeantthe Swift needed two. The new ships would have more efficient engines, and be capable of thirteen knots.

Of course, all such plans would be in jeopardy if the Felger's subterfuge with this steam engine was discovered. He had almost broached the Baron's intention with Gisel on one occasion, but had put off the matter when they had one of their silly quarrels. He didn't even remember what it had been about; the usual he supposed. Having an almost married life but no settled home nagged at both of them -- and then the difficulty of them visiting Lingdon to make another attempt at changing his father's mind. His father never answered his letter requesting approval of his marriage, but his mother had risen from her sickbed to dictate a reply through one of the company clerks. He had no son -- stubborn old fool.

But he had to admit Yakob was anything but a fool. One of the principal Felgers had to keep the Emperor's trust while he and the Baron traded with Iskander. How the marriage of a Felger to the daughter of Iskander's chief engineer would play in the Empire didn't bear thinking about. The Emperor could be safe to deal with when he needed a huge loan at little interest, or the supply of some material the Felgers had cornered, but if he were displeased he had a thousand ways to indulge his spleen. Which was the whole reason for the smuggled steam engine. The Baron must become an invaluable servant again. It was likely that or imprisonment in some tower on a rock-bound island.

Was it possible to involve his father in this steam engine business? Unlikely. Even if Yakob recognized the possibility of the Emperor's approval he would want nothing to do with the Iskanders' demon machine. But if he could visit Lingdon with a steam vessel -- even take Gisel with him ... That might make his father warm toward her ... No! The whole train of thought was ridiculous.

He looked about to make sure he was out of earshot. The crew still worked to open the hold, using the steam crane to lift the spar deck hatch aside. He took out the communicator Gisel had provided and pressed the number that would connect him to the one in Argsberg -- the Baron's.

The handset purred several times and then the Baron's heavy accent answered.

"It's me, Uncle. Yohan."

"Hello, young man. Everything goes well, I hope?"

"I'm afraid we had trouble last night during Swift's passage. A man was murdered."

"Murdered? Are you sure?"

"Oh, it's certain. Gisel was aboard and she marked the location the body was thrown overboard. We recovered it -- the machinist Durden. He'd had his throat cut."

"Your lady was aboard? Why was that?"

"Taking passage to Lubitz -- on Iskander business of some kind."

The Baron's voice went down an octave. "Was the . . . steam engine aboard?"

"Yes, it was -- still is. The crane has just begun unloading. I worry she might suspect something, but I don't think so."

"She is going to see the unloading operation?"

"No. She left the ship when we moored -- she has a full slate of meetings in the city."

"I hope you are right. But she has concerned herself with the murder? What has she learned?"

"Oh yes, she is investigating. Stayed up all night questioning the passengers and crew. But when I spoke with her this morning she seemed to have learned little. Should I give her all my help?"

The reply was a long time coming. "Why should you ask me that?'

"Well, we're concerned that a man of Zagdorf's is aboard -- I know it makes no sense for the Empire to hinder us, but you know how things get mixed up."

"A man of Zagdorf's. If there is I hope she catches him."

Yohan glanced overside to where the crane lowered an engine connecting rod into a barge -- yes, uncle, but I asked you a question. "She will likely search until she learns something."

"Is she to return aboard Swift?"

"No, I don't think so. Swift is delayed -- we worked the engines hard last night to make up lost time. I have a crew repairing one of the engine bearings."

The Baron's voice seemed dredged in gravel. "Repairing? Nothing serious, I hope."

"I'm told the trouble is not uncommon, but I've told Mellish and the engine-room staff to be more careful in future. Durden was to be one of our . . . traveling crew. I have to replace him."

"Yes, I recognized the name. You are sure Gisel had nothing to do with this murder herself?"

Yohan stared at the handset. The idea took him by surprise but he quickly dismissed it. "Why would she have had the body recovered? That makes no sense."

"You are right." The communicator remained silent for almost a minute. The steam crane let out a deafening hiss of steam and with fresh gouts of smoke from the chimney, lowered its hook once more into Swift's hold. He could hear the Baron's voice return. "Don't go out of your way to help her in this investigation. But don't hinder her, either. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Yes, Uncle. Perfectly."

"I will leave you to pick a replacement machinist for the team. You know the kind of man I want."

"I will do my best."

"When will Petkre's ship arrive?"

"I've not contacted him yet. I will do so when I get the opportunity."

"Good. And see that your lady is away when that ship is loaded."

"How do I manage that?"

"That is your business. I told you I expect you to handle her. She could be too dangerous to us in Lubitz."

Chapter Five

Gisel left Captain Rolt's office and made her way to the Margrave's chambers to pay her respects. The aide in the anteroom told her he was very busy and took her card. "How is the old gentleman?" she asked. "I've heard he's been making over Lubitz into a veritable powerhouse."

"Indeed he has, Major. It has been a treat for us to see him so vigorous and full of plans."

"Good. Tell him I look forward to a conversation with him, when he has time."

She left the building and walked to Citadel Street, managing a short visit with the Misikers before leaving her card with the young marrieds, Liejla and Mercel. The streets were busy but not as crowded as they had been when tens of thousands of refugees sought a place to spread themselves in temporary shelter on her first visit to the city. She did her best to keep from yawning every few paces as she walked; the long night had caught up to her. She must locate Markov next, and then she would return to the shipyard area to the mansion the Partnership had rented for their Lubitz base. Yohan had a small suite of rooms and she'd try for a couple of hours of rest.

Markov was probably staying in one of the dockside taverns, it fitted his usual guise of small trader. The third place she hit was the Black Dog tavern, whose owner Rolt had mentioned. Going in, she saw Markov at a table in the gloomy taproom drinking with a couple of strangers. She pushed her way to the bar and ordered beer and schnaps. Other patrons reacted indignantly to her passage until they recognized her black uniform and the pistol holstered at her hip. Even so, no one offered greeting, even though she'd become well known for her service to the city a year ago. A pretty rough place.

She drained the beer. Hadn't realized she was so thirsty -- it must be lunch time by now. She took a swig of the schnaps and turned to lean against the counter. She kept her eye scanning the room until an opportunity presented itself to look at Markov. A slight nod, which he answered, was enough signal.

"How can I serve you, Major?"

She turned to look at the man who had sidled up to her. He was short and unkempt, with a balding head and stubbled chin. "Are you the owner?"

His mouth opened in a smile, which revealed a row of broken and blackened teeth. "Maybe I is, maybe I isn't. But I recognises you."

"And I've seen you before. You were one of the men who killed the attempted assassin of Gerd Misiker . . . so I couldn't find who hired him."

The man grinned at her, his left eye almost closing in a squint. "I'd call that a fine stretch o' reasoning. Weren't me; they says Wolk Kachupin were blamed."

She looked him up and down slowly. "So how do you find easy money, now the Kachupin plot to ally with the Empire is defeated? If you have information I might be interested in, we could talk price."

"About who, Major?"

She shrugged carelessly. "Your old friends."

"Wish I could 'elp you, but they is all gone."

"Not all. One of Zagdorf's men killed someone on the Swift last night." She fixed her eyes on his face to search for his reaction. "A client of yours?"

There was a very slight tightening around his mouth. "The murderer or the victim?"

"Either."

"Well that might not be so easy to say. Clients o' that service tends to speak little afterwards."

She gave a bark of laughter and drained the rest of her schnaps. Markov had risen from his seat and said goodbye to his companions -- she averted her gaze so this fellow didn't see her interest.

He eyed her as if judging his course. "If I did find anything, what's it worth?"

She thought a moment. "Two hundred thalers for the murderer, and another three hundred for his patron."

He shook his head. "Five hundred for each."

Gisel nodded and pushed herself upright. "I'll send a man to speak with you -- in a couple of days."

Markov had left the tavern so she walked out to follow him. When she emerged into the street, crowded with dockworkers and fishwives, she saw Markov standing at a leather worker's stall, picking over some belts while waiting for her. His expression was dark, obviously not wanting to be seen with her in uniform. She knew the very place where they could talk unseen and set off at a brisk pace past him. Three streets further on, alleys really, littered with all the flotsam of a city without sewers or garbagemen, she turned up some steps and knocked on a dark recessed door.

The metal grill set at head height slid open and a shadowed face moved dimly inside. Then the door swung open. "Why, Major, a pleasant surprise. Have you another company of soldiers in need of companionship?"

"No, Sophie. Not today. Just a secure room where someone can speak in private. A man will follow me shortly."

Sophie turned away silently and led the way down a dark passage. This was a bordello, the one Gisel had decided upon as clean and secure for her guard detachment, while they were stationed here for the Peace Conference. The girls owed her a favor.

She didn't have to wait in the small room for many minutes before Markov was ushered in. He took a seat on the narrow cot in the corner and smiled up at her. "Seem so you have an affinity for these places, Major."

"They have their uses."

"I hope you'll not blow up this one. Leastways, not with me in it."

Gisel shrugged. Her task in Skrona had been to find a way to open the city to Iskander's army -- quickly, right off the march. The layout of the city meant seizing control of the main gate, but she didn't have the force then for the strategy that had worked later in Lubitz. Her cover for the mission made a bordello her hideout, so she used the girls to distract the guards, and blew up their owner's building to mask the sound of the explosive that ripped the gates from their hinges.

"I'm not looking to blow up anyone in Lubitz, but I'd like to put a rope around the neck of the man who killed Durden."

"Ah yes. A strange affair."

"I suppose you have some thoughts about it?"

"But probably no more useful than your own."

Gisel took a few paces across the room and swiveled abruptly. "Do I look for the man, or for the motive?"

Markov watched her silently, a thin smile on his lips. "What does your lover know?"

"You think it's a Felger action, not an Empire?"

"Neither would want an Iskander agent in their operation -- if they found him out."

"True." But she didn't want her suspicion of the Felgers relayed back to Control. "I'll take care of investigating the Felger angle; I want you to check around Lubitz for anyone doing Empire business. The owner of the Black Dog used to be a Wolk Kachupin man. I've told him I'll buy any information he has that might connect the murder with his old friends."

"I'll let him mull it over awhile and then talk to him."

She nodded. "How do you come to stay in a tavern with such connections? I'd think it would be watched by the authorities."

"I know it is, but I'm an innocent trader. Captain Rolt's informers know me already; I asked them for leads to any customers. They'll have a care for their commissions."

Gisel laughed. "You're a clever scoundrel. What mission did Colonel M'Tov send you to Lubitz on?"

Markov shook his head. "Best you ask him. But I expect to be here long enough to do what you ask; he did say to back you up if you needed help watching your lover's business with the contraband steam engine."

"He doesn't trust me?"

"Nobody said anything about that."

Of course M'Tov wouldn't, but he probably suspected she had other interests than those duties assigned to her through Control. Damn good job Iskander's lack of qualified officers had sent him to a Lingdon post; he had to run Control by proxy from there. Long may he stay, he was the last man she wanted nosing about in her affairs here. What if the Baron had placed a spy in the Partnership without Yohan's knowledge?

Markov's withered hand scratched at his collar. "If there's a man of Zagdorf's on the Swift, how did he get there?"

"Perhaps Zagdorf bought a man who had been in Felger employ for years."

"Or perhaps he had a contact in the Felger business who arranged the placing of an Empire spy."

Gisel turned away to walk back across the narrow room. "Guessing is getting us nowhere. I'll wait for you to say yes or no to a definite Imperial connection."

"What about the passengers aboard Swift?"

"I have a list of their names here, I'll get you to watch them in the city."

Markov took the sheet from her hand. "You've no likely suspect among Swift's crew?"

"I've checked them all, and I want to do it again before she leaves port. There's one crewman who took his back pay and left the ship, a bosun's mate by the name of Torgus."

"Where do I look for him in the city?"

"Around the docks, I'd guess. If he's not our suspect, he'll be looking for another berth."

"And if he's your man, he'll have gone to ground. I'll try to locate him. What other leads are you following?"

"Nothing more. After the ship leaves on tomorrow's tide I'll have to kick my heels until it returns."

Markov shrugged. "Not if you are to replace our agent. Colonel M'Tov told me there are certain items hidden in the crates bound for the Empire that Durden alone was supposed to find."

"Right. We don't want them discovered, but I can't locate them in the shipment. I'm pretending not to know about it." Gisel let out a snort of annoyance. Durden was to retrieve a radio from the crates, and a sum of gold, a pistol, and other items he'd need to set up a clandestine cell in the Empire's heartland. Who knew that? Perhaps someone had found the stash. It explained why the murderer knew to look for Durden. It made sense, but that said they also knew enough to look for someone else sent to secure it.

Markov frowned. "You want me to find a possible agent for you here in Lubitz? It will have to be someone local -- without Iskander training. But he will have to be a good metal worker."

"I'm sure Yohan will be looking to replace Durden on the team destined for the Empire. He's worried that Zagdorf has fingered one of his technicians."

"Then he will pick another of the men sent to assemble the steam engines on the tugs."

Gisel yawned and stretched her arms. "Maybe. But I rather think the rest have been ruled out already. The Felgers don't want to send a man who will carry unrest into the Empire. I'm sure the Baron was told not to send anyone who supports working men's rights -- and the Emperor doesn't forgive."

"How much time do we have?"

"I don't know yet. I have to pay a visit to the harbormaster -- some ship will arrive to carry the cargo -- with his help I'll be able to identify likely merchantmen."

"This sounds a more likely way to stop the shipment. How will you make your lover believe he has deceived Iskander?"

"I have to go south to plan the security of our service on the river. I'll leave the city when I think the ship has arrived, and look for the opportunity to pass the word to you."

"And I will --?

"Confirm the identity of the ship and report to M'Tov. We don't want Maritime Command seizing it at sea -- that would upset the whole operation."

Markov laughed. "You Iskanders give me a great deal of amusement. And you accuse me of being devious!"

"Damn you. I don't find this funny. I may yet need to let Yohan in on my secret, but it could turn him against me. It's a gamble I don't want to risk."

"If I can find you a man among the radicals, I can leave you a radio message."

"You have one here?"

"Colonel M'Tov insisted I bring one. You know I don't like to carry anything incriminating."

Gisel considered a moment. She wouldn't ask what Markov's plans were again, but obviously they included a further journey from Lubitz -- to somewhere secret Iskander equipment could mean a death sentence. If he could name a man she would get one of the local people to propose him to Yohan. Lawri Misiker, still recovering from his injuries in the naval battle a year ago, could do it. He was the Misikers' factor to the Lubitz shipyard. She glanced around the tiny room, which she'd recognized as one without the spy-hole that catered to men with a love for voyeurism. While they were talking about their clandestine friends she had an opportunity to find out if Markov knew of the Radical meeting. She dare not raise the matter directly -- if any of the Radicals suspected Lubitz Security had wind of it, they'd scatter like rabbits.

"And how is our other business coming?"

"I'm sure Colonel M'Tov will keep you informed, Major."

Damned cagey bastard! "I'm thinking Nagat would be a better man than Kullen to get into the Empire."

Markov laughed. "If he would go."

"Ask him."

"What makes you think I will speak with him? He may not even be in the city."

"If he is, and you have the chance, do what I say. He is clever enough to run a spy cell under the Emperor's nose."

"But why should he care about Iskander's spying? To my mind he wants only one thing -- to overthrow the aristocrats -- aye and your filthy rich Felgers and their kind. You are a fool to count him a friend."

"To people with as many enemies as us, a friend is anyone without a knife already in our backs. If he wants to use us . . . so be it, I say. As long as we get our use out of him too."

"I would not like a man in the Emperor's torture chambers who could scream out my name, Major. Perhaps you had best find him yourself."

Chapter Six

Yohan stirred drowsily in his sleep -- something moved again and he reached out a hand. Warm, naked skin met his touch. He opened his eyes.

Gisel turned to him, half out of bed. "No time this morning," she said with a grin.

He sat up, his eyes on the one breast turned closest to him. The Partnership's cold, rented mansion had seemed warmer last night with her in his bed. "Again? When was our last time?"

"You expect me to keep count?" Gisel shook her head in mock disapproval. "Three days ago. Perhaps you should take me somewhere really special tonight."

"I would, but will you be able to come?"

She brought her feet back on the bed and rolled over onto him. "I'll try. Let's make it a date." She pulled him into her breasts and lowered her face into his hair.

Yohan kissed one and then the other, breathing deeply of her musky skin. He felt himself rise to her presence and grabbed a handful of bedclothes to jerk them aside.

"Stay under the covers, Stallion. I told you -- there's no time. I have to call on the people at the Gravhalle first thing."

He enveloped her in his arms and tried to swing her over. She was too agile and evaded him -- as always when she only meant to tease. She began to slide out of the bed and he rose onto his knees to follow. "Gisel -- stay. Just a quick one."

Her eyes darkened and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. She was a woman of powerful appetite and didn't accept anything but his most energetic attention. "You should have thought of that last night."

"I came in after midnight. I had to ensure the work on Swift's engine proceeded well."

"Swift will be finished today?"

"I hope."

"I want to go aboard to speak to the crew again. I want Apprentice Murrin with me."

"He worked on the engine last night -- he'll be sleeping today." Yohan felt his erection slide down the bunched covers beneath him. Damn, the mood was gone. Shouldn't he be able to make her surrender to him when he wanted her? Wasn't that love? He just wasn't attractive enough for her, that was the trouble.

He had changed in the past year; he began to suspect she had changed him. His standards were different now. Before they met he would have been scandalized at living with a girl without marriage. Gisel had not laughed at him. She told him she admired him, but where she came from that was an impossible ideal. Now, it was an impossible ideal for him. He lay back down in the bed and watched her dress.

She pulled on her briefs and glanced up at him. "What?"

"I can never see enough of you."

"That's what a woman always wants to hear. But I feel the same way -- don't you believe me? It's just that I have duties I cannot shirk. Let's plan to get away -- just us two. No steam engines, no tugs, no meetings, no river, no business -- the hell with it all."

"How can we do that?"

Her head emerged from the tunic she pulled over her head. "Take a cruise?"

"What's that?"

"A journey by ship -- where we don't need to work. When the new ship is ready we should take her to the Kosmoneos. We'll look for island hideaways."

"I like that idea, but what about today?"

She pulled on her uniform pants. "Tonight, Yohan. We'll make time for ourselves."

When she left he slipped out of bed and took up the Partnership communicator from the bedside table. It would only connect with certain people but Petkre, who had procured the steam engine, had been given the Baron's spare one -- Yohan pressed the keys that called its number.

He listened to the machine, it purred several times which he knew meant Iskander's controller was paging the other device. He hoped they were not using it to track the man, he'd been instructed not to use it while in Tarnland. The purring sound turned to several clicks and perhaps the sound of breathing. Was Petkre frightened of the confounded thing?

"Han Petkre," he said. "Can you hear me?"

"I . . . hear . . .. Who is this?" The voice sounded faint as if the man held the device at arm's length.

"This is Yohan Felger. Do you hear me, Petkre?"

The voice increased in strength and clearness. "Yes, Meister Yohan. I do."

"Is it safe for us to talk now? Where are you?"

"In my room. At the inn in Gira."

Yohan breathed out firmly, he's probably just unfamiliar with the calls. "I need to discuss business. The merchandise is in Lubitz -- do you have a ship lined up?"

"Yes I do, Meister Yohan. But it is not yet ready to sail. Meister Zulik is having new masts and yards installed today."

Zulik. Where had he heard that name? "When will you be here in Lubitz?"

"I was promised the fifteenth. The ship will be ready to sail on tonight's tide."

"That's only three days, you'll not be here until the seventeenth. New masts and yards? Why do your people take so much trouble?"

"Meister Zulik is very solicitous for our cargo. He has . . . er . . . people coming with us to safeguard it."

Zulik . . . he had definitely heard it somewhere. Yes, by damn! Gisel had told him -- that's the name Zagdorf had used in Tarnland. "This Meister Zulik -- is that Marten Zulik? A bullheaded man . . . close cropped hair . . . almost no neck?"

"Yes, that's him. You know him?"

"I should say I do! Is he traveling with you?"

"No, he is sending a Meister Cyrian. I believe Meister Zulik has another journey to make -- I heard Novrehan mentioned."

Really? Gisel would love to hear this. Was there some way he could tell her? "But he's not coming as far as Lubitz on the ship?"

"No. The discussion I heard concerned hiring horses for his journey."

No doubt. Zagdorf wouldn't want to be found in Lubitz, even if he didn't know Gisel was here. She had vowed to kill him. "Listen, Petkre, I want you to bring some cargo to Lubitz."

"Yes, Meister?"

"The ship will have room for some heavy timbers -- masts of the largest size?"

"I expect so. Meister Zulik has mentioned just a small cargo to unload in the city."

Zagdorf was thorough -- that would be a blind, to avoid appearing suspicious arriving with an empty hold.

"But you want masts? How many?"

"Three or four, but they have to be very large. Your ship will have to take a mooring at the shipyard so the large steam crane can unload them."

There was a pause at the other end. "Ah, I understand you. I will see to it."

"One more thing. What is the name of the ship?"

"The Thalian Star, Meister. It is a small three master of about a hundred and fifty tons."

"Good. I will be looking out for you. Zag . . . Meister Zulik knows nothing of this communication?"

"No, Meister. I have only used it once before to speak with the Baron."

"Good. Ensure Zulik's people never learn of it. Your life could be forfeit."

"Yes, Meister Yohan. I will see you in Lubitz."

*****

Apprentice Murrin woke early in the afternoon and lay still a moment wondering where he was. It was daylight -- what was . . .? Ah, yes -- he remembered. They had worked all night in the Swift's engine-room. They had taken the great connecting rod apart to pour new bearing metal. He looked about the small room -- in the men's quarters in the house the Partnership rented beside the shipyard.

A thought nagged at him. He tried to remember for several minutes, sitting on the edge of his bunk and reaching for his breeches. Ah, he did remember. Someone had come to him early in the morning with a message from Meister Yohan. He had been so tired it was a wonder he remembered. He must report to the Wildcat this very afternoon, she wanted to speak to the crew again. He jumped up and stabbed a foot into the britches, hopping about awkwardly as he thrust it down the leg.

He'd best hurry and get away. The last thing he wanted was to do her bidding. She wanted him to listen to each man's voice to finger he who had called for Durden. Stay away from that trouble -- it would get him killed as well.

When he reached the front door of the house, still tucking his shirt into his breeches, he stopped a moment to look about. Townspeople walked by, one or two staring at him in curiosity. Where should he go? Could he think of a reason to evade his instructions? Just until the next tide -- then Swift would be away.

He looked toward the harbor -- should he go aboard the Swift and go back to work? No -- likely that would be the first place the Wildcat would look for him. He turned to stare at the shipyard. Yes, that was it. He could lose himself among the workers there. His tools were still aboard Swift, but he would borrow what he needed.

When he reached the shipyard gate, a new one by the freshness of its hinges and paint, the soldier on duty looked at the gilded crest on his Felger work card and let him through. He paused a moment to look about him -- he had never been here before, although the other men had talked about it last night. He was curious to see the tugs and the work to install their steam engines, but even more interested in the talk of the clipper -- even though it had no steam plant. He could see the iron girder of its stem even from the gateway. It was fifty feet longer than all the other ships on the stocks.

He threaded his way along the slipways between piles of shaped timbers and other stores. Workmen bustled to and fro, so busy they barely gave him a glance. The clipper's slipway contrasted immediately with the others -- hardly any timber but racks of ironwork and barrels of rivets. The smoke of furnaces hung heavy in the air and young lads ran across the narrow roadway carrying white-hot rivets to their riveters amid the forest of iron ribs. The noise of hammering and beating on iron rang out across the shipyard, all but deafening him.

He sidled carefully between two ribs and stood looking down the length of hull. Even though it was obscured by workers, wooden work platforms, and piles of material, he could appreciate how large this ship would be -- more than two hundred feet in length.

A pleasant-faced lad working over a nearby smithy forge looked up to smile at him. He opened his mouth and shouted. "Come ter see the Silver Eagle, have yer? She's goin'a be a beaut."

Murrin bawled back. "Be that 'er name? Tis a fittin' one."

"Aye. Us'ns calls 'er that. So many silver coins have been paid out already."

Murrin laughed. "An' what be yure trade?"

The lad leaned forward, one foot pumping a bellows beside the forge. The fire burned brighter and sparks flew upward. "Smith's 'prentice. And you?"

"Machinist 'prentice for the steam enjins."

The other's eyes widened. "Really? How dost a feller get into that trade?"

Murrin shrugged. "Mus' be lucky, I s'pose. I was a blacksmith 'prentice meself -- for the Felgers."

The lad reached down with a set of tongs to move the iron girder in the fire. "Same as me -- but 'ow did ye learn steam?"

Murrin watched the bright red glow spread along the girder. He glanced about, the big fellow in a leather apron standing some distance off with his back to the forge was likely the smith. He was deep in conversation with another man. "I was picked to go to Tarnland. I dursn't know steam yet -- there be a power o' things to learn."

The lad looked at him as he pumped the bellows. "Aye, but you'm chosen -- I wishes they'd choose me."

"If you works hard, they might. What's yer name? Mine's Murrin."

"Cassin. I be Lubitz born an' bred."

"Then you'm lucky as to have this job. I heerd folk were perty near starvin' when Iskander come las' year."

"Aye. Us were in bad straits. Rich folk said they was ruined, no chance to giv folk work -- an' us 'prentices would'a starved if'n us had'n took to streets."

"To streets? What did ye do?"

Cassin's face creased into a broad smile and his eyes gleamed. "We made riot -- an' we demanded yon Margrave to speak with us. The only way us common folk have to claim us rights," he let go the tongs to raise his fist, "wi' our own right arms."

Murrin glanced about. He felt the same way, but he'd never risk letting such words escape his mouth -- not even in a shipyard where the din drowned out the chance to be overheard.

The big fellow turned away from his conversation and stomped back to the forge. "Pump harder, boy. Us don't have all day."

"Tis ready, Meister. T'will bend a treat."

The smith took up the tongs and poked at the girder. "Let's have'n out then -- give a try."

Murrin watched as the two lifted the hot metal from the forge and laid it on the anvil over a much dented block of iron. While Cassin held on tight the smith took up a heavy hammer to beat down on the girder. Gradually it began to bend. After a few more blows the smith stepped back and nodded toward the forge.

Murrin took up the tongs the smith had used and helped Cassin lift the girder back into the fire. It was heavy, but not as heavy as the connecting rod they had taken down in the night. As the metal heated back to a cherry red he helped his new friend with the work. "What do we bend this'n for?" he bawled, as the smith walked away to the workers beside the keel.

"This be part of rib, see? But where her meets the keel is a line o' rivets -- so us has to shift'n over to a better place."

"Oh, I see." he didn't, quite. It seemed less precise than the steam fitters work he'd been learning, although sometimes pipework needed bending around other parts. He guessed this was something of the same.

"What be your job?" Cassin asked.

"Today? I be off work, today. I worked all night in enjin-room o' the Swift." He pointed in the vague direction of the vessel out in the harbor.

"All night? Why for?"

"Enjin trouble. Meister Felger wants her fit to sail on tonight's tide."

"So, you want to 'elp me? Us don't know if us could pay 'ee anythin' -- maybe if us was to get more ribs fitted, there'd be a few groats."

Murrin laughed. "I didn't come here for pay. Jus' wanted to get a chance to look about."

"Well, you'm welcome to see our craft, but I doubts it pays like yourn. How much do 'ee get a day?"

Murrin shrugged. He expected it was double what a smith's apprentice made and didn't want to come on like a rich fellow. "We's on piecework, like you is. But us just come from Skrona. T'will be a week afore us knows -- I hasn't even seen the tugs yet."

Cassin looked at him from his pumping the bellows. "What do 'ee get for las' night?"

"Ah, tha's differn't. Meister Yohan says we gets bonus -- I'll have ten thalers if Swift sails on tomorrow's tide."

Cassin's eyes widened. "Lor! I'd be feelin' well to see that in a week. I guess you'm gonna be one o' the rich folks us is going to curse tonight."

"Curse? What do yer mean?"

Cassin frowned and glanced about. "Well, maybe I should hold my tongue."

"No, tell me. Is there a brotherhood in the yard?"

Cassin shook his head. "Nay, I spoke out'a turn. Bes' you goes off an' looks about the shipyard. Your tugs be over that'a'way -- beyond the storage sheds, where steam crane is standin' up."

Murrin laid down the tongs. "Maybe I will take a look. But I'll be back. I heard many good things about the brotherhood when I were in the yard at Tarnland. I sure would like to hear some good speech here tonight."

Chapter Seven

Murrin sat enthralled as Brother Kullen launched into his speech. He forgot his fear of discovery, and he forgot the shadowed building, filled with working men and women and the pungent stink of their crafts. The smith's apprentice Cassin, who had brought him to the secret meeting, might have been a hundred leagues away instead of on the hard wooden bench beside him. Kullen wore a dark woolen habit, like a monk's, his face was as round and his head as bald as an apple. He stood on a small raised dais at the end of the empty storage shed and raised his hands to them all, as if in blessing. It was said that he had once been a priest.

"The Rights of Common Man, my brothers. Rights I say, and indeed, Rights I mean. This is the vital message I bring to you."

A drawing of breath like a weary sigh hissed about the room. Murrin's pulse quickened. This was what he had longed to hear for over a year -- ever since his sweetheart had . . .. Curse the aristos -- death was too good an end for them.

"The poor man and his family give their all, that the nobles and the rich merchants may have their laden tables and their drink," Kullen went on. "Starvation and want is our lot in the midst of plenty. Taxes upon the pitiful groat of our labours is our curse. Is it not a Right that our children might be housed and clothed?"

A louder murmur from the coarsely dressed crowd filled the old storage shed to the rafters. Murrin felt his concealed anger bubbling like bad liquor in his belly.

"Is it not a Right that the good worker should not be put off at a whim of some lordling? Is it not a Right that the good woman should sit and spin at her own fireside without the fear that she and her children should be cast out without a roof or bed? Is it not the Right of a child that each morning it should receive a little food -- aye -- and in the eve again, enough to fill the tiny belly? But do our lords and masters care about the Rights of those who serve them . . .?"

Murrin could not contain himself -- he staggered to his feet. The words that had gnawed at him for nigh on fifteen months burst from his lips. "Is it not a Right, sir, that the young maid should come pure to her husband's bed? Is it not a crime that some lordling shall claim her for his sport?"

"Aye! Tis a crime," shouted a man behind him.

"Criminals!" shouted another. "Death to them all!"

A chorus of angry voices took up the cry.

Kullen raised his hands in a plea for silence and gradually the crowd in the old storage shed ceased their clamor. "Aye, Brothers. What you have decried is surely an evil thing. But we must consider first the establishment of our Rights. Only afterwards, can voices be heard for justice. Our first claim is to the Rights that all creatures born of woman have by virtue of their birth. Is the child in a damask crib born somehow differently than the poor brat whelped in a hedgerow? Is the man who rides a fine stallion more worthy of the beast's sweat than the poor fellow who drives the ox? When the world was new -- when the Almighty Flame sent forth the naked children to populate the earth -- was some babe a gentleman and some other a serf? Nay! I say unto you that in the very beginning all the children were brothers. None lorded it over any others -- and their patrimony shall not see peace until that time comes again . . ."

Murrin hunched down on the hard bench again, his whole body shaking as if from a palsy. His heart hammered in his breast. Fool! What hast thou done? To stand up in front of a company and let your heart spill out -- you have got yourself marked by all. If there be a spy among the company, your words shall be known to the ruling class by dawn tomorrow. A death sentence you have given yourself.

But Kullen stood proud before them -- speaking his mind, unafraid. The words of his teaching came rolling from his lips, bathing the crowd and raising their spirits with the promise of their rights. He boldly spoke and yet lived -- Murrin raised his head and looked about, stared back into faces furtively seeking his. Still your own fear and disregard the foolish apprentice casting sidelong looks that he thinks you do not see. Then he noticed a young woman standing in a group against the side wall. She wore a coarse linen kirtle and an embroidered tunic like a peasant's. He had never been in the city before, but he found something familiar about her. Where had he seen the girl?

Throughout Kullen's address, he glanced often toward her, trying to fix what it was that had stirred a memory. How could he recognize any girl here? What wenches had he seen?

After Kullen spoke, several others rose to add their words to the crowd. Gradually the meeting split into smaller groups, each gathered around some man who stood firmly with stout declarations. Murrin stood and pushed his way closer to the side wall, careless whether the apprentice Cassin followed or not. Part way there, he joined a group gathered around a tall man in a leather apron, shoulders as wide as the trunnions of a cannon. He barely listened to the blacksmith's words. He stood next to a large man with a withered left hand and stared around the fellow's shoulder to watch the girl easing her way through the crowd toward Kullen.

She had long dark hair and eyes like coals -- just like those that had stared accusingly at him aboard the Swift when . . . That's it! By the Holy Flame! He knew her -- t'was the Wildcat, Major Matah! She must be here to spy! He tried to shout out a warning, but the breath caught in his throat. He clenched a hand into the coat of the big man beside him.

"What is your trouble, lad?" the man said, turning to him. "Do you know me? For I recognize you from your outburst."

"A spy, Sir! I see a spy. I must tell Brother Kullen."

"What spy is that?"

"That girl -- see her? Even now she pushes through the crowd toward the front. She's dangerous --"

The big man followed his look and in a moment gave a muffled oath. "By Damn, if you don't speak the truth. I see her."

As the big man turned to push through the crowd Murrin pressed close behind. His heart raced even faster. What could be her purpose here -- was she intending to attack Kullen? He sped ahead of his companion -- he must stop her before she reached him.

The three arrived at a rush, pushing between the groups of talkers. Murrin called out, "Brother Kullen -- that girl -- keep her away!"

She turned angry eyes that stopped him cold. "Apprentice Murrin, hold your words or I'll ram them down your throat!"

The big man caught Murrin from behind. The Wildcat placed a hand over his mouth. Was he in the hands of enemies? But Kullen regarded the big man with a look of recognition. He smiled calmly as the man spoke directly to him. "Is there a side room somewhere? We need to talk in private!"

Kullen turned away from the group of workers who had been listening to him and picked up a lantern from a table on the dais. "Yes, there is an anteroom. Come this way."

Murrin found himself hustled through a doorway between Brother Kullen and the Wildcat. What had he done this time? The Wildcat was more than dangerous -- she could have him discharged from his employment to starve -- more, she was said to kill without compunction. But both of his captors released him as the door closed behind them. He gathered his last scrap of courage. "Brother Kullen, this woman is a spy. None other than the Wildcat!"

Kullen stopped in the middle of a small lean-to, a shed that had once been set against the storehouse to make an office for the bailiff. He stared at him and the young woman as if they were squabbling children. "Is this true?"

The Wildcat stepped before him. "I am Major Gisel Matah, of Iskander Security, Meister Kullen. Allow me to compliment you on your inspiring speech. I hope that you shall have the chance to give many more."

"If the Flame is willing," he answered. So calmly, as if at the temple steps after the service. "And who is this young fellow you have in your grip, Markov?"

"I do not know, Brother. He came to me in the crowd, screaming of spies. You know what fear and panic it would cause in such a company."

"Indeed. It was well that you could calm him. Who are you, young man?"

Murrin stared. They seemed not a bit concerned that the meeting was discovered -- and what did the Wildcat mean by her compliment? She worked some trick.

She turned to him and thumped him on his shoulder. "Well, can you speak for yourself, or shall I have to claim you?"

Murrin shook his head. "My name is Murrin. I am an apprentice steam fitter with the Felger enterprise. I am here in Lubitz to help build the tugboats. I was told of the meeting by an apprentice shipwright called Cassin . . . he's here, somewhere."

The man who had been addressed as Markov leaned forward to stare hard into his face. "And you've got yourself deep into business which does not concern you." He stood upright and addressed the others. "He knows too much."

Murrin felt a stab of fear -- he knew what that could mean.

Kullen looked grave and spoke to the Wildcat. "And why are you at my meeting, Lady?"

"I came to spare you from a visit by the Militia."

"Militia!" Markov echoed. "The city knew of the meeting?"

"The Margrave's security chief told me of it. They were planning to arrest you all, but I asked him to leave the affair to me."

"And he did?" Kullen said, amazed. "Why should he do that . . . and why should you --?"

"I told him that Iskander had an interest --"

Kullen looked at Markov. "The money you sometimes bring me from an anonymous benefactor . . . is this . . .?"

The Wildcat answered. "From Iskander. The Rights you speak so persuasively about are those the citizens of Iskander enjoy within their own society. You are no threat to Iskander, Meister Kullen, provided you do not harm their allies. Do you understand why I am here?"

"I see."

She turned to Markov. "Take this lad outside and keep him quiet. I will take him back to the shipyard, myself." She turned that dark eyed stare on Murrin that had so frightened him aboard the Swift. "You have already tried to keep information from me once, about Durden. You and I will have a long talk tonight and if you can convince me you have wits enough to protect others' secrets and guard their lives and safety -- I shall grant you yours. I have matters to discuss with Meister Kullen, but you shall forget that you ever saw us together in the same room."

*****

Gisel pushed Apprentice Murrin ahead of her as she merged with the crowd in the dirt road outside the old storage shed. She took a quick scan into the faint moonlit countryside for any glimpse of light -- Rolt had said they'd leave the meeting to her, but that didn't mean some ambitious agent wasn't doing his own stakeout.

Murrin began to pull away to the side. She slipped her pistol from under her peasant's tunic and jabbed it into his back. "You can try to give me the slip, but it'll get you face down in a ditch."

He turned his face to her, eyes wide in the moonlight. "I wasn'a going anywheres. A man pushed me."

She quickly hid the pistol again. "Good, because I'd hate to frighten these good people. You and I are going back to the crew house -- but when we get away from this crowd, we're going to have a private chat. Let's start walking."

"Yes, Maj --"

"And don't call me that. I'm Beth if you want to use a name. Got it?"

"Aye . . . Beth."

The crowd soon thinned as the attendees at the secret meeting departed in different directions. Gisel shook her head at the amateurish organization -- these people should know enough to leave in ones and twos so that no patrols noticed a crowd. Just as well she'd advised Kullen to get out of the city right away. She'd have to tell Markov to go after him to drill a bit of security into him.

The city, above them to her left, had lighted windows and the odd lantern beam on the city wall. This was likely the road Yohan had guided General Garriker's army along a year ago -- to reach the gate she and Hannan had busted open to put an end to the Kachupin coup. There was no curfew these days but likely the very thought of secret meetings could cause the Hundred to re-introduce one.

A young fellow came toward them from the darkness. "Murrin. That you?"

"Who's this?" she gritted. "Get rid of him."

"Apprentice Cassin. Where didst go, mate. I lost thee."

"You went up front . . . who's this?"

"Her name's Beth. See yer later, eh?"

Gisel draped an arm about Murrin to reinforce the message.

"Oh, sure, Mate. See yer around."

They were alone, walking down the center of the dirt road between the cart ruts. "Good, I like your quick wits. You could go far, if you cooperate with me."

"I dinna want to go with ye this arternoon. A feller could get his own throat cut."

"I figured that was your problem. So you do know who called for Durden?"

"No . . . Beth. But twas a plain accent to me. Frendlish, like me."

"Good. Then we can finger him."

"He'll get no chance at me?"

"Not if you do as I tell you. I can . . . No, wait a minute -- I've a better idea."

"What's that?"

"Wait a minute. I'm thinking."

They walked in silence for a few more minutes. The light in the roadway of the repaired East Gate shone on the hill from Gisel's left. She had been surprised to see him at the meeting -- even more surprised at his outburst. But he had a grudge against some aristocrat -- back home in the Empire. She might be able to use that, and solve two problems at once.

"You could lose your job with the Felgers as a revolutionary."

"You'll tell the Meister?"

"Not necessarily. How would you like to work for me?"

"How Maj . . . Beth?"

"You go to Yohan and tell him why you didn't want to go with me this afternoon."

"But he'll get angered. Like as not he'll throw me off the job."

"Not if you do it my way. He has a place to fill, with Durden gone."

"I be doin' Durden's part o' the work las' night."

"Yes. I'm sure you were. But I'm thinking of another job. Has anyone mentioned it?"

Murrin shook his head vigorously, moonlight glinting in his eyes.

"Yep," Gisel said with a grin. "They've spoken, but you're not to say. I understand that. I'm not supposed to know, either, so we're even."

"Fer certin, Beth."

"Neither of us know. Be damned sure of that! That could be as much a death sentence as the knife that slashed Durden's throat."

"Certin. I don't know . . . what you jest said."

"But if you go to Yohan and tell him you didn't want to tell me anything without his permission he won't be mad. He'll commend you for your loyalty."

"Yes, I sees that."

Gisel patted him on the shoulder. "Good lad. If he tells you to go ahead and tell me -- well, wait a minute. It'll be too late tomorrow. Swift will be gone with the tide."

"I'll come with you when Swift sails back, Beth."

"Oh, I don't think I'll be waiting until she comes back. Your information the man's from Frendland tells me one more thing I needed to set someone on him. I won't bother you about the murder again; what I want is for you to take Durden's place. I'm hoping Yohan gives you that job. If he does -- come to me at once. I'll have secret instructions for you. Can you handle that?"

"This will harm the Felgers? Meister Yohan?"

"Hell, Murrin. I'm going to marry him. Do you think I want to harm him? But we have duties to others than ourselves. He has to do what's best for the Felgers -- I do what's best for Iskander, and for the people of Gaia."

"I thinks I see."

"Right. I was at the meeting tonight because I had to warn Brother Kullen the authorities had heard about his activity. I came to save everybody from arrest. Iskander wants to see the kind of justice you asked for tonight. When we get back to the crew house you're going to tell me about the young woman . . . Sure. I knew from your voice that she must be close to you. Tell me about her. Iskander wants to see peoples' rights upheld -- we want to see justice. But first, the power of the Emperor has to be crushed. Are you man enough to sign on to that war?"

"I'd have to fight?"

"Not as a soldier. As a working man. Talking to others about the rights due to everybody. Telling workers how they can band together in a brotherhood to gain those rights. And doing it in a safe way -- the kind of way I use. I go to meetings where everyone could take me for an enemy and come out safely. I can teach you those techniques. Interested?"

"You came to Lubitz a year ago. You were an enemy then?"

"Damn right. They nearly hung me. Hung, drawn, and quartered. Sentence was pronounced -- I was in a Citadel dungeon -- but my backup helped me escape. You can learn to be as secure."

"I thinks I could do that, Major."

"Beth!"

"Sorry. An' I would get a medal?"

"You could get medals, and honours. Money, too -- a lot of it."

Chapter Eight

Gisel sat in front of the Margrave's huge desk looking at the memorial plaques for his orderlies killed in the Kachupin coup. They'd been cut down in this very office. A lot had happened since her first visit to this cluttered room, with its disordered bookshelves and escritoires littered with papers. She smiled at the thought that she'd never tried to turn the allegiance of a ruler before that time. She stretched out her legs and turned her head at a sound outside the door.

The Margrave entered. "Sorry about that, Major. My brother wanted a word."

Gisel watched him as he crossed the room to go behind the desk. He was wearing a new periwig -- black instead of the white he used to wear. With the bright glow in his eyes and a straighter back, it made him more of a vigorous leader. "General Garriker's here? I should like to see him again."

"He is in the city for a day or so. Discussions with your Lord Ricart of Amberden -- he's here, as well, in the building talking about supplies. Have you seen him yet?"

"No, I haven't." And didn't want to. She didn't like the implication he was her Lord Ricart, but she knew the Margrave only meant it in the sense of his being Iskander's cavalry commander. He may well know she'd had an affair with his lordship two years ago, but wasn't likely to throw that in her face. Now Yohan . . . she'd do her best to keep the two from meeting -- bound to be ruffled feathers there.

"What matter did you want to discuss with me, Major?"

"What's wrong with Gisel? I know this is business but I hate formality."

"As you wish, dear girl. Do you mind if I bring in a secretary to keep minutes?"

"Not at all -- I'm recording."

The Margrave's eyebrows lowered momentarily as he absorbed her words. He must have expected that from last year's peace talks, but likely it still seemed an arcane art to him. The secretary entered, a middle-aged man in a shabby velveteen suit. He held a ledger in inkstained fingers.

As he seated himself and started to prepare pen and paper Gisel took a fountain pen from her breast pocket and held it out to him. "Take this, sir. It's one of the Partnership's new products -- a pen which holds enough ink for a day's writing."

"Oh, well . . . I couldn't."

"It's yours. I'm sure when your friends see it we'll make many more sales."

The Margrave sat watching with a smile on his lips. "Be careful of Iskander gifts, Crung. They lead to more changes than a man might reckon on."

Gisel looked at him. "Really, Margrave? Do you regret getting mixed up with us already?"

"Not regret," he said with a laugh. "But I am getting too old to adjust to all the novelties Iskander and the Partnership have brought to the city. Our soldiers are better armed, and the city free to pursue a much more profitable trade, but people are increasingly worried about the Imperial army besieging Leki."

"I'd be telling less than the truth if I said it didn't worry us, too."

"I have just dispatched more troops by sea -- I cannot send more without endangering Lubitz's own safety. I have spoken with your President about preparing Lubitz for defence, should Leki fall, but he will make no commitment."

"I'm not sure it's my place to advise you how to approach my commanders again. We feel the strain of that siege as well, but are confident the Empire will weaken first. This river could be your city's best defensive work; any Imperial army would need to cross to undertake a siege. My arming the Partnership's river tugs will help prevent their crossing -- perhaps Yohan and I can provide armed steamships for your army."

"Another heavy expense added to the drain of defending Leki," the Margrave said, shaking his head. "But I thank you for the offer. I will discuss it with the Hundred. But lest I sound too churlish I must invite you and Yohan to my reception tonight. It is in appreciation for the efforts and sacrifice of your cavalrymen this past year."

Damn. She'd hoped to stay away from them, and now she couldn't. "Why thank you -- we will surely attend."

"Now, I believe we must talk about the malcontents and their meeting last night."

"Yes," she said hesitantly, "and I must discuss the situation in Skrona with you."

"I suppose I should be diplomatic and not ask if you were able to find the man you mentioned to Rolt?"

Gisel put on a blank expression. "I'd really rather not report anything about the meeting to you. But . . . I did find a person there who proved to be of use to my purposes. I also think you may find a lessening in the city's unrest -- I hope until all segments of society can enjoy the new prosperity. That is, of course, the only long term solution to discontent."

"Hmm. I'm not sure that I agree with your sentiments there, but I respect your knowledge. You experienced no trouble?"

"One slight misunderstanding, but I easily overcame it. I feel their grievances are driven by injustices from the past, not your current policies. I would also suggest that if you arrest any of them in the future you hand them over to me. At the very least, I will see they are exiled far away from Lubitz."

He stared at her. "You want them?"

She laughed and shook her head. "I want to check if there are any of Zagdorf's men among them. We caught a saboteur of his in Tarnland."

"Yes. I see. I'll discuss it with Rolt."

"Now, about Skrona."

The Margrave sat up and leaned forward onto the desk. "I hear there is unrest, but that they are all too wary of the Wildcat to attempt any outright resistance to Iskander's trusteeship."

Gisel shrugged. "You and I know that a return to the Autarch of Tarnland's rule is inevitable one day -- but the Lubitz colonists refuse to believe their fate. They will never own the city again. We must find a way to satisfy their aspirations in some other way."

"Lubitz has no room for them to return."

"Then between us, Iskander and Lubitz must make plans for the day they lose their estates. We both know Iskander's mandate over the city was no more than a stratagem to keep the peace talks from collapsing."

"Yes, I remember. I'd still like to know how you worked your powers of persuasion on the Autarch's representative."

Gisel grinned. "One day, perhaps."

"What can we do for those citizens? I feel I can offer nothing."

"My President has some long term plans . . . concerning planting a colony of our own in the Kosmoneos."

The Margrave shook his head. "Surely that would cause endless conflict with the Emperor? I had thought Iskander looked for a chance to make peace one day."

"We do. But a colony we propose is far away from any Imperial possessions on the continent. I think he can be induced to share, eventually."

"Where, pray?"

"To the north. There is a land which we call . . . Cape Finistere, in a language we both understand. It has excellent coal deposits and iron ore from another island fairly close. It would be an ideal terminus for our own shipping across the ocean."

"Is it defensible? You would be bound to be visited by the Empire's turmae."

Gisel tilted her head in agreement. Those brigade sized formations were no pushover, even to Iskander's new weapons. "It's an island, and forts could be built. The mainland is close by, with an excellent defensible harbour, and other locations with arable farmland to die for. All things are possible, but we're still debating."

"How would this benefit Lubitz's exiles in Skrona?"

"Five thousand families. They would start a solid colony. If you could send a representative to Skrona to talk with them -- make them see that Lubitz will neither take them back nor cause trouble with allies for their benefit. It would help our own discussions. They would not suffer from being moved -- in fact they could found a better patrimony there than anywhere else in the world."

The Margrave laughed. "Perhaps you should tell them, Gisel. You make it sound so enticing."

"We would pay the transport, but Lubitz could help set up the colony with seed and supplies. It would need to become self sufficient in short order."

"No doubt." He sat back and gazed up at the ceiling. "I see no insuperable problem. Let me discuss it with some families. The Hundred can debate the matter this coming winter and decide whether to send an envoy to them."

Gisel sat forward in her chair. "I thank you for your understanding. There is much more to talk about before we act, but I can report to the President that we have made a start."

"You are leaving?"

"I'm sure you have more business besides mine."

"Then be sure to go upstairs before you leave the building. The generals are in the War Room."

"Thanks, I'll see how my schedule looks. Will General Garriker be at the reception this evening?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps you should ask him."

"I will," she said as she stood and let the secretary usher her out. But not right now -- there should just be time to leave before she bumped into Ricart.

*****

Zagdorf took a seat in the parlour of the Inn Thaliaburg and stretched out. The city of Kalinberg, one of the most important ports in Thalia was the largest and most prosperous he would reach on his journey and he meant to take his comfort in this excellent hostelry. This, the fourth day of his ride to Novrehan meant his joints were beginning to stiffen. All the years of campaigning -- sleeping in bivouacs and hedgerows, camped out under arms in forward outposts -- had taken a toll. The wounded arm from a year ago ached -- curse the Wildcat and her hidden pistol.

His two orderlies, escorts really, had gone upstairs to set up the rooms. They grumbled between themselves about setting up his household every night only to take it down to ride on in the morning. At his age and status he was not about to undergo unnecessary hardship, even on an arduous journey such as this. The Emperor had ordered him to Novrehan -- at least the Emperor's gold could make the journey bearable.

The servant came to set his flask of mulled wine on the polished board table before him. Zagdorf had just lifted the flask to fill his goblet when he became aware of some man standing beside him.

"If you have some of that wine to spare, it would be a hospitable gesture."

Zagdorf glanced up, then hauled himself to his feet to bow. "I would be delighted to share this wine, and a seat at my table, my lord Count. Do you travel, too?"

"Yes, Flame curse the need. I will sit and drink with you, but I have already eaten this eve, at mine own lodgings."

Zagdorf waved the servant over for a new goblet and poured it full for his new companion. "One for your orderly too, Count?" He nodded his head toward a soldier standing nearby.

Count Soleberg shook his head. "He will watch to ensure our privacy. I believe we have matters to discuss, Commandante."

"What brings you to Thalia, my lord? I thought your embassy to the Skathians was over." The Count was the younger brother of Duke Solerar, who commanded the Imperial 11th Army that had laid siege to Leki for more than a year. The Emperor had given the brothers one year to settle with the Iskanders -- no doubt an extension of the time had been necessary.

"The embassy ended more than a twelvemonth ago -- so much use it was. You doubtless heard the Prince is coming to make his own investigation of the Empire's policies here."

Zagdorf glanced at the orderly to see he was keeping strangers away from the tables beside them. "I did. He is in Vonrogrod, I believe."

The Count shook his head, then lifted his goblet to drink. "He is riding the bounds, I'm told. I rode north from our dependency of Magyaria and met several of their cavalry scouts on the way."

Zagdorf nodded but said nothing. A Skathian force riding the bounds was not a good sign, and Solerar's brother on some duty in Magyaria probably hinted at other big changes afoot. Would that all these campaigns made no interference with his own plans. By next summer he would have his network set up to abduct some of the skilled Iskanders and get them to the Empire. It had not been an easy endeavor to prepare -- not when it must work against such an enemy.

Count Soleberg set his goblet down and wiped his moustaches. "The Fifteenth Army is on the march through Novrehan -- coming to reinforce my brother."

"I am traveling to Novrehan myself to prepare for that army's journey. Surely it must be an error for the Emperor's people to send us both?"

"No -- because I have finished in the city. I can tell you exactly what awaits you in Novrehan."

"Leaving, my lord Count?"

"Taking ship here. Going back to my brother's army. I worked out a plan with the Strategos of the Fifteenth. We'll catch those cursed Iskanders in a pincer, if we move fast enough."

"So, I am to . . .?"

"I've been organizing supplies and billets along the army's route of march -- keeping their pace up and the soldiers safe from column sickness. In two weeks or so, the vanguard will arrive at Novrehan. Your job is to see that supplies await it there. The Strategos will give them two days rest and then they march on Lubitz. Let us see if those cursed cavalry of Amberden's can ward off two armies at once."

Zagdorf smiled. With two armies in the field, not even the Iskanders' powerful weapons could keep them from destruction. If only the Wildcat were there to share in the defeat, but she was said to be in Skrona. It might be months before he could seek her out there.

"I heard about some problem with transit rights," Zagdorf said, sitting back as the servant arrived with another flask of mulled wine and his steaming platter of fish stew. "You don't mind if I eat, my lord?"

"No. Go ahead. There was no problem about transit rights until the Skathian Prince began taking an interest. Now the Archduke of Novrehan is making noises about protecting his neutrality. He does not want to give the Empire permission to launch an attack on Lubitz from his territory."

"How else can we reach the city? The twice cursed fool!"

Count Soleberg glowered. "If Prince Jeury chooses to back Novrehan's neutrality there will be no route to reach Lubitz from this direction. It would take months for the Fifteenth Army to march back to the Empire and pick a western road."

Zagdorf slammed his knife down, sending a small portion of fish skittering across the table. "That would take half a year! Surely it is in your charge as ambassador to seek out the Prince to settle this?"

Soleberg's expression darkened even further. "I hear the Prince is displeased with me. I'm told I should have taken my embassy all the way to Tashkand, rather than to the Skathian Vizier at Vonrogrod."

"So, is another ambassador appointed?"

"Not officially. I understand a commission from the Emperor awaits you in Novrehan."

Zagdorf's breath caught -- an ambassador's position demanded a noble title. Dare he hope?

Count Soleberg continued with a sardonic smile on his face. "You are to receive the title of envoy. I believe no promotion goes with it -- but if you achieve success… Well."

Zagdorf set down his knife and picked up his goblet. "That success should be worth a toast, my lord Count."

The Count laughed. "May Prince Jeury eat from your hand! There's not enough wine in all Thalia to honor that toast."

Zagdorf looked down to hide a scowl. No doubt the Count would be ill pleased to see another gain the success he had lost. No doubt its retrieval was the reason for this mission to carry a plan from one army to the other. Well may the brothers hope to spring a new success from all the failures that had dogged them so far in their campaign against the Iskanders. No siege could make headway against the Iskander artillery in Leki. But coordinating an attack when the armies were three weeks march apart was filled with difficulty, too. The electric telegraphs between Novrehan and the field army might just make the difference, but the armies had better be ready to march on the instant the Fifteenth arrived. His task in Novrehan could be vital to the brothers' success. Perhaps this conceited pup should be made to realize that.

Chapter Nine

Yohan paused in the doorway of the Grand Ballroom to wait for Gisel, as she handed one of the maidservants her wrap. He glanced around at the brilliant company inside; it seemed all the illustrious of Lubitz were gathered here this evening for the Margrave's reception. The chandeliers sparkled in the mirrored walls, and the yellow and black parquet floor shone in the reflected brightness. He recognized almost half the people present; his life as the Felger's manager in the Inland Sea had made him a focus for much of the business activity in the city for the past year.

"Well, are we going in?"

He turned to see Gisel smiling up at him. Her hand flicked upwards to pick a piece of lint from the collar of his velvet jacket. She looked like a princess in a deep red gown, with her long dark hair coiled under the diamond tiara he had given her for her twenty-first birthday. It had cost most of his first few months' share of the profits. She straightened the hang of the Order of Lubitz around her neck, brushed a hand across her military decorations at her breast and smiled reassuringly. "All of Iskander's cavalry officers are here. Don't get upset if some old friends of mine seem too familiar."

Yohan forced a smile of his own. "I'll try not to be jealous." Damned if he would. As far as he knew, there was only one old friend he needed to concern himself with. Lord Ricart, the commander of Iskander's cavalry, was bound to be here -- he had once been Gisel's lover.

He put a hand up to check the Order about his own neck -- it stood out against the black velvet jerkin and doublet, knee breeches, and silk stockings he had chosen to wear this evening. He had eschewed carrying a sword, but was not completely unarmed. Gisel insisted he hide a single shot pistol in his vest. It fired the same 7.65mm ammunition as the concealed automatic she always carried -- another spy's weapon to protect against any Imperial agents who may be ranged against them. He recognized they could both be the target of the Emperor's wrath.

They entered to the announcement of their names and titles by the Master of Ceremonies. As they walked arm in arm to pay their respects to the Margrave and his lady, Yohan was surprised to find their entry greeted by applause -- and not merely polite applause. Their action a year before, to bring the city into alliance with Iskander and nip a civil war in the bud, must still be popular among the citizens. With better luck in the rest of the war -- and a speedy end to the siege of Leki -- that gratitude would not turn to regret.

"My dear young people," the Margrave said. "I am so pleased to see you both together again in Lubitz. Your presence tonight will give more life to our celebration. Your father, Yohan, has he . . .?"

Yohan shook his head. "He still refuses to receive me, Margrave. I regret if our presence should scandalize anyone here --"

"Not at all. If you wish, my offer still stands . . . we will put on a State wedding if you but ask. Surely he would relent and recognize such an honor?"

"We would be endlessly grateful, my dear friend," Gisel said. "But we must make one more attempt to win him over ourselves."

"Then I wish you every success. I almost sympathize with the gentleman; he does not know what a team he has set against himself."

Yohan laughed and shrugged. "I'm afraid the Felgers' thick heads are proof against almost any assault upon their stubbornness."

Gisel put a hand to his cheek. "And I can vouch for that."

They shared a laugh and prepared to leave so that the next guests could step forward to speak. Yohan took Gisel's arm, and with a bow, moved on to greet more notables in the receiving line. The Misikers, Gerd and Lady Tanis, insisted they visit them as soon as they were able. Mercel Kachupin took their hands in his and insisted they come to dinner -- his wife, now recovered from childbirth, looked as beautiful as ever. Leijla wrapped Gisel in her arms, tears in her eyes, and even embraced him with a kiss.

Inevitably, they came to the first of the Iskander officers. Gisel introduced those she recognized and the General's aide introduced some more. Yohan shook hands with a captain of artillery and a Captain Naserdin, a short, swarthy man who could be Skathian. "The General is about somewhere," the aide said. "I'll send an orderly to tell him you're here."

"No need," Gisel said. "I'll look for the largest group of young women. Doubtless we will find him there."

The aide turned away to hide a smile.

A few minutes later, they were greeted by the new Swordbearer of the Hundred, the murdered Bellis' eldest son. He led them to a large group in animated discussion about the punchbowl. "And here is our guest of honor. No doubt you know General Lord Ricart of Amberden, Major. Meister Felger, have you two met before?"

Lord Ricart came forward, hand outstretched. Yohan muttered pleasantries as they shook. "No, sir. It has not been my pleasure."

"Nor mine, but I expect we will have cause to meet often," Lord Ricart said in a sonorous voice that seemed to demand everyone in earshot jump to attention. He found his lordship as tall as himself, with a long patrician face -- handsome in its own way. His dark hair was closely cropped, as befitted a man engaged in lengthy field campaigning, and he was clean-shaven. Yohan had just time to notice he wore a flamboyant military uniform in pale blue and gold before his lordship moved quickly toward Gisel, a broad smile on his face.

She took a single step away and held out her hand for him to kiss.

With an ironic glint in his eyes, Lord Ricart bent over it and kissed it for much longer than etiquette required. He stood erect and stared hard into her face. "You look well, my sweet. Your romance must do you good."

"And you, my Lord. Campaigning in the field must suit you. . . ." her mouth crinkled into a smile, "more than conquests in the drawing room."

"As much of each as I can," he replied with a laugh. "You know me."

"To my chagrin. Yohan, please keep his Lordship entertained while I withdraw a moment. I see someone who must speak with me before the evening ends."

She turned with a swish of skirts and swept away. Ricart watched her go with a smile on his lips. "We must try to be friends, young Felger. I do believe you may be a wiser man than I."

Yohan tried to dismiss his annoyance. Lord Ricart's boudoir conquests were legendary; the thought of Gisel being among them like a knife in the belly. But he knew it was she who had ended the liaison, he had no reason to feel threatened. "I see no value in not being. We are allies in this war. I hear you have the whole cavalry division bivouacked about the city."

"Ah, you listen to rumors. Well, they are almost true -- I've withdrawn the cavalry to regroup for a new operation. A secret, which will be hard to keep under the eyes of all these gossips."

"It's true that the Kachupins have taken the field? Doubtless they wish to rebuild their reputation."

Lord Ricart nodded. "And good soldiers, too. They are holding the front while the cavalry is gone. Even old Svart -- he commands the force. Damn fine effort for a man past his fifties."

"The season for campaigning is almost over, I suppose. The heavy rains will come before the end of the month."

"Suppose away, Sir. Let me ask your plans. When will the Felgers have enough steam craft upon the river to carry supplies south?"

"Military supplies?"

"Of course. It would help my forces if we could use Abersholm as a depot."

Yohan felt his nerves tighten. That was where Gisel had killed the freebooter captain in a duel. How he had feared for her when he returned from the stable to hear the clash of swords outside. He believed that to have been the moment he realized he loved her. "Abersholm is a hard day's ride from the Lubitz River."

"I'm sure you know the country, but what of the land between them? Could Iskander lay a railroad between the two?"

Yohan shook his head. "I'm no railroad engineer, I spent months learning enough about steamships. But I could have Iskander send an expert to find a route through the hills."

"So could I, but I need your word on the river transport. When can you move a hundred tons a month?"

"By the end of Spring, but I could move one hundred tons next week. I will have two new tugs on trial runs to the Blackrock Ford. I intended to carry other supplies, but I don't doubt Iskander's war transport is a priority."

Yohan heard a step behind him. "What transport is that?" came Gisel's voice.

"Your beloved and I are making an alliance, my dear," Ricart said. "Does that please you?"

Yohan turned to include Gisel in the conversation. "His lordship wants to convert Abersholm into a depot."

"Really? I thought your operation was going sooner than that?"

"Ah, say no more about that, my dear," Lord Ricart stepped away from the group and ushered them into a clear space. "This is a different operation, but I have been waiting for you before launching it."

Yohan saw Gisel's eyes narrow. "Why me?"

"Because I plan a daring advance this month, for which I need a resourceful commander for my covering force. I must use the Third Light Cavalry to screen me from the Imperial army besieging Leki, but its Colonel has been wounded."

Yohan stared from one to the other. What was he driving at?

Gisel began to shake her head.

"I'm offering the command to you, my dear. You once commanded a company. How would you like a battalion?"

*****

Gisel glanced at Yohan's face to see his puzzlement turn to horror. Would she like to command a battalion in action -- an independent command? You bet. Would Yohan object? Equally certain. But the whole idea was fanciful -- President Scopes and M'Tov would never agree.

"My earlier command was of an infantry company," she said. "I've never commanded cavalry in action."

"I remember, but your squadron commanders are very experienced," Ricart said. "You can rely on them."

Yohan placed a hand on her arm. "No, Gisel. Don't do it."

She regarded him with the most reassuring expression she could muster. "I don't think my commanders will permit it, Yohan. I have enough tasks ahead of me already."

His anxious expression did not lessen. Gisel knew this was the moment they both dreaded -- her return to the shooting war. But they'd been going through a difficult period with this steam engine subterfuge -- she could tell the duplicity was tearing him apart. They were heading for a terrible fight. Going out on campaign would remove her from any chance of uncovering his activities, and she'd not have to invent any weak excuses.

"What happened to the existing commander of the battalion?" Yohan demanded.

Ricart shrugged. "He was wounded."

"Seriously? He will die? How did it happen?"

"No. He is expected to recover and return to duty, but not for several months. A sniper shot him while on a reconnaissance. The Imperial forces have recently acquired some rifled muskets, and their existence took us all by surprise."

Gisel had not heard this before, and felt a little alarmed. Iskander needed to settle the war on this side of the water to take advantage of their enemies' weakness in Tarnland. Their enemy showed ingenuity, so they'd better finish Solerar before his army became a greater threat. Iskander's existing tactics may have outlived their usefulness. But there was an upside if the Empire had started to industrialize -- that would make them more vulnerable to the radicals she inserted into the ranks of the Gaian technicians.

"How was he wounded?" Yohan persisted. "How seriously?"

Ricart raised a hand dismissively. "He has lost an arm, but I'm certain he will command as well without it in future."

Gisel didn't want to meet Yohan's eyes. She knew what she would see there. "I should like to keep both of mine. Contact President Scopes, I'm sure he will refuse the transfer."

Ricart leaned toward her. "But what do you think? Would you accept?"

Her thoughts whirled. Her coming to Lubitz with the secret shipment had been a mistake. Leaving the city would take a great deal of strain from her and Yohan's relationship. But it would introduce another just as large. She kept her face turned away from Yohan. "How long will the operation last?"

Yohan took a convulsive step forward. "You don't mean to accept? We agreed to discuss every implication before you went to another posting!"

Did she have a choice? She knew how much Iskander needed success in this campaign. "I'm a soldier, Yohan. I go where I am ordered."

"You want to take it. I know your ego. Riding at the head of five hundred men . . . Oh, so noble! There goes the Wildcat! How the crowds will cheer!"

Ricart chuckled. "Riding out with five hundred lusty young men. Are you jealous, Meister Felger?"

"You stay out of it," Gisel snapped.

"I anticipate an operation lasting four weeks, Major," Lord Ricart said, stiffening his military bearing. "I will give you as free a hand as I can. I know how much you dislike supervision."

Yohan made a move to storm away. Gisel reached out to take his hand. "I will let you know my answer when my partner and I have discussed it, General. There would be so little time to make the chauvinists respect a woman commander."

"They know your reputation, and if any would discount it they will answer to me."

Gisel shrugged. "My feeling right now is that I have no experience. I would be constantly in debt to my subordinates. You know I would dislike that as much as having a superior officer breathing down my neck."

"Come to the Third's bivouacs in the morning. Inspect the battalion. Even a visit from the Wildcat will be good for morale -- losing the Colonel has been a blow. Meet the officers, then you will be able to decide."

"I'll think about it. Good evening, General."

Chapter Ten

Yohan could hardly eat breakfast, his stomach rebelled at even the thought of food. He looked down the long table in the Partnership's staff dining room toward the others. Skurry, the Felger's factor he'd had transferred to Lubitz, looked down at his plate, ill at ease with the tension in the air, but Sepp Berzoni chatted easily to Reba, sitting across from him.

Yohan had slept poorly after the row they'd had at bedtime. Gisel, on the other hand, looked as cool and composed as ever in Iskander battle fatigues of field grey, her insignia and webbing standing out boldly in black. She even wore her rapier and had changed its multicolored sash to a black leather harness. He did notice that she seemed unable to finish eating her egg.

She glanced up at him. "I will call you as soon as I hear from President Scopes."

He nodded his head and spread conserve on a slice of cold toast. Was this to be their life -- another row whose resolution depended upon Iskander's requirements? These fights were a living hell -- why didn't she credit his concerns? He did trust her not to take up with Lord Ricart again, but he wanted to explore both their feelings toward the old affair. Her cutting sarcasm had been aimed at fears he did not own. 'Sure, Yohan -- horseback makes a great assignation couch.' had ended all hope of progress. Trust her? He had to -- wanted to -- but why wouldn't she speak about her past? She had done things she regretted, but refusing to talk about them would not make them go away.

Other things he could not say to her made him feel worse. If only he could discuss this steam engine subterfuge with her. She would find out one day -- was bound to. How would she react to his lies? That made her going out with the army an even greater torture. It protected the Felger's subterfuge from her discovery, solved his immediate problem. But did he need her to be killed or wounded so that he could keep a secret? He wanted to walk around the table and take her into his arms. Her cold composure and his guilt prevented him.

Sepp Bersoni smiled toward Reba. "Our masters must have slept poorly last night. Not like us."

Reba smirked. She rarely spoke at the table, no doubt mindful of the comebacks both Gisel and Yohan could fire at any bold repartee of her own.

Yohan made the effort to speak. "Gisel has been offered a cavalry command. I have asked her to refuse it."

"How can I refuse? It's a matter of duty."

He flung the toast at his platter. "It seems to me that you have ample opportunity to argue with your commanders when it suits you. I see this posting gives you no concern at all -- it merely upsets me. The battalion commander could easily have been killed."

Skurry stood, made a muttered excuse and left.

Gisel waited until the door closed behind him. "I will be fine, Yohan. Colonel Brett was careless -- I will know better."

"Brett may have been careless just once, but you tend to recklessness all the time."

Gisel's eyes flashed like burning coals. "Not this time. I have a whole battalion to worry about. I have to bring them back in good order."

"Which means you will take the risks you wish to keep from others. Please remember who will be waiting here for your return."

"I do. Try to think of my feelings when you treat me like an enemy. Do we part as friends?"

"By the Flame! You speak of partings already. Am I just a child that you put me off with platitudes? You say -- my commanders will never agree: I would not want to be beholden to my subordinates: I will only go to inspect the battalion -- nothing is decided yet. You were lying to me!"

"Godammit, I am not lying." She pushed her plate aside. "I'm letting you know my feelings about the offer . . . I've considered every angle. It seems impossible for me to take this posting -- even if it's only temporary."

"Be honest with me. You want to take it."

She stood abruptly. "Yes, I do. The same way you wanted the managership the Baron offered. Is it fine for you but forbidden to me? What do you want -- to keep me barefoot and pregnant at home?"

"I have never tried to rule you."

"Damn right! You'd better not."

He clenched his fists -- would that he could leap across the table and pummel her black and blue. How he wanted to make her feel the pain he did! If she loved him… as much as he --. Ah, what was the use? "Go to your damned soldiers! Go and lord it over the lusty youths. Go simper to his cursed Lordship. I'm sure he's ready to take you back to his bed --"

"This is what it's about, isn't it?"

"This is not at all --"

"Then why did you say it?"

Sepp Bersoni rapped his knife on the table. "Children! Children! Cool it, for Chrissake."

Gisel glared at him. "Who are you calling children?"

"You're both acting like them. Just give it a rest. Try to discuss this calmly."

Yohan shook his head despairingly. "We are past calmly. Let us be honest, Gisel. This has been building for some time."

"Yes, it has. It's time we had it out."

His rage had reached its lowest depth. He hurt inside; did she? She would never admit it. "But not like this." He looked around the dining room and at the serving maids waiting at the buffet table. "In private. We have matters buried that we have feared to discuss. We must find a better time --"

"If there is a better. Are you sure you want to open up?"

He stared at her. "What does that mean?"

"If we blow this wide open . . . there may be no more -- us -- afterwards."

He felt as if he'd taken a cannonball to the stomach. "We . . . we have to be honest with one another."

Gisel pushed her chair back and stepped away from the table. "Right. You want honest, you shall have honest. I have to go now, but tonight we must talk. No more goddam secrets."

"Very well. I will be waiting." He stood as she stalked toward the door, feeling as if he had sent her to her execution. As if he might never see her again. The door slammed behind her with all the finality of a prison gate. What had they done? Was this the way they would end? He slumped back into his chair and stared at the toast lying upside down on the table. The other two were silent.

The secrets were too explosive to mention. That was why he had kept silent, but what had she hidden from him? Iskander was cheating the Felgers and she had kept silent -- or was it on a more personal level? He had to admit -- her past indiscretions did trouble him. Meeting Lord Ricart had brought this to the surface. And now she proposed to go away with him for a month! No doubt there would be opportunities in the bivouacs for them to spend time together.

Sepp Bersoni got to his feet. "I have to get down to the shipyard. We'll be installing Number Four's engine this morning -- will you be there?"

Yohan looked up absently. "Yes. Of course."

He saw Reba and Sepp kiss as they parted, but the scene did not impinge on his consciousness. Love and companionship were lost to his thoughts. Reba might have been no more than a stuffed toy on the chair opposite as he finished his toast and downed the hot sweet drink Gisel had introduced to him. He stood, and ignoring Reba's eyes on him, left the dining room.

As soon as Yohan reached the shipyard the superintendent of the steam crane came to him with an authorization slip. "For the engine lifting, Meister."

Yohan took the whole pad and initialed it. "I think it will take two hours at the most. Where is the crane now, does it need to be moved?"

"Nay, Meister. Tis anchored beside your storage area." The Tarnlander eyed him carelessly. He looked like one of the men Iskander had hired for their own shipyard and Yohan suspected they had been glad to pass him on to another jurisdiction. Just as well in the present circumstances -- the fellow took no interest in the task, as long as his slip was signed for payment. The pay slips would come back to a Felger clerk at the works in Skrona, so Iskander's people need never have a record of the loading of engine number seven. With Gisel out of the way… He stopped the thought abruptly, a pain lancing through him.

Dare he tell her about the engine? It weighed upon his conscience like an iron monster.

The whole machinist crew assembled on the deck of the tug when he arrived. They comprised two teams, the one earmarked to go to the Empire with engine number seven, and the maintenance crew to remain in Lubitz. Today they would work together, though on opposite sides of the engine and boiler. The steam crane bargelayastern of the tug and the two held together with chains for stability when the alignment of the lowering components was critical. The smoke from the crane's boiler blew a sulphurous stink across the tug's deck and hid the sun.

He recognized Murrin standing among one of the crews. By his words the day before, the lad was obviously loyal to the Felgers. He had information about the murder he kept from Gisel -- so far. It seemed likely she would be away when Swift returned, so he would not need to keep the two apart again. In a few more days he would keep them apart forever; he had decided to send the lad with the contraband engine seven to the Empire.

*****

Markov and the fellow who'd volunteered to be his guide descended the steps between the overhanging houses and walked through the echoing postern gate tunnel under the city wall. This part of Lubitz bordered on the river near the Novrehan Gate, and broken stonework from General Garriker's cannon fire still showed the scars of his first attempt to recapture the city the year before.

They emerged from the tunnel into a refuse strewn alley behind the river warehouses. "This way, Brother," the guide said. "He has a room in a flophouse near th' water."

Markov turned to follow. "One room or several? I was told he had companions."

"I thinks his companions was livin' there first. They is ruffians what lives by scroungin' an' stealin' what bargemen don't watch good."

Markov nodded. With luck they'd be away already -- looking to see what had been left unguarded by the busy stevedores and their foremen. He patted his Iskander revolver, tucked into his belt under his jacket. Best not use it -- the city watch were now armed with the same pistols and eager to use them against anyone who disturbed the peace. That was no improvement over the Lubitz he used to know -- in the old days they carried truncheons and preferred a bribe to a fight.

This fellow Torgus, that he hoped to find, was a mystery. He'd not looked for a new ship to join, and as far as Markov knew, he hadn't spent his back pay carousing with the whores. Befriending a gang of ne'er-do-wells didn't sound like a Felger man, or an Imperial mole for that matter. What was he up to? Did he have any connection to the murder on the Swift?

They came out onto the river quay, the water crowded with barges and other river craft that carried wares from as far away as the mountains; and took back Iskander trade goods and the new manufactures that Lubitz artisans made from Iskander iron and steel. Some of these would be the great iron cookstoves and kitchenwares that his own cover business provided. Itdidwell; perhaps soon he would pay more attention to it than to tasks the Wildcat or Control might set him. But it could pay him double to keep in with their guidance of the Worker's Brotherhood. Get too rich and some nobleman or magnate like the Felgers would do you down.

The guide led behind a group of empty wagons, parked after carrying the early morning fishermen's catches to market, by their smell. "The flophouse is this way. Be the feller expectin' thee?"

"No. You point out the door and wait for me outside. Give me a shout if you see any of his companions coming."

"Do he owe thee money?" The guide looked askance at Markov's withered hand.

"Something like that."

"Well take care on tha'self. That be flophouse door over there."

Markov stopped beside the end wagon to look around. The flophouse looked little different from the warehouses beside it, except it was even more weather-beaten, and dark. It had no glass windows, but on the second and third floors wooden shutters hung open on weary hinges. The door seemed the only well kept part of the property, reinforced with iron bands and studs. Markov walked over to it and pounded a fist against it.

He stepped back to wait, looking up at the front of the building, which overhung the road. The beam, which once carried the pulley of the old warehouse hoist, still jutted out under the roof peak. Likely the place had once stored bags of grain, and still sheltered the descendants of the rats that used to thrive among its crooked stories. He glanced behind to check for his guide, sheltered between two of the wagons.

He turned back at the sound of the door opening.

The face of a dirty urchin, holding the door open a crack, peered out at him. "What tha want?"

"Man called Torgus. Is he in?"

The door swung open wider, revealing a short, fat man with three days stubble on his face staring out over the boy's head. "Who wants to know?"

Markov took a step forward. "I'm a factor from the docks. I hear he's a skilled seaman. Is he at home and sober?"

"Don't doubt he'm sober, but what makes a dock factor think he wants work?'

"Let me be the judge of that," Markov said, pushing into the doorway. "Step aside and tell me where I can find him."

The fat man gave way, leaving a reek of cheap liquor in the air. "Third floor, secon' door on the right. The boy can show 'ee the way."

"No need. I can find it myself." He started up a steep flight of crooked stairs that lacked a handrail. The only light came from above, dust crowded slivers of pale beams that angled in from a dangling shutter on the landing. At the head of the stairs a narrow corridor stretched away into a gloomy darkness; the next flight of stairs, a dozen feet away, were as steep and climbed off in a different direction. Probably the way they'd been set when the building was a warehouse. The place stank of urine and stale sweat, and the floor littered with piles of muck; not the usual kind of billet for a seaman with a pocketful of thalers. More like a hideout.

The second door on the third floor was closed, but it slanted a bit to the side, so the light from inside shone out of a wide crack. Markov slid his left hand into his jacket pocket -- likely this Torgus had noticed him on the Swift. It wouldn't do him any good to be recognized. He tapped with his knuckles and called in a local accent. "Lookin' for a man called Torgus."

The door swung open with a scrape on the floor and a squeal of hinges. "I'm Torgus, who wants me?" He held a drawn dagger in his right hand.

"I was told you were a bosun's mate. Ye took a discharge from the Swift three days ago?"

"What's it to you?"

"Well, mate. There be a tug nearin' service in a few days. I can get thee a berth, if you've a mind. Can I come in?"

Torgus stepped back, revealing a small, bare room with a wooden bunk against the far wall. A wall of crooked boards bound a narrow slit of open window; likely the other half of the opening and the shutter served the adjacent room as well. "Suit yersel', but I don't need any factor findin' me a berth."

Markov used experience he'd gained many years before. "I wouldn't ask a big commission -- five thalers. I knows one of the tug skippers."

Torgus crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bunk. He took up a sharpening stone, spat on it and resumed rubbing his dagger blade against it. "An' I knows Felger men with the Partnership's business. I don't need your good word."

"If you knows Felger men, then mayhap you could help me place some deckhands with them. Split the commission fifty fifty."

Torgus laughed. "You don't discourage easy, do you. I don't need your business fellow -- you're wasting your time."

"Dos't know the city? I can find 'ee better digs than this."

"So could I, if'n I wanted them. Get away wi' ye -- I have to go out directly."

Markov shuffled as far as the door. "If you're sure. If you change your mind, you can find me --"

"Get out, afore I throw ye down the stairs."

Markov dragged the door to and started down the gloomy corridor. Not a wasted journey -- he'd learned the fellow spoke with a strong Frendland accent. He could well be the man Murrin had heard call for Durden. And heintendedgoing out soon, perhaps he'd wait around for that.

Chapter Eleven

Gisel rode into the 3rd Cavalry's bivouac on theblackgelding they had sent for her. Someone had been thinking; her gender would be an issue while she was around this many horses. She'd need to keep track of the calendar -- stallions could react to a woman's menses. The man offered as her orderly rode another gelding behind her. She cantered the horse up to the commander's tent as the battalion's officers emerged from their different tasks. The shouted orders of the sergeants among the troopers' shelters beyond told her the whole force was being called out on parade.

She dismounted, feeling as if she were all ready in command, and raised her mount's reins toward the orderly. "Lead him to the horse lines."

He reached down to take them. "Yes, Major."

As she stood watching him lead the horse away beside his own, the first of the officers hurried up and saluted. "Captain Jans of A Squadron, Major."

She answered his salute. She guessed he'd be mid-twenties, he was shorter than her but stocky, and with a cavalry moustache and jutting jaw. "Good. You are the senior captain?"

"Yes, Major. I will show you around."

The rest of the officers reached them and came to attention with much clicking of heels. One of the officers, little more than a boy, clanked up in his spurs as the rest were being introduced. "This is Lieutenant Bowns," Jans said with a frown. "He commands your HQ troop."

Gisel returned his salute. "Been riding?"

"I was at the depot, Major. They tell me I cannot have the replacement Gatlings."

"Why not?"

"They say all our spares have been supplied to our allied units."

"What's wrong with the battalion's?" Gisel asked.

"One was destroyed in action. The other is worn out. It keeps jamming."

"Hmm. Do we have field guns?"

"A troop will be attached, Major," Jans answered.

"All right," Gisel said. "I'll speak to the general." She didn't mind the loss of the Gatlings -- she'd move the men who served them into the small medical unit every HQ troop possessed. Big hand-cranked machine guns to the original design, they had a slow rate of fire and used 8mm rifle ammo, incompatible with the troopers' 10mm carbines. Besides, they were defensive weapons, and for this campaign she expected to operate offensively. She watched the activity in the encampment where the troopers retrieved their mounts from the horse lines beside their tents and formed up in an open field beside them. "Have the men standing at their horse's heads," she said to Jans. "I'll want to speak with them."

Jans called over the senior sergeant major and sent him off to organize the parade.

When they were ready, Gisel sent all the officers except Jans and Bowns to stand with their units and walked across to the sergeant major. The two officers followed her.

"Well organized, Sgt Major," she said. "But do I see only three squadrons?"

The grizzled veteran glanced at Jans. "Yes, Major. We be under strength."

Gisel turned to Jans.

He spoke immediately. "We have been in action for more than a year, Major. We have had casualties and sickness. Colonel Brett had to reorganize our squadrons up to full strength."

"I see. That's another thing to speak to Ricart about. Your name, Sgt Major?"

"Cubbins, Major. I served with the Lingdish Royal Cavalry for nigh on twenty year."

"I recognized your accent," Gisel said. "But if you were retired from King Heri's army, what are you doing in ours?"

The sergeant major shrugged. "Half pay for an enlisted man is rather scant, Major."

Gisel laughed. No one but field rank officers could expect any kind of pension in Gaian armies -- unlike Iskander's. "Then we shall see about you getting a better one here. Come with us now and introduce any men to me that you think I should know about."

"Yes, Major!"

They toured up and down the ranks of the squadrons. These men were as near professional soldiers as one could find on Gaia. Many had been mercenaries, but they and the other young adventurers had joined Iskander for advancement as well as money. Iskander regarded them as a kind of Foreign Legion and offered retirement benefits similar the old Roman army -- a home and a farm in a new settlement. Iskander hoped to start their settlements in North America, using William Penn's method of interracial peace as a model.

Gisel spoke with many of the men, those who caught her eye for some reason as well as those pointed out by Cubbins or their officers. She inspected many of the horses and was pleased to see them in good condition. Most of the troopers were armed with carbines and sabers, although a few of the men carried Iskander cavalry revolvers as well. She asked Jans about the equipment.

"We're not entitled to the pistols, Major, but Colonel Brett has . . . acquired them whenever he could."

Gisel grinned and asked no more. It seemed that Brett was a shrewd commander and, by the way everyone spoke his name, a well liked man. A tough act to follow.

At the end of the inspection Jans asked if she'd like to watch a mounted exercise. "Yes, if you will," she said. She doubted she would see anything lacking in this unit's riding -- they'd been in their saddles a year. She was already beginning to feel out of place, even their notice of the rapier she wore merely pointed out her different background to these officers with heavy sabers slung from their belt frogs.

The squadron performing the last demonstration made a charge with sabers and then another with the carbines. Gisel was surprised when the troopers reined in their mounts before firing. "Do you not fire on the move?" she asked Captain Jans.

"We do not practice it, Major. There's little chance of hitting anything."

Gisel shook her head. She'd practiced with the carbine herself when riding out into the countryside from Skrona. "Iskander's forces depend on firepower to make up for their small numbers; you cannot go into an action without firing. Bring my horse, and have one of the troopers loan me a carbine."

"And a target, Major?" Sgt Major Cubbins asked with a smile.

She pointed across the field. "That old water cask will do nicely."

Her orderly led forward her horse and she mounted, leaning down to take the carbine Lt. Bowns offered. She checked the tubular magazine -- full. She tried the lever action and heard the round chamber smoothly. "Good. I don't promise any marksmanship, but being able to load and fire on the move could save your asses one day. Fire is used to suppress the enemy as well as kill. See how it's done."

She cantered off to the right of the water cask and gave herself several horse lengths to get into the gelding's rhythm before turning back. She kept the reins in her left hand, pressing the butt of the carbine into her shoulder with her right and gauging the animal's motion as they neared the barrel. She loosed off a shot and then using her post in the saddle to add force, cranked the lever with one hand while clamping the butt in her armpit. She managed another shot before she passed the barrel -- it was even a hit. The whole battalion gaped as she turned the horse to gallop past in the other direction.

Firing to the left was much more difficult, but she managed two more shots as she galloped. For her third pass she spurred her mount faster and fired two good shots at the gallop. Both sent splinters flying from the water cask. As she trotted her mount back to the officers she heard a ripple of applause from the assembled ranks. Their sergeants immediately hushed them.

Gisel laughed and swung out of the saddle. "Don't look so surprised -- I've been practicing for a Wild West show."

Captain Jans stared. "A what , Major?"

"Sorry, an old joke from home." She let her orderly take her horse. "I think that maneuver is worth the practice, gentlemen. I fired at only a long pistol shot, but it's better for morale to be able to return fire on the move."

Jans took the carbine as she held it out and cranked open the chamber to unload. "A surprise to us, Major. No one has ever shown us such a thing before, but I will see the men are given practice."

Lieutenant Bowns came forward. "Is there anything else you would like to see, Major? Or will you come to our mess tent and have some lunch?"

"I think lunch a good idea -- I had little time for breakfast today. But please excuse me a moment, my communicator is calling."

She walked away from them and pulled her communicator from its inside pocket. "Major Matah here."

It was President Scopes. "What's this about your commanding a cavalry unit? Don't you have enough to do?"

"Lord Ricart asked me -- you know Colonel Brett is convalescing."

"Damned cheek. Control cannot spare you, so Colonel M'Tov has asked me to veto it. Doesn't Ricart have enough officers?"

"The cavalry units are short of both officers and men -- they've been in action for a year. What are we trying to do with them -- run them down to nothing?"

Scopes' voice hardened. "That's enough, Major. I've been working hard to recruit replacements. I have a new battalion in training that will be ready for the spring. But why should you make any difference to them?"

"Touché, Mr. President." She grinned. "Ricart wants the Third Light to act as covering force going in as well as coming out. It needs a bolder touch than the usual regimental officer is used to. I think I can do it."

"You want the job?"

"Sure do. It'll make it harder for you to slide me back to lieutenant."

"Who says I want to?"

"Oh, just a feeling." She grinned before continuing. "But let me have it, Sir. If only for the four weeks -- I have all my other projects well in hand."

"Not according to Control. What about the steam engine smuggling?"

"Just one more chore there. That will go better if I have this reason to leave Lubitz."

"Oh, very well. Make sure you come back in one piece."

"And Colonel M'Tov?"

"You can argue with him yourself, but tell him I approve."

"Thank you, Sir."

She walked back to the others and preceded them into the canvas mess tent, taking the place offered her at the head of the table. While enjoying a meal of cheese, fresh bread that Bowns had brought from the city, and a newly tapped cask of wine, she decided she'd better speak with Lord Ricart before calling M'Tov. She didn't have long to wait, his Lordship came riding in soon after lunch. She went to the flap to meet him. "Come in and take a fortified wine, General. These men must surely be your crack cavalry -- try the Empire's finest vintage they liberated."

Ricart laughed and ducked down to enter the tent. "I certainly will. I've had some with them before."

The orderlies hastened in with a seat for him, and after they'd toasted a few worthy causes, Ricart stood to address the mess. "I am impressed with the progress your unit has made -- only one more thing for me to attend to before the new campaign starts." He paused and all eyes turned to Gisel. Ricart nodded. "While I enjoy your company, gentlemen, I really came here to speak with Major Matah. Let's go for a walk, Gisel."

She nodded and followed him out the tent flap.

Outside, he paused a moment. "Let's go over there, out of earshot."

She let him take several steps before following. "How loudly do you intend to shout at me?"

He glanced back over his shoulder and laughed. "I may not shout at all, this time. But knowing you, I will likely have something to shout about in short order."

"I can't think why you asked me, then."

"Because I wanted someone with a big enough reputation to take risks. I need the Third to perform duties on both my force's wings. You know the Moonwald -- you'll take the Third there first. After that, I need someone to mask Duke Solerar's army -- the allied cavalry will not leave the Kachupin's brigade far enough behind to do the job."

"That's a pretty tall order. Is our march discipline up to crossing through the Division's line of advance?"

"Yes, I think so. But you'll have to traverse behind my front." He regarded her coolly as she caught up. "I've been getting reports of Imperial cavalry scouting in the Moonwald. You know the place, I hear. I need you to clear them out."

"I think I can do that. I know the routes they used to cross."

Ricart nodded. "The allied cavalry will mask my advance long enough for you to sweep the Moonwald. Then you'll have to march from my left flank to my right to ensure Solerar's troops don't strike into the division's rear while I'm engaged in Makberg."

"You're going into Makberg; all the way to the city?"

"Yes. I want to frighten the Emperor's nephew enough he'll call for Solerar's troops to be re-deployed in the Principality's defense. With luck, we can make them pull right back to the city for the winter. Establishing an overland link between Lubitz and Leki for a few months will put us in a better situation for next year's campaign season."

Gisel inclined her head toward the encampment. "I noticed this battalion is down on strength. I'd want that squadron made up before I'd agree to take the post."

"What did President Scopes say?"

"I haven't called to get permission yet. What I will ask depends on what you offer me."

Ricart stopped abruptly. "I knew you would bargain. What else do you want?"

"My HQ troop has no working Gatlings. I want the full field artillery battery -- not just a troop."

Ricart stared a moment under lowered brows.

"Enough artillery to support deep penetration attacks," she said.

"Done. That's what I was hoping to hear."

"I want the fourth squadron."

"Cannot be done. All my other units are as short."

"What about an allied squadron?"

"You'll not find them easy to handle. Their training is old fashioned -- you'll have a hell of a job making them conform to the Third's tactics."

"Mounted infantry?"

Ricart sighed and resumed walking slowly. "The Lubitz Mounted Rifles are a new unit -- but with experienced men. I can let you have a company of them, if Garriker agrees. I believe there's a Misiker friend of yours commanding one."

Gisel smiled. "That'll be Laon Misiker. He and Lerris Garriker both owe me one."

"Good. They'll likely agree, then. What else?"

"You stay away from me."

Ricart laughed. "Did you think I asked you to come on this picnic in order to seduce you?"

"No, but I'd never put it past you." She hesitated. "Yohan and I are having business difficulties; they're putting a lot of stress on him. He doesn't want me to take the post."

"I can believe that. But you mean to accept?"

Gisel sighed. "He's going to have to get used to my work eventually. We are going to marry."

Ricart shook his head slowly. "You two are serious, then. I hope you're not pregnant."

Gisel started back and then grinned. "Wouldn't that be a story for the military annals? Cavalry commander gives birth on the battlefield." Gisel couldn't hold in the laugh that bubbled up.

Ricart shook his head and chuckled with her.

"No . . ." she said, sighing heavily, ". . . I've been taking precautions."

Ricart reversed direction to walk back toward the mess tent. "I hope that's all you intend to ask."

Gisel nodded, then clicked her heels together with a snappy salute. "All requests ended, General."

"But what is your answer? Will you tell Scopes you can do it?"

She shrugged. "I already did. I have only to listen to M'Tov swear at me."

Ricart stopped abruptly. "You little minx! I should have known better. Don't think you can out-maneuver me again."

Chapter Twelve

Apprentice Murrin made his way along the street of dockyard taverns after his day's work. He stopped at the one the Wildcat had told him and stood looking up at the sign, the Black Dog. It was a rum place, but he had no choice to walk away. Going in, he climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor. He ran one hand along the wall as he traversed the dark corridor. At the fourth door he stopped and rapped.

"Come in."

He pushed open the door to step inside. The room was lit by a single candle, but in such a small space the light seemed as bright as the sun. The man he had seen at the Radicals' meeting, the man with a withered hand, rose from the edge of the bed. "Close the door. Who else knows you have come to see me?"

"None else -- save only her what sent me."

"Good, sit here with me and listen well. Before I say anything more you had best get one thing in your head. You heard a name at the meeting that you must forget. The only name you ever use for me is Petros. Understand?"

"Fer sure . . . Petros."

"The lady have a name you must use -- it's Topaz."

"She said, Beth. That night."

"No doubt. That was before you became a member. You will be Copper. Remember that, and use it always for your work with us -- it might save your life one day."

Murrin swallowed. Didn't like this talk of danger, but the Wild . . . but Topaz done told him that one day he might have enough p'sition to return to his village and make the Count repent his deed. A top agent of Iskander counted for much. He might even get Sara to marry him, once he was rich enough to pay the keep his blighted lordship doled out.

Why had she refused him -- did her think he held the bastard agin her? Surely Sara had not gone willingly to the noble's bed. "I shall remember, I be good at remembr'ing, but what be you want for me to do?"

"Plenty, but I have little time to teach you. I must leave the city in a few days."

"This were what Durden was charged with? I'd a never guessed he had a secret."

"That is because he had learned his instructions well."

Murrin nodded but then the fear returned. Durden had learned well -- but still someone had cut his throat. He mistrusted the . . . Topaz's words that the murder was nort to do with workin' for her.

"First -- when you get to the destination with the steam engine, you must volunteer to open the crates. Do it alone. Inside are some important things which you must hide."

"Then I mus' have some place to hide they, first."

"You don't need much room to hide these. First is a little machine like this." He pulled a smooth black thing from inside his waistcoat -- like a water worn stone. As Murrin watched, Petros pried the thing open and pushed a finger against it. "I'm calling Topaz, to report you are here."

"Callin'? What dost mean?"

"Sit quiet and you shall learn."

They both sat in silence awhile. Petros looked down at the smooth thing a couple of times. "She must be busy, I remember she doesn't always have time to talk. Anyway, I think the one going with the engine only calls one place -- Iskander's Control Center." He glanced at it suddenly. "Ah, here she is."

The smooth thing made a noise -- he could almost believe it talked. Petros raised it to his face and talked at it. "This is Petros -- report for Topaz."

This time it definitely did speak. "Go on, Petros. What do you have?" The hairs on the back of Murrin's neck rose. Some demon had entered the thing.

"Copper is here. Will you speak with him?"

"Look at his face, first. Remember he's never seen this before."

Petros did so. "Sit down, you great fool. This is Iskander knowledge -- not witchcraft!"

Murrin stared at the thing in Markov's hand. There -- he'd a done it! He had been charged with forgettin' that name, an here -- first time he become frighten -- he almost spoke it aloud. What should he be afrighted for, anyways? Twas Petros who had the demon in his hand.

"The important thing you must learn," Petros said in a voice like his father, when he had forgotten the chores, "is to use one of these. This is how you report to Iskander. Now I'll hold it out to you. Go ahead and speak to him . . . Topaz."

The thing before his face talked to him in the Wildcat's voice. "Slin Murrin, now to be known as Copper. You have shown yourself clever and resourceful so far. I am proud of you. This is no more than a machine -- the way a steam engine is a machine. I expect you felt alarm when you first saw one of those working."

Petros poked him in the ribs. "Well, answer her."

"Aye, I was afeared . . . a little."

"But you didn't run away. I'm told you soon became confident with the machine."

"Foreman were pleased."

"This is a machine which throws our voices to a distant place. No more magical than a steam engine, and you know how to work one of those. You can learn this, too."

"I s'pose."

"Good. Is Petros still there?"

Petros pulled the machine from Murrin's face. "I just started with him. How many days do I have?"

Petros twisted his body away and held the machine close to his ear. Murrin could hear the machine murmur, but not understand its words. "Very good . . . Topaz. I shall buy a palfrey to catch him up." The machine spoke, and then Petros. "Aye, I have nothing further. Bye." Petros slid the smooth shape back inside his waistcoat. He raised his head to him. "She says you are doing well. Likely the rest of what you will see will not frighten you as much. I know the next will not."

"I be not frighted. Tis a rum thing to speak with a smooth black stone."

"Bah! You had best call this by its name. Communicator! And don't you think of it but anything more than a machine to project your voice."

"My voice?"

"Of course. Cursed fool! How else do you think she heard you?" He turned to ram a hand under the bed blankets, coming up with a small leather pouch. He opened the drawstring and shook a couple of coins into his palm -- Murrin stared at the glint of gold. "These are ten ducat pieces -- money that Empire uses. Each one worth fifty thalers. There will be a hundred in a purse hidden in the boiler tubes."

Murrin held out a hand to take one. It was heavy and seemed warmer than iron. "I seen one afore."

Petros gave a snort of laughter. "Aye, seen one -- from a distance. The hundred with the steam engine will have to be husbanded carefully -- we don't know when the next agent will join you. That money will be all you have to start a Brotherhood in the factory you will work in. And don't be a fool to try to spend gold about the streets -- first you must find a money changer that you can trust."

"Trust a money changer?" Murrin laughed.

"This next will give you the muscle." Petros thrust a hand into the waistband of his breeches and pulled out a great shiny gun. Murrin watched as Petros hefted it in his hand. "There is one of these in the engine crate, hidden in an oilskin package with the tools. It's an Iskander cavalry pistol."

"Lor. I knows not how to shoot one."

"Then you shall have to learn, even though I don't see how we can go to a safe place to shoot this. I think Topaz should take you for that lesson."

Murrin could hardly take his eyes from the gun in Petros' hand. "Is ther more?"

"Not for today. But I have to teach you some principles for your own safety. You will start a Head Cell -- a group of four or five who plan the new Brotherhood and rule it. That's what it is called -- a Head Cell. All the other cells you start will be below you. Lesson One -- none of the cells below know where to find you. You only communicate with them. You send a courier whenever you have need to speak with them. They only ever meet the courier."

Murrin nodded his head slowly. "I sees. They cannot betray me if they does not know where I am."

"Good boy. You have a head on your shoulders after all. Now listen well -- there is a lot more you must commit to memory."

Murrin left a long time later, his head spinning from all the lessons Petros had given. Indeed, he had been right, there was much to cram inside his head. He walked the silent city streets through the early night and ran the lessons over and over as he found his way back to the crew house.

*****

Gisel returned late from the Third's encampment, and only remembered she'd promised to call Yohan about the posting when she reached their bedroom door. Ah well, better said in person. She pulled her rapier harness over her head and turned the latch gently, he might be asleep.

He sat up in bed as soon as she entered. "Did you hear from Scopes?"

She didn't look at him until she had crossed the room and seated herself on the edge beside him. "Yes, but I didn't want to tell you by communicator."

"He has agreed." It was not a question but she nodded.

She released the rapier to slide it to the floor. "Yes. He is concerned about the campaign so late in the year. If there's trouble I must report directly to him."

Yohan closed his eyes, his face growing suddenly older. Gisel felt a great sadness -- she wanted to take him in her arms and rock him like a baby. It wouldn't do, he had to feel more than her equal. She knew enough about men to understand that he needed to feel he had power over her. What their relationship needed was for him to leap out of bed and strip the clothes from her body -- ravish her. But this was Yohan. He would never do such a thing.

"I told Lord Ricart I wanted to see as little of him as possible -- that he should treat me no differently than any of the other commanders."

"He agreed?"

She undid her belt buckle, allowing the belt and pistol holster to slide slowly to the floor. "Yes, Yohan. What happened all those months ago is dead and buried. We have no more feelings for one another."

Yohan shook his head. "You are wrong. You know what he said to me at the reception?"

Gisel frowned. "No. What?"

"I think you are a wiser man than me, Felger. Now, what does that say to you?"

"He was merely trying to be pleasant."

"More than that. He regrets ever parting with you."

"Rubbish. He can have any woman he fancies."

"But you are the only woman who goes to war. You count much higher in his eyes."

"Is that what you think? He was annoyed with me this afternoon."

"Why was that?"

"I pretended I needed to persuade Scopes, when I already had. He became angry when he realized I'd used a stratagem to bargain with him."

"Bargain for what?"

"There were some deficiencies I said would have to be made up before I felt able to accept the battalion. A whole squadron short, but I got Laon Misiker's Lubitz company to make up for them."

A smile flitted briefly across Yohan's face. "So I'm not the only man you deceive."

She put a hand to his cheek. "I hate deceiving you -- I enjoyed fooling Ricart."

He stared at her, seeking out her eyes with his. "And what deception is it that you hate?"

She held his interrogation. "If I am deceiving you . . . in any way . . . it is because of duty. Only duty. I will never lie to you about us." She leaned forward to kiss him, first tenderly and then passionately as his lips pressed on hers. She'd challenged him to admit to the subterfuge tonight, but now knew it a mistake. Her lips came free, but she stayed close enough to tease his thoughts from it.

"Do you despise Lord Ricart now?"

She took a deep breath. "No, not despise, but I see all his faults and would not care to make myself a victim of them again."

He frowned. "But you count him a friend?"

"Never an enemy -- but he would be if he should try to come between us. I think he should not have said that, about your being wiser. It was just like him." She unzipped her uniform fatigues and started to pull them off her shoulders. "I wish I knew what I could do to make you forget about . . . whatever happened between him and me. It was the biggest mistake I have ever made."

"Go on."

"That's about it. I don't have anything more to say about him."

Yohan grinned. "No. I mean, go on undressing."

She pulled her arm from the sleeve and placed a hand on his chest, leaning forward to brush his cheek with her lips. "Friends tonight?"

"Lovers?"

"Even better." She lifted up to pull the uniform fatigues from under her. In a minute sheworeonly bra and panties. She pulled the covers aside to slip in beside him. He was naked -- she smiled -- it had taken her several months to get him to go to bed without a long woolen nightshirt. She stroked his belly and then rubbed her hand, slowly and seductively down, inching lower. He was fully erect. He wrapped his arms right around her and she felt him working the catch of her bra. She pressed herself to him and they kissed. His exploring hand found its way under the waistband of her panties.

"Love me. Make me scream. There is no world outside -- just us two."

Chapter Thirteen

Gisel walked from her tent, leaving her orderly to finish unpacking her equipment. She smelled the wet ground of the pasture around her; it had rained in the night. Low clouds scudded past as if hurrying their loads to other hillsides. The tents and horse lines of her battalion filled the field, and the road leading to Lubitz descended into the river valley a short distance away. Down the hill she could see the encampments of the rest of Ricart's division and even pick out the heavy siege guns, the sixty pounders, lined up in the divisional artillery park. In the other direction the road rose in a slight grade to a crossroads where Captain Jans had stationed a piquet -- they were far out of reach of the enemy, but allowed no lessening of vigilance.

She'd moved into camp from Yohan's staff house while they were still on good terms. Their recovered harmony could not last while the upcoming campaignoccupiedtheir minds -- it was best they stay apart. She needed some time to recover her inner balance, so had resumed her meditation exercises. To reinforce the resolve she carried a katana in her belt, the Samurai sword she'd used in spiritual sword-training; a single-edged weapon, not unlike the sabers of her men.

Yohan had been surprised when she'd handed him her rapier, the trophy she'd won on the quarterdeck of an Imperial warship. 'Take care of this for me. It needs a home.' His expression became carved in ice -- they both knew it as a symbol of something more. Feelings they had trouble voicing, without bringing the furies of deception against them.

The rumble of wheels drew her attention to the gravel road. Behind eight-horse teams rolled her assigned battery of fifteen pounders. She stood watching until she could count all eight guns lined up on the road. The battery commander came spurring into camp, reining in at the officers' mess tent. Captain Jans came out and pointed the young officer toward Gisel; he turned his horse and cantered over.

He reined in and swung from the saddle all in one movement. "Captain Viens of the 103rd Battery, Major," he said, saluting.

"Welcome to my command, Captain. How long have you had the battery?" He looked even younger than Bowns, with tousled hair above a ruddy countenance, and a moustache so thin it hardly showed against his skin -- this army seemed composed of schoolboys. The troops she'd served with in Tarnland had been mostly rough old mercenaries. She began to realize why Ricart had offered her the command -- these troops had all been recruited in the past two years. Even Jans was only a few years older than herself.

"I was troop leader until a month ago, Major. My officer has gone to command the sixty pounders."

She knew who he meant -- one of the other Iskanders, shifted from a technical position to the military. "But you've been with the battery, how long?"

"Since the start, twenty-two months now. I moved from your father's factories where I helped build these guns."

"That's good -- you've had plenty of experience with them. How is the battery's indirect fire?"

Viens shrugged slightly. "We are getting familiar with the procedures, but still need to have the settings communicated from Iskander. If you could advise my spotters, it would improve our on-target shooting."

Gisel nodded. Her brother -- the smart one of the family as she referred to him -- had written a routine for the starship's computers to predict the fall of shot. It took a mathematician to calculate the trajectories and wind effects to hit a target nearly eight kilometers away -- and the simplified charts and tables he'd provided for the gunners were still beyond the education of their present troops.

"I expect I'll do a lot of your fire direction, Captain. You have a man who can take my messages and turn them into corrections at the guns?"

Viens looked sheepish. "I can do that, Major, but I need to train my fire plotters more yet."

"That's fine. We'll work on that training together. I believe Sgt Major Cubbins has a bivouac area picked out for your battery. I'll come and inspect when you're settled in."

"Yes, Major. I'll send word."

Gisel turned to look back at her battalion's camp as he rode away. There was nothing wrong with having a young army -- campaigning on horseback was no task for aging bones -- but these fellows seemed too careless in their casual confidence. Daunting to think she might have to be the moderating influence in this coming action.

The guns began to roll off to the bivouac behind their teams. Half the gunners rode the right-hand horses of the teams, the rest had seats on the guns and limbers. She knew something of the guns, although they'd come into service since she was last in the field. Her father had told her about the Krupp-Erhardt 77mm field gun that had stood on a war memorial near his boyhood home. A relic of a long-ago war, the perfect design for their present level of resources -- it too had gone into battle behind horses. Iskander needed the force-multiplication the breech loading quick-firers could provide.

Keeping up with ammunition supply was a more difficult task with the higher rate of fire, which explained why Lord Ricart had asked Yohan about supplying the army from the river. With luck, she'd have a chance to lead some of the troops back halfway through the campaign -- see Yohan and collect the supplies.

Soon after she inspected the artillery, the Lubitz Mounted Rifles rode in. She met General Garriker and Laon Misiker on the road. "Good day, General, Captain. I'm really glad you have consented to reinforce my battalion."

General Garriker dismounted and shook her hand. His white hair combed neatly as always and his grey eyes as keen. "It was the least I could do, we owe so much to you."

Laon Misiker leaned down to shake her hand. "I look forward to campaigning with you, Major. May I go and see to my Company's campsite?"

"Sure, Laon. I'll come to inspect when you've settled in."

Garriker didn't speak until they had watched Misiker ride back to his men. "They are good troops, but not as expert horsemen as your own."

Gisel grinned. "Our own selection is that any man who can gallop a horse across rough terrain goes into the cavalry -- the rest of the so-so riders go into the Mounted Infantry. Does the company have any fire support?"

"No, I kept the Gatling with my other company. Is that acceptable?"

"Sure. I expect these men will move and fight with my artillery battery. I can use them as my holding force while the Squadrons swan about."

Garriker's eyes narrowed. "Swan about? You sometimes baffle me with your words, young Lady, but I think I get the gist of these."

Gisel decided to jump right into a couple of matters that worried her. "The Lubitz force on the coast -- what will be its contact with me?"

"I will move my army from the city soon after the cavalry division moves out. I intend to take up positions just forward and to the flank of the Kachupins. I will use my Lubitz 1st Cavalry Squadron to cover my inland flank. You can call me by communicator to have an idea where they are at any time."

"So both you and Svart Kachupin will be in the field -- who has overall command?"

Garriker hesitated before shrugging his shoulders. "We both have independent commands -- you understand the politics. But I believe we will cooperate quite well."

Gisel masked her feelings of dismay. That meant a big opportunity for disaster if the campaign started to go wrong. Each commander would focus on his own force, and cooperation between the two could break down. The ideal point of attack for any enemy would be the dead zone between the two commands. Combined, the brigades didn't constitute a large army; their total strength not much greater than Ricart's cavalry, and composed mainly of infantry. "But you won't be advancing to contact the Imperial forces besieging Leki?"

"No. I shall take up a position about a day's forced march from Solerar's lines. Enough to give me time to react if he launches an attack on me."

"So that gives me about a fifty mile front to cover?"

"Not quite, I will push a light force forward to take some of that. Kachupin, of course, will be some miles back from me. You'll have no support from him."

"Hmm, if I get the chance I'll keep Laon's men on that flank, in contact with you. I shall be all over Hell's half acre -- first Ricart wants me to sweep the Moonwald for Imperial cavalry. Then I shall move north behind his advance to cover his flank and rear."

Garriker nodded. "What has he said about his response to Solerar's moves?"

"Not much. I don't think he believes the Empire soldiers will move out of their positions very quickly. I shall allow for them to move faster when I plan my own actions. Do you know how much cavalry Solerar will have loose?"

"Lord Ricart and I discussed this. I think their strength was never more than a brigade, and by now half the mounts will be blown or ready for pasture. Still three times your own strength."

"Yes, I guess. That's why I insisted on having eight guns. If you hear a lot of firing I hope you'll feel free to push some light troops my way."

"I will back you up whenever I can."

"Thanks, I appreciate that." She knew enough to recognize her cavalry would be virtually on their own about the time Solerar could be expected to react to Ricart's advance. His whole Division would be across the Makberg border destroying crops and disrupting communications. The sixty pounders, that needed steam traction engines to move with the cavalry, would be bombarding the fortresses that covered the city of Makberg. How quickly could she expect Ricart to return to reinforce her?

Garriker stepped back and remounted his charger. He leaned down toward her. "It will take an extended demonstration to force Duke Solerar away from his siege lines, I hope you can keep him occupied that long."

She nodded -- he'd have to become concerned about losing his communications and supply convoys before he'd abandon the siege. Then he'd react with strength and speed. Her Combat Group would have to slow that movement until Ricart could change his front. She might have guessed he hadn't asked her to do something easy.

*****

Yohan had difficulty concentrating all day -- and she was no further away than the fields beyond Lubitz. He wore her rapier to the shipyard -- as if it was already his only remembrance of her. He decided he should ask the Misikers to secure it in their bank vault -- it would be impossible to leave it anywhere else. It could be stolen.

The Partnership yard swarmed with activity. Both new tugs were ready to make steam and travel a few miles on the river to test for problems. Their new crews scuttled back and forth while the experienced men from Tug One oversaw their efforts. All the steam mechanics were on hand to watch over the machinery and he spoke with Technician Wolfram and the apprentice Murrin as he watched the preparations.

Nearby, a crew hooked up Tug Two to the accommodation barge it would take upstream to the Blackrock Ford. The drillers and explosives people were already loading their equipment aboard -- for the next two weeks they would be drilling shot-holes into the ledge of rock comprising the ford's solid barrier. The holes would be loaded with a new explosive of Iskander make that could explode even when immersed in water. Another marvelous advance on the world's previous practice. It seemed hardly a day went by that some innovation of theirs didn't change the world he lived in.

After lunch, he met with Lawri Misiker to discuss the supply of coal brought down the river from the mines beyond Novrehan. The twin brother of Laon, captain with the Mounted Rifles, Lawri still suffered from his injuries in the naval battle a year before. He had been hit by a spar and rigging from a falling mast. An Iskander ship had fired the broadside -- before the two had become allies. Ironic that Iskander had dealt the blow, and then provided the medical care that saved his life.

The small wooden office building beside the Misikers' warehouse housed a couple of clerks who looked after their fuel business. Yohan waited until Lawri sent the men away for a short break before speaking. "The factor in Walvrik is a Misiker employee?" The main coal mines were far up the Lubitz River to the mountains, in a different territory.

"Not exactly, Meister. He is an agent we have used for many years. Of course, we have never asked him to supply the large quantity we need now to fuel the steam engines."

"I expect transportation will be a problem until we have the steam service working. Each tug will be able to push a hundred tons down river."

"Thirty is as much as any of our sailing barges can handle, and you are asking for three hundred before ice closes the river."

"I would ask you for more, but I've also ordered coal from Tarnland," Yohan said.

Lawri took a step backwards to lean upon his cane. "My father asked me to invite you and Gisel to dinner tomorrow night."

Yohan knew his face betrayed him, saw it in Lawri's eyes. "I don't think Gisel will be able to come. She has joined the Iskander cavalry force."

"Really?" Lawri's eyebrows rose. "She has a position in the field army?"

"I cannot say anything more, but she moved out to the bivouacs today. Of course, I will gladly attend your parent's invitation."

"I will tell him, I'm sure they will be disappointed they did not invite you earlier. I see you are wearing her rapier today, is that the reason?"

"Yes, it's not a sword to carry in a cavalry unit. I'd like to place it in your father's vault. Would you ask him for me?"

"Yes, of course. I, too, will be away tomorrow night -- my father wants me to travel up to the mines to inspect the coal we will be shipping."

"Do you understand the test procedure the Iskanders specify for steam coal?"

Lawri turned his head to look at an Iskander poster on the wall, one that illustrated the different types of coal. "I think so, but I wish I had more time to ask your advice."

"I have a spare communicator; do you know how to use one? Yes? Then I will let you take it. You can discuss the proof samples with me before you accept any."

Lawri smiled broadly. "I am most grateful. We do not want to ship coal at this expensive time when it may only become fuel for cookstoves."

"You will travel upstream by barge?"

Lawri sighed. "Yes, under sail. It takes at least a week."

"I see. Come to my staff house before you leave and I will let you have the spare communicator." The Thalian Star would arrive in Lubitz within a few days -- he meant to take back the one from Petkre. Gisel would have a conniption if he let him take it on into the Empire.

He took his leave then, and would have walked away quickly, but Lawri seemed concerned about her and held him at the door with questions about her safety. Yohan answered as best he could. He wondered at her words the night before; their long hours of lovemaking had almost made him forget them. She as much as admitted to deceiving him -- about what?

The only matters he could think of were the murder and the steam engine. What could she be holding back about the murder? He felt he knew more than she did. That only left the steam engine -- did she know about it? If he thought about the matter calmly he could almost accept that she did. It seemed Iskander kept only a loose control over the machines they produced, but he felt sure Henrik Matah knew where they were all sent. He was bound to learn of a missing one.

Did Iskander care if the Empire received it? They had far better engines in production, but the principle stared him in the face. The Felgers had stolen Iskander's secret and passed it to an enemy.

Chapter Fourteen

The Horse Plains basking in the Fall morning sun, spread out before Prince Jeury's eyes in all directions. He was certain all five thousand of the escort around him gloried in the same view and scanned for wild herds in the distance. Was it worth relinquishing this land to make a trumped up peace with the Trigons in the east?

His journey to the western lands was intended to further a pet scheme of his father's, but Jeury had a bigger purpose in mind. The old man wanted to use the Trigon's incursion to secure the lands between the mountains south of Tashkand -- Afhkasis -- which had been a buffer between the empires for two hundred years. Was that rugged land and its fields of heady poppies worth as much as lands like these? He would not like to give this up in compensation to the Trigon's Empire. It lay close to the people called Iskander, which made it doubly valuable.

Since leaving the rest of the army at Vonrogrod, to follow at a slower pace, they had ridden for two days with hardly a stop. A Skathian advance force could cover two hundred miles between sunsets, changing their saddles to spare mounts every few hours and milking the mares twice to drink with fresh blood for their meals. He had received fresh word of the war raging in the border lands -- it was time to bend his path to meet the strangers. He could not return without learning how they had disrupted the peace of the lands around the Inland Sea.

Shouts from riders on the far left flank of his widely spread force attracted his attention. He raised a hand and brought the column of his household bodyguard to a halt. "Go and find out what causes the shouting."

Three young men turned their wiry ponies' heads and made off at a gallop -- their bows bouncing against their backs. His aging Gaffir drew alongside his mount. He did not speak -- he had not been told to. Jeury knew what he wanted, but took his time paying attention to the man's concern. In the left distance he saw a plume of dust rise up, as if a chase were under way.

At length, he turned to the Gaffir and regarded his rheumy eyes and scant beard with something approaching affection. This was the old warrior's last foray, the cold hands of the Winter Stalker would carry him off in a year or two. Riding with an army of the Great Khan was a young man's business, even if one's arms could still draw the sinewed bow. "We shall make camp a day's ride from my army tonight," he said. "Tomorrow I will send scouts to pick our route to the city of the River Serfs."

"Novrehan, Lord Prince?"

"If that is its name. That is where the Trigon army is bound. Perhaps I shall camp about the city and hold parlay with the Trigons' general."

"Blocking his path could provoke a battle, Lord Prince. Your father did not so intend."

"The Great Khan sent me to barter with the Trigons -- a land for a land. I want to know which one they hold in higher esteem."

"If this general does not know his Master's mind that may be difficult to learn."

Jeury felt rage flow through his veins. His hand itched to draw sword and cut this old man down, but he breathed deep and stilled his impulse. "What would you have me do," he rasped in a voice like the winter wind on the steppe, "take ship on the Central Ocean to bow and scrape in the Emperor's halls? You would see the next Great Khan demeaned by bargaining without a hundred thousand bows to wait upon his command?"

"Yet the Emperor will not leave his island fortress to speak with the Khan. That is why we have had this standoff of buffer states for two hundred years. Your father values the land of Afhkasis more than the Horse Plains, but perhaps the way things stand are best for both."

Jeury laughed. "You would tell him that?"

"I should prefer to die a soldier's death than buried to my neck in desert sand. That is why I speak the words to you."

"And you suppose I will not make your head a target for archers? You want me to risk my father's wrath instead."

"No, Lord Prince. But we must watch and wait until some omen should reveal the course which will profit your father's will."

"Damn you, that could take months!"

Two of the young men came galloping their steeds back -- drawing to a halt together in great spurts of flying dirt and grass. The eldest spoke at Prince Jeury's gesture. "The Baskab Tribe have found a wagoner who tried to escape the patrol, my Lord."

"So? Is it a matter for the Great Khan's son?"

The other lad spoke, "There are weapons of fine iron in the wagon, Lord. The Mahdir of the Tribe wishes you to judge whether the man be a spy."

"One man alone?"

"A man, his wife and child. Should you come before the Baskabs kill them?"

While the separate Thousands of the other tribes halted to wait, the Prince cantered at the head of his bodyguard over the plain and down into the draw where a stationary wagon was barely visible amid a seething mass of horsemen. The riders gave way at his approach, making an avenue for him to ride through. He drew rein beside the wagon, a fallen horse, pin-cushioned with arrows, between its shafts.

A light bearded man in a black greatcoat and greasy hat stared up at him. "Are you the leader of these brigands?"

Jeury raised a hand to halt the hands of the Baskab Thousand, that reached to string bows and loose arrows into the man's impertinence. He recognized the northern Greek dialect the fellow spoke -- a barbarian who knew not the etiquette of the Steppes.

"See. They have killed my horse. How shall I take my journey onward? It would bemetefor you to replace it with one of these scruffy ponies."

Jeury turned away to look for the Mahdir of the Baskabs. "What weapons did you find?" he demanded in their own speech.

The Mahdir rode out from a throng of his young men, drawing rein and bowing low in his saddle. He held out a sword in a smooth leather scabbard, worked with shiny copper bands. "This we did find, Lord Prince. It is a sword sharp as only a son of a Khan should own. It must be stolen."

Jeury took the scabbard in his hands and drew out the blade. It shone like silver in the weak sunlight. He tested the edge and it drew blood at his very touch. "It is enchanted! It seeks to kill me."

A muted roar rose from a thousand throats. The wagoner quailed. "You should take better care, Lord. This is Iskander steel."

Jeury shook the flowing blood from his finger and pointed the sword at the man. "You say a name I have heard before," he said in Greek. "What do you say of these Iskanders?"

"They made all of the trade goods I carry -- that sword too. I come to sell these things to your people."

"You bring a sword like this to my servants -- serfs who toil here in the fields at the Great Kahn's pleasure? What rebellion do you stir up?"

"No rebellion, Sir. I am but a trader."

Jeury swung his head away. "Gaffir! Pick out two of the strongest young men and give one of them my spare sword."

"Yes, Lord."

The two young men arrived on foot and the Gaffir had them strip off their shirts. To one he gave the Prince's second sword -- to the other he handed the strange weapon. Prince Jeury waved a hand for the horsemen to move back and give them space. "I would see which of these swords is master here. If you can break either I shall give you twenty women. If either of you should fall in the test, the other shall take all."

The two young men bowed and squared off.

The man with the Prince's spare sword raised it above his head and brought it slashing down against his companion. The man attacked swung upwards with all his strength to parry the blow. The two swords stopped in mid air with a great clash. The young men drew apart, each examining the blade he held. The parrier then took the lead and slashed at his opponent. Again the two swords stopped dead -- steel shivering in the air. All the horsemen jockeyed for space, intent on seeing the outcome of the contest.

More blows were exchanged and the young men soon ran with sweat in the cold Fall air. Then the Iskander blade rose up and came down like a thunder stone from on high. The Skathian blade broke in two. The descending blade continued down in triumph, imbedding itself deeply into the skull rendered defenseless beneath it. The young man fell dead, and a roar went up from the assembled riders. The victor walked steadily to the Prince and raised the winning sword to present hilt-first to his master.

Prince Jeury took it and examined the blade. Barely nicked; surely a better weapon than the one in his belt.Hiseye sought the trader. "This sword is too good for base owner. Did you intend to present it as a gift to the man who rules these lands?"

The man glanced around to his wagon and the dead horse. "If such a prince would make good his followers' harm, I should be glad to."

Prince Jeury felt his blood rise. He gripped the sword tightly and made ready to spur forward to strike the man down. This barbarian dared bargain! A tiny figure darted out from between the Skathian horses -- a boy child wielding a dagger. "Leave my father alone!"

Jeury held his horse back, staring down at the boy. Then he laughed. "Who wants a bold warrior? Take him."

A young man from close by the Prince sprang from his horse and rushed to seize the child. The child's mother screamed and dashed toward the Prince. "No! Do not --" A dozen arrows sent her tumbling to the earth. The man, who had watched all this as if frozen into stone made to move. Prince Jeury pointed at him. "Tie him to four horses."

Young men sprang from their mounts to do their Lord's bidding. They laughed at the thought of sport. Jeury eyed the child, now riding in the young man's arms, and was taken with a fierce jealousy. This young man was a favored lover -- he should not find pleasure with his new toy.

"Give me the child," he ordered.

The young man stood still a moment as if he would refuse. Slowly he stretched out his arms to offer the child. The boy lay helpless, his eyes wide. Jeury took him by the neck with one hand. "The Baskabs should have him."

He raised himself in his stirrups and threw the child among the horsemen. "The winner of the bushkazi will receive the dead swordsman's women."

The horsemen shouted their delight. A scrum began where the child lay in the dirt. Horses dashed to and fro, men grabbed at one another, punched and kicked until finally, one stronger than the rest broke away and jabbed his heels into his pony's flanks. In his hands, draped across the horse's witherslaya limp and bloodstained shape. With a chorus of whoops the wild players set out in pursuit and the game vanished from sight over the hill.

Prince Jeury turned away to regard the trader, now tied by four strong hide ropes to four of his bodyguards' horses. "You should not be denied the chance to share in my followers' sport."

The man's mouth opened, he shook his head, "No, Lord! Mercy!"

Prince Jeury laughed and waved toward the riders. "Let him share your race. Go and catch the bushkazi players."

The young men mounted and edged their horses apart until the man lifted off his feet, spread-eagled between them. Then they urged their horses into a gallop. A disparing cry burst out as the ropes stretched sinews beyond their limits. The horses gathered speed, kicking up dust as they sped over the hill. The man's screams faded into the distance.

Prince Jeury turned back to the silent wagon when all sight and sound had faded. He fixed his eyes on the Mahdir of the Baskabs. "Take everything of value from the wagon and burn it. Bring all the iron to me when we camp tonight. I shall determine its disposal."

The Mahdir bowed deeply from the saddle. "Yes, Lord."

The Prince drew his sword and handed it to his Gaffir. He thrust the Iskander blade into the scabbard and spurred his horse away.

*****

Yohan sat in the stern of the skiff as it made its way across Lubitz harbor. A new arrival had anchored in the fairway and the Harbormaster's inspection boat had just pulled away from its side. As they drifted across beneath the stern, Yohan looked up at the name, picked out in fresh paint, 'Thalian Star'. She was early, coming to anchor on the afternoon tide when he had expected them a day later. Rumor of the cavalry's departure had traveled around the city all day, but afternoonworeon and Gisel had not called him from the cavalry bivouacs.

The boatman reached out for the boathook held by the Thalian Star's crewman and they were pulled to the base of the rope ladder. Yohan grabbed the right rope as high as he could reach and set one foot firmly on the rung. Quickly he climbed to the deck and was met by two men, a middle-aged man of medium height and another much taller with the build of a wrestler.

"Meister Yohan, how like your father you look. I would know you anywhere. I am Han Petkre," the older man said. "This is Meister Cyrian, who represents our purchaser."

Yohan shook both their hands.

"Is the cargo ready for us?" Cyrian asked.

"It is here, but I am not yet ready to load it." Yohan checked the deck cargo. "I see you have the masts I ordered. Good, I will have the tug move you to the shipyard for unloading as soon as the crane is free."

"But there will be no delay?" Cyrian persisted.

"Sir, I must remind you that the matters here are in the hands of the Felger Enterprise -- not under military jurisdiction. Your cargo will be loaded when I deem the time right."

Cyrian glared darkly but said no more.

"If you will excuse us," Yohan said. "Meister Petkre and I have business matters to discuss."

"Very well, I will leave you now. But I do not like to be in this port for one hour more than I have to."

"I assure you, that is also my wish. Good day, sir." Yohan took Petkre by the arm and the two walked away into the bows. "He is a military officer," Yohan said when they were alone.

"I do believe so. And likely the other, Meister Zulik."

"From the description you gave me I believe his real name is Commandante Zagdorf, the man who made several attempts on our lives a year ago. Did you say he had left Gira?"

"Oh yes, several days ago. He must be well on the way to Novrehan by now."

"You are sure that was his destination?"

Petkre shrugged. "Not perfectly, but one of the orderlies he planned to take mentioned the name in my hearing."

"Hmm, yes." Should he call Gisel and tell her? If the cavalry were really due to leave they could even find themselves on the same road. Not that he knew any of the military plans, but the impending attack was the topic of conversation at every dinner table in the city. How could he account to her for the source of his information?

"So you have a body of Imperial troops aboard to guard the shipment?"

"A score of marines, counting Cyrian."

"I am sending five men for the assembly and operation. This oaf knows their value? I don't want any of these bully-boys picking on them. Men who can work on steam engines are worth their weight in bullion."

"The Baron said I was to go with them. He wants me to oversee the whole operation."

"Wolfram, my chief technician is capable of that, but if you wish to concern yourself with the men's welfare and be their guardian against the Emperor's minions you will do us all a service."

"The Baron pointed out that the Empire knows little about the handling of artisans, since they hold them in such low regard. I believe those are the duties he intended for me. But why do you antagonize Cyrian? Is there a reason to delay our loading and departure?"

"As long as my Betrothed is in Lubitz, yes. I dare not let her see what I am loading into the Thalian Star."

"The Wildcat? I thought she was in Skrona."

"No, she is in the city. I cannot start the loading until I know she has ridden out."

Chapter Fifteen

Gisel rode up the road with her army surgeon and a few men of her HQ troop to find a place on the top of a crest to watch her column ride past. It was mid afternoon and the word to leave had arrived just an hour past noon. She glanced at a dozen young men and boys working in a nearby field who stood to stare. In most countries on Gaia, the sight of soldiers would send them all running in fear of forcible conscription. Nothing to fear from her, the Iskanders did their best to maintain a professional army. Her young men demonstrated that, packing up and loading their transport quickly, without confusion. Galling, that the least experienced member of the Combat Group was herself. She resolved to work like hell to change that in a hurry.

'A' Squadron under Captain Jans had departed ahead of the main body of her battalion. She'd sent him on a wide flanking sweep to the east of their line of march. Her brother had called her about a large cavalry force moving in the Skathian border lands, and although no one expected them to cross into Lubitz territory, she wasn't going to be taken by surprise. Jans was able to handle an independent command -- she grinned ruefully -- as much as her. Which made her suspicious of Ricart's motives in giving her the job.

Her big gelding tossed his head and backed a few steps as the large group of horses neared them. She leaned forward to quiet him quickly -- at least she was a good horsewoman. She had Ricart to thank for that.

As the leading column reached her vantage point she craned to see the tail end of the force moving out onto the road three quarters of a mile away.Forthe first time she appreciated just how big a force had been entrusted to her command. The eight guns and their ammunition wagons took over a quarter of a mile of road at the center. The whole force numbered half as many again as the five hundred lusty young men Yohan had sounded jealous about. She stiffened her back and drew her katana to raise in salute as the commanders of 'B' Squadron reached her.

Captain Reen and his lieutenants answered her salute with sabers as they rode past. She kept her katana in the air as the troopers rode past in column of fours. The Lubitz Mounted Rifles were next and she exchanged salutes with Laon Misiker as he crossed over the crest. Captain Viens rode away from the head of his battery to join her as the first of his guns rolled past behind its team. "It will be dark in four hours, Major. How far do we go?"

"We'll march for three. Lord Ricart ordered me to get on the road today, but the main force will start leaving at dawn tomorrow. We all travel the same road until we cross the Blackrock Ford -- the traction engines that pull those heavy guns would be too much of a load for any ferry Lubitz has in service."

"The river is low this month?"

"The word I had was half a fathom. Even men on foot could ford it."

"That's still too deep for my ammunition wagons."

"Fixed rounds shouldn't leak, Viens. Make sure your men load anything loose on top of the loads."

His face grew a worried frown. "I'll have them wax the shrapnel shells to keep the fuses from leaking. We will do it tonight, but we may find some unusable afterwards."

"Damn. Do your best." Gisel felt chagrined -- she should have known the fording depth of ammunition wagons -- how had Ricart overlooked the problem? Her communicator vibrated against her side and she rode a short distance away before looking at the ID. "Topaz here."

"This is Petros. The ship you wanted has dropped anchor with the tide."

"You're sure it's the one?"

"Your lover went aboard as soon as the harbor patrol left."

"The word is partner. What's the ship's name?"

"Thalian Star, a clean little three master of about a hundred and fifty tuns."

"Thanks, I'll pass this along to Iskander Control. How is Copper coming along?"

"I showed him how to handle and clean the revolver, but I cannot take him to a safe place to shoot it. Will you do that?"

"Not now. I'm leaving the city today. Don't let Kullen go too far on his own, perhaps you should go after him soon. The Division is traveling the same road, so you'll have to leave behind them. No doubt there'll be plenty of camp followers to lose yourself among."

"So, what about Copper?"

"Copper will be away on the ship, likely tomorrow. Teach him as much as you can tonight." Time to call Yohan to tell him she'd left, then he'd not need to delay loading his steam engine. She felt a pang of guilt about Murrin. "What he hasn't learned he'll have to figure out for himself."

"I don't count much for his chances."

Gisel knew she'd manipulated and taken advantage of the lad. If there'd been more time she would have done a better job with his instruction, but she'd skimped it. His hatred of the aristocrats in his homeland would fuel his commitment to the task she'd set him. She just had to hope the lad's own wits would keep him alive long enough to be useful. "He was our only hope, but I think he's more cunning than you give him credit for. I give him better than fifty fifty."

"If you say so . . . Topaz. I'll be off, then. I'll buy me a palfrey to take the road. Kullen will be around Blackrock today I don't doubt -- I'll catch him before Novrehan."

"Fine, and good luck." She signed off and then punched Yohan's number. "Hello, sweetheart," she said as he answered. "I'm away. See you at Blackrock in a couple of weeks."

He took his time answering and then she thought his voice sounded thick. "This is it, then? Don't take any risks, darling."

"Do my best."

"You are going south, first?"

"I shouldn't tell you, but yes. Why do you want to know?"

"Because I've heard a rumor that Zagdorf is on the Thalia road to Novrehan."

"You have?" The best route from Thalia also crossed the river at Blackrock. She didn't press Yohan to be more specific, likely he'd learned the information aboard Thalian Star. "Thanks for this -- I appreciate it."

"I don't want you going after him."

"Don't think I can get away for such a mission, but I'd love to give him a heart attack -- rolling up to his base in Novrehan with this army behind me. I'd better sign off now, I've one more call to make. Love you."

"And I love you, too."

His transmission seemed to continue a long moment in silence as if he wanted to say more. She didn't terminate the connection until she heard him switch off.

By the time she finished the call to Iskander Control with the information about Thalian Star, her last squadron had almost passed. With a signal for her troopers to follow she spurred her horse to the clear side of the road to gallop to the head of the column.

After an hour and a half's march she called a break -- a good time to send her NCOs to check for developing problems. The guns pulled off the road and Gisel took her officers with her to spread out maps on the back of a gun limber. The maps were actually prints of remote sensing photography. Hers had a transparent overlay of relief, called a topomorphic layer, which could be rolled back for a better look at photographic detail. The sub-unit commanders unrolled their maps as they briefly discussed their march of the next few days.

At the end of the break Gisel spoke with Captain Reen. "Send a half-troop of yours ahead to locate a campsite for us." She pointed to a place on the map, a large clearing beside a creek flowing down to the Lubitz River about ten miles away. "Somewhere around here."

"And an outpost?"

"One on the higher ground to the east and send another about a mile up the road."

"Will Captain Jans rejoin tonight?"

"No. I told him to meet us at Blackrock the day after tomorrow."

Reen saluted. "Very well, Major. Consider it done."

As they rode on, she let her gelding pick his own way while she sat deep in thought. Cavalry moving over the Skathian border, and Zagdorf on his way into the area as well. Was there a connection? If she could spare one, she'd detach a small force to keep watch over the Novrehan border region. It seemed that everyone was taking advantage of the last good weather before winter to carry out some operation. She'd better make sure Ricart had the same information.

*****

Slin Murrin walked beside the tall man with a withered hand, Petros, through the streets and alleys of Lubitz. They had spent the evening in a new lesson, how to use what Iskander called a dead letter-box to pass secrets between different cells. Petros had shown him how to use one of the prepared cards, a figure with his arms raised, to signify 'be careful of capture'. He'd tucked it into a crack between two stones in a wall.

"T'will be better when you can read and write," Petros said. "I thought all you mechanics trained by Iskander could."

"I be studyin' it, honest. T'aint so easy."

"No doubt the agents you recruit won't be able to read either. You'll have to teach them to use these cards; there's one for every eventuality." The other side of each cardresembleda playing card, but the numbers were used to denote quantity, if the message to be passed needed it.

"Technician Wolfram said he'd help us new fellers learn to read while we sails to Genua."

After Petros left the card, he made a mark on a post nearby with a chalky stone. His partner that he'd recruited in the city, walked by to see the mark; then he went to the wall to retrieve the card from between the stones and rubbed away the mark.

"See how we do it?" Petros said to Murrin. "The drop and collection can be days apart. All a fellow has to do is walk this way every day to watch out for messages. You can also pass on bigger items in a larger hiding place. And there's even another level of security above this that I'll tell you about."

"Yes, I unnerstands. A feller could pass out money, tools --"

"Explosives, weapons," Petros finished. "You've got it. Just use a dead letter-box to let your people know where to find them."

He didn't like the idea of explosives, but wasn't about to let on. He knew Topaz had blown up a city wall once; better her than him. "Does thou want to show me more? T'will be suppertime at the crew house soon."

Petros laughed. "I wouldn't want to keep you from the feed trough. Just come with me to the Black Dog; I'll let you have a set of cards in case they didn't place any with the engine."

They left the higher streets of the city and returned to the dock area. The smell of the sea wafted to him on the rising tide as they passed along dark alleys around the warehouse district, through knots of ragged workers waiting for a chance to earn a few coppers from the arriving vessels.

The Black Dog was located in a wider street just off the quay and to get to it, they had to thread their way between wagon teams and drover's carts lined up around the corner. Petros was just about to step out from the last wagon when Murrin saw something that made his heart speed up.

He caught his arm. "Hey! Hold up, d'ye see that man standin' under the lanterns? He killed Durden!"

Petros stopped and pulled back out of sight from the tavern. "I see a man called Torgus, if he's the man you mean."

"I dunno his name, but he's the feller what called for 'im that night."

"You didn't tell Topaz that. You said you weren't certain."

"Yes . . . well. I weren't sure I wanted to get mixed up in such affairs then. What is we going to do?"

"Wait here to see where he goes. I've already told Topaz about him. She wants me to find out who he's working for."

"How does we do that?"

"Watching and listening -- Hey up! He's going inside."

The door closed behind him, they crossed from the street to the narrow tavern forecourt, stacked with empty kegs. Torgus had gone into the taproom, would he notice them coming in and recognize either of them? Petros didn't hesitate, he pulled his hat lower and pushed through the door, pulling Murrin by the arm.

The interior was a smoke-filled darkness, relieved only by a few sputtering candles and a couple of oil-lamps at each end of the bar counter. Shouts and drunken laughter from patrons standing around a table near the far wall split the air, almost certainly gamblers -- either at dice or cards. At the bar stood a large fellow wiping his hands on a heavily stained apron. Torgus had avoided the crowd, sitting at a shadowed empty table away from the bar. They sidled to a darker one in the corner nearby.

A tavern wench stood up from a stool beside the bar and came over to them.

"You want ter drink . . . or," she eyed Murrin speculatively, "do yer fancy a turn in the room back there?"

Murrin felt himself redden. "A drink. Ale. What do you want, mate?"

Petros grinned at him. "Dorna ain't so bad. She's clean."

"Corse I be. Less'n you'm some high an' mighty feller who 'spects a fine lady."

"I have a girl . . . will have, one day," Murrin mumbled.

Dorna smiled at him. "Then be a good lad an' respec' her. I'll bring your ale. And you, yer old bastard, will want gin."

"A small one," Petros said. He took her arm and pulled her head down closer. "Our friend that came in before us . . . what did he ask for?"

She hesitated, her eyes scrutinizing them both. "Ter speak to th' owner. He be waitin' for 'im."

Petros nodded and released her. She flounced away. "Don't forget about the room, my laddies. Only a thaler."

They waited, listening to a crescendo of shouts about the gaming table. It sounded as if a fight threatened. The owner of the tavern emerged from a doorway and stood a moment watching the noisy crowd. Then he turned toward Torgus and beckoned him to follow. The two walked into the shadowed passage as Dorna emerged with the drinks.

"Quick!" Petros said to her, holding up a thaler. "Take the lad to the room beside the owner's parlour."

"But . . . no. I don't want to," Murrin said.

Petros put a hand to his ear and pushed the coin into Dorna's hand. "Take him, and help him listen."

Murrin understood. He stood and pushed back his stool. With a glance at the big man behind the bar, he wrapped an arm around Dorna and let her lead him through the door and down the passageway.

The room was empty except for a cot. As Dorna closed the door, he stepped across to the wall and pressed his ear against it. Dorna set down a candle from the hallway and joined him, listening at the wall and grinning at him.

The voices from the next room were low and muffled through the thin partition, but he could make out the man with the Frendland accent speaking. "They says you was Wolk Kachupin's man."

The answer was incomprehensible.

"Have it your way, but there could be money in it."

A new voice. "Nah money from't Kachupins terday. They is keepin' their noses clean."

"But Wolk had Empire money. Be there any o' that?"

The voice dropped lower and Murrin couldn't make him out. He frowned at Dorna.

"If'n ye has blood to waste, he says," she whispered.

Torgus spoke again. "But ye knows where to find it?"

"Maybe I does, maybe -- "

"Don't shit me!" The voice came to Murrin clearly. "Be there an Empire man ye knows? Answer if'n ye wants a share."

"Ye knows a lot, feller. Why not speak to 'im d'rectly?"

Torgus' voice became muffled.

"What's 'ee say?" Murrin whispered.

Dorna shook her head.

"Come back in two days," the owner's voice said. "That's best I can do fer ye."

"Damn swill-peddler! Tell me where to find 'im."

The heavy sound of footfalls vibrated the wall, as if one man advanced and another retreated. "Two days! I'll have word for thee then."

"Best you do. I'll not be put off."

Murrin heard the door of the next room open and slam shut. He listened a moment longer, but only heard the sound of glass clinking and liquor being poured. He stepped away from the door and motioned Dorna to precede him. "See if passage is clear."

"Don't ye want me to earn the thaler?'

"Not this eve, you done well enough," Murrin said. "Keep yer mouth sealed an' we could pay fer more help."

Dorna held out the thaler.

"Nah, keep it. Maybe the big feller will want ye to listen to they again."

"What's he want to hear?"

"Ne'er you mind what ee wants -- jus' tell 'im what they says. Now look out in passageway, I gotta go back an' tell 'im what us heard."

Dorna open the door and poked her head out. "All clear. He've gone."

Murrin took a deep breath and left the room. All he knew was this Torgus was asking to speak with an Empire man. Topaz had told him about the Empire -- they was bad news. Had the Empire killed Durden? Lor! He had took his place.

Chapter Sixteen

Zagdorf and his orderlies had barely waded their horses out of the Blackrock Ford when he noticed a patrol of light cavalry riding down the hillside behind him, past the rebuilt border post. "Don't stop to dry out," he ordered. "We must head over to those trees and take cover. I believe that is an Iskander flag they ride under."

The three cantered across the water meadow into the clump of trees. Zagdorf recognized it as one they had searched a year ago when he was trying to determine what the Iskander spy Marc was doing in the area. As soon as he arrived he took a spyglass from his pannier and ordered his junior man to take the horses further in to hide them. No sooner did he turn the glass on the distant riders than his suspicion was confirmed. What were they doing here?

"Do we ride on, Commandante?" his Corporal asked.

Zagdorf weighed the matter. He needed to get to Novrehan as quickly as possible, but any movement of Iskander cavalry could be important information. On the other hand, he didn't want to remain in the area if they should search the undergrowth. He decided to stay until some evidence of their intention became clear. "No, we will rest the horses here an hour or so, but do not let them loose in case we need to move quickly."

"I may make a rest camp?"

"Yes, but do not light a fire."

For about half an hour he watched the Iskander cavalry in the ford, taking water depths and marking out a crossing place. Obviously an advance party from some larger formation. He felt disgruntled at performing a scouting duty that any cavalry subaltern could do, but the pleasure of spying on Iskander's crack cavalry mollified him slightly. Wouldn't he love to have one of their marvelous guns to blow these proud young devils to Gehenna. He remembered the success of his work uncovering some of their secrets in Tarnland. Just wait until he could get back there -- he'd kidnap their top people and spirit them away. Let the Wildcat try to catch him then.

The sound of splashing made him look up. Part of the troopfordedthe river and he watched until they rode up the road. Zagdorf could not see which fork they took further on, but assumed it would be the one leading to Abersholm, not Novrehan. The day would be wearing on by the time some larger group crossed the river, so he suspected they were searching for a bivouac area.

He'd almost decided he had learned enough when another small group came riding down the far hill, followed by a forage cart. He aimed the glass at them, probably a group of officers coming to check on the advance party's work -- but why the cart? He became intrigued when a larger column appeared a short distance behind them. Moving fast, probably an all-cavalry formation.

The officers reined in on the riverbank and dismounted. Then they walked to and fro, obviously discussing the crossing. The cart was drawn up beside the ford and a group of men set to work with material unloaded from it. The rest of the column proved to be the major part of a cavalry squadron who dismounted a short distance from the river and sent men with buckets to water the horses. No amateurs, these. They knew enough to control how much water their mounts drank. Zagdorf turned the spyglass on the officers again, about half a mile away.

The tall slim one in the center of the small group seemed to be in command, and the more he looked the more he felt he recognized the bearing and mannerisms of the officer. An old mercenary comrade, perhaps?

Another part of the column appeared over the crest of the hill. This time a cannon, drawn by eight horses, with an ammunition wagon behind it. The gun was of an unfamiliar shape, with a shield ahead of the wheels, and accompanied by more horsemen who came down the hill at a brisk canter. The cannon team swung around in a tight circle a couple of hundred yards from the ford as if ready to put the gun into action at a moment's notice. Its shape struck him as unusual, but the direction it pointed when it stopped prevented him from making out any detail. The horsemen and the wagon continued down to the ford and stopped beside the working party.

Zagdorf realized what they were doing. The working party tied tarpaulin-wrapped bundles of forage to the ammunition wagon, then the team of horses from the forage cart were tied behind it. A section of the cavalry were called over and stationed with restraining ropes on the upstream side of the cart. When they were ready, the whole party moved the ammunition cart into the water -- to float it across. A neat trick he had never seen before.

Two of the officers forded the river beside the floating ammunition cart, and then the remainder of the mounted troops crossed to set up a perimeter line on the closest bank. Zagdorf could see the muskets on their backs and bandoliers of ammunition slung from their shoulders. Not muskets -- bandoliers meant these cavalrymen were armed with Iskander rifles.

He raised the spyglass to watch the officers again when they emerged from their inspection of the interior of the wagon. This time he got a shock. There was no mistaking the face of the tall slim one -- the Wildcat! What was she doing in this force? It must mean something, the Wildcat was usually in the forefront of Iskander mischief.

He stayed in his position long enough to see more cannon, wagons, and cavalry ride down the hill, and decided it was time to leave. This force was too large for a patrol -- it was likely the vanguard of Amberden's whole cavalry division. He must get to Novrehan and pass the information by electric telegraph to Duke Solerar.

*****

Markov rode slowly down the village street on his pony, looking for an inn. He was a day past Blackrock Ford, three days since he'd last spoken to Topaz. He wondered if she was part of this bedlam of military activity, as the great steam tractors of Iskander's artillery hauled the heavy guns through the ford. Soldiers and supply columns blocked the road leading up the hill toward Abersholm and he'd been glad to turn off about a mile from the ford to continue following the river upstream.

He stopped in every village and cluster of houses along the road to ask about Kullen, who usually traveled as a preacher, or sometimes a pilgrim. No luck as yet, maybe this village would prove to be the one. The first building large enough to have room for travelers was almost empty, just a couple of dust-stained men at a corner table. Markov stopped beside them, a brimming tankard of ale in his hand. "Room for a traveler, gents?"

A large man with a bald head slid down his bench. "Aye, rest yer bones. Be on the road?" A Novrehan city man by his accent -- no surprise since this was almost a day's ride over the border.

Markov did as he was invited and took a swig of the ale. He decided to speak in a country dialect. "Goin' t'Novrehan. How be the road?"

"Good fer trav'lin' south, but I hears there be sojers on the road from Lubitz."

The other man looked up from his tankard, and Markov noticed his nose seemed as big as a hound's on his thin face. "I have to get to Lubitz," he complained, "but be blighted if I want to fall in with ruffians."

"Iskander troops is under good disc'pline," Markov said, "but you'd do well to wait a day for they to get out of Blackrock Ford."

"You come that way?"

"That I did. All the fuss an' smeech like to frighten' my pony."

The two men nodded, and the thin one turned to his companion. "Mayhap I shall go on to Blackrock village and send you to watch for road to clear."

"You travel in company then?" Markov said. "On business?"

They both frowned. "Fam'ly matters -- jus' fam'ly."

Likely they were on some merchant errand. They would not want anyone to suspect they might be carrying money to buy Iskander trade goods in Lubitz, but Markov guessed that to be their intention. Even there, the price of metal utensils was half what they'd find at home. Their concern for safety meant they'd been more watchful of others on the road as they traveled north. "I'm expecting to catch up to a friend on my journey. Perhaps you seen him."

"Maybe us has," the larger man said. "What be his descripshun?"

"An older man with a round face, head as bald as a woman's tit. Likely he were wearin' a hooded robe like a monk's."

"Would he a'bin preachin'?"

"Sometimes he do sound forth, when he've a bellyful, but there's no harm in him."

"T'was likely us passed him at the last village, but he weren't alone. He were sittin' talking with another man on a bench beside a wayside shrine."

"I took'n fer the curat' o' the place," the thin man said. "But he could'a bin yor man."

"Well, I be grateful for the word. How far is it to this village?"

"Four or five mile. But don't stir yerself yet -- you could tell us more of the road to Lubitz. How is the way? Us have a one-horse cart."

Markov sat with the two and ate some bread and cheese for lunch. He thought it a good idea to talk about conditions on the road ahead. As a consequence, it was late in the daylight when he rode on, keeping his eye open for the wayside shrine. Near a large house and estate behind a high stone wall he pulled off the road to let a troop of Novrehan cuirassiers past. He shook his head, more soldiers -- doubtless riding north to keep an eye upon their border while the Iskander force came close.

He reached the shrine, a pillared fane with a burning glass set over an offering hearth, just short of a cluster of houses at a crossroad. No men sat near it. He hoped Kullen had not talked to the wrong person about the Rights of Common Man and been betrayed by an agent provocateur. Markov wasn't easy about traveling with him, but he'd be sure to keep him silent with strangers along the road. Continuing on to the first of the houses, he asked a woman in the street about a place to stay.

"Yon barn on the hill be yer best chance. Farmer do let strangers make beds in the straw."

"Thank you, mistress. Have you seen an old monk come along this road today? I heard tell of him."

The woman's eyes flitted away. "What hast heard tell? Us is devout folk hereabouts, what listens only to the true word."

"As do I, mistress. Where would I likely find him?'

"I would'na know about such folk," she said, rubbing her hands in her pinafore before turning away. "Try in barn," she said over her shoulder.

Markov trotted his pony past the cluster of hovels and up the hill. A long, low farmhouse with a stable for draft animals at one end came into view. The yard was filthy with mud, straw, and animal droppings, and alive with chickens. A large brown dog came out of the stable to bark but didn't come near. The dog's bark brought the husbandman out, a pitchfork in one hand. "What be yer business?"

"I have a mind to ask for a bed for the night, but I'm really after a friend. Have you seen --?"

"There be two men in yonder old barn." He pointed to a leaning wooden relic a short distance away. "You might see if one is yer fren'. Don't go strikin' no flint an' tinder -- I don' allow no fires ner candles in he."

"Very good. If I decide to stay -- how much?"

"Ten groats if yer stays fer a bit o' breakfast in the mornin'. If ye wants some feed fer the pony, that'll be five groats more. I'd say ye could work fer yer keep if ye've a mind, but doubtless a man with a palfrey have coin enough."

"You need a worker? Not often I hears of a man offerin' work."

"Blasted milkmaid run off. There's no accountin' for young folk these days -- tis all they wars an' all."

Markov nodded and told the man he'd see him in the morning if he should stay. He trotted the pony to the barn; finding a small paddock beside the doorwithone pony already tied to a post, eating from a feedbag. He dismounted and tied his pony's reins to a rail. The inside of the barn was gloomy but he could make out two men reclining in the straw near the doorway. "What work is done by the light of moon?" he said.

The men sat upright. "The people's work, brother." Kullen's voice. "Come sit with us, it's safe, there's no one else about."

Markov advanced into the barn. In the slanting light coming through the holes in the walls he could make out the identity of the man with Kullen -- it was Nagat. He'd not seen him for two years but his rawboned frame had not changed. His face, long and square, wore its usual thick black stubble, and his height was apparent as he stretched his legs toward the doorway, but not his habitual stoop. "Well met, brother. Still cheating the hangman's rope I see."

Nagat smiled up at him. "Brother Kullen tells me th' Wildcat be in Lubitz."

"She was. I'm told she has left."

"She told ye." Nagat didn't make it sound like a question.

"Maybe. What concern is it of yours? You have been told to stay out of Iskander's allies."

"Our Brother says the Cause needs weedin' in Lubitz."

Markov nodded. "Aye, the city's own security told the Wildcat about our meeting. If she hadn't said a few words in the right ears we would have been raided by the Militia."

"Does we know who betrayed us?"

Markov shook his head. "I was not in the city long enough to smell any rats."

Kullen spread his hands. "All seemed trustworthy among the friends . . ."

Markov exchanged a knowing glance with Nagat. They both knew the old fellow was too trusting -- too trusting of people as well as of the Flame. But he was well loved . . . and sometimes the Cause needed a mouthpiece with more courage than caution. "If you were to go to Lubitz, it would be a good thing to start a new Brotherhood with some thought to safety."

Nagat would know what he meant; he had been trained by the Iskanders before falling out with them. He had taken blame for some sabotage -- railroad tracks had been spread apart, overturning a coal train. It may have been his doing, but perhaps he protected others. In any event, the Iskanders would have hanged him if the Wildcat hadn't intervened. She had likely been right -- he was still of use to her part of their secret operations. But a condition of his release had been that he not undermine Iskander or its allies. It could mean a bullet if she found him in Lubitz.

"I would need one name above s'spicion," Nagat said, "if I were to build 'pon the Brotherhood already there."

Kullen said nothing. Markov shrugged and winked. "I doubt there is one. . ." He'd tell him how to contact his informants when they were out of Kullen's hearing. "You know what to do -- start with one and test him with a good lie. If the Militia don't take the bait, he's safe."

"Yes, I knows that. But what were Wildcat doing in Lubitz? Where is she to, now?"

Markov shook his head. "Do you suppose she would tell me? She trusts me no more than she trusts you."

"But you can'st speak with her?"

Markov laughed. "Should I ask her if your going to Lubitz pleases her?"

"No. Tell her you have foun' Brother Kullen. He says she have sent you to help him in Novrehan. Her man is startin' these steamships on the river -- so ask if she will meet thee in Novrehan. Her answer could tell when she would return."

Markov shook his head. "She will not tell me anything, unless she has some purpose in it. She uses us as much as we use her."

*****

Gisel rode the trails and hillsides of the Moonwald westward at the head of one troop of Captain Reen's squadron. They'd advanced for two days since crossing Blackrock, and seen no trace of Imperial cavalry. To the south of her, Captain Jans had his squadron spread out like a cordon to search the thickets and valleys for any sign of Imperial cavalry. The rest of Reen's troopers were similarly spread out to the north. She cast her glance about as she rode, feeling her life had come a full circle from the year before -- when she and Yohan had hidden in these same hills from Zagdorf's Imperial troopers.

She wasn't completely at her ease -- she'd left the field guns and the rest of her force behind, across the Makberg River at Abersolm -- her second river crossing. The ferry was too small and slow to take more than the two squadrons on this sweep -- it'd taken all morning to ply back and forth with these. A clear lesson, if she'd needed one, of the way Europe's rivers had channeled wars and armies throughout history. If she ran into a significant force of Imperial cavalry she'd have to flee -- gallop for Abersholm to join the rest of her battalion. But that was the cavalry business -- venture boldly into trouble and then ride like hell to take back word of what you'd found.

She had one benefit other cavalry did not have -- the communicator that would allow her to call Laon Misiker for help, or alert Captain Viens to ready his guns to meet her pursuers. She had another advantage that kept her pulse rate steady -- whatever Ricart supposed, her experience of last year convinced her Duke Solerar would have no large force hidden in these hills.

Another few hours and it'd be dark. It threatened to rain tonight but she'd allow her men to warm their lean-to shelters with campfires -- her confident possession of this hostile country would bolster her men's morale. But she'd spend her fifth night away from Lubitz in some dripping thicket. Not to complain, she'd spent last night with friends in the inn at Abersholm, where a year before she'd killed the freebooter captain in a duel.

A rattle of gunfire from the hills to her right made her draw rein. Her troopers halted their mounts behind her and the sergeant signaled for everyone to ready their carbines.

Three more shots.

"A mile away, Major?" the sergeant asked.

"I'd say so." She drew her katana. "Let's go."

She urged her big gelding into a gallop up the ridgeline to the north, the troop behind spreading out beside her. Not many shots -- perhaps not a big fight -- but she had to be there.

The straggling branches whipped at her as she threaded between and up through the trees. Near the top of the ridge they thinned and she slowed to survey the valley below. Horses and riders dashed along the wooded valley bottom, glimpsed for a second and then lost in the trees again. She couldn't tell friend from foe.

With the movement westward, it suggested an enemy in retreat. Reen's men would likely been surprised to meet these horsemen -- could have been nasty for both sides. Who the hell were these enemies, a few troopers on patrol or the vanguard of a regiment? She laid the rein on her mount's neck to turn him west. "Follow me. We'll head them off."

The troop thundered along the crest of the ridge. This was her reserve, her striking force held together to meet such an action as this. As she galloped, she strained to catch a glimpse of the horsemen below.

Then she saw them. Angling up the hillside through a clearing came a dozen riders, some in shining cuirasses and some in drab buff coats and holding lances. Imperial troops for certain -- they hadn't yet seen her move to cut them off.

"Fire!"

A ragged volley from her troopers caused the enemy to turn and scatter. The faster horses of the light cavalry soon vanished into the trees. Two larger mounts carrying armored troopers of heavy cavalry could not keep up, their riders turned at bay and raised their sabers.

"Take these alive." Gisel shouted. "Sergeant. Lead a half troop after the rest."

As her force split into two, the cuirassiers spurred their horses to meet her charge. She aimed straight at the nearest and raised her katana to deflect his saber stroke. From behind them down the hill appeared several of Reen's troopers in pursuit.

Gisel swung her blade to catch the saber, the shock of the impact jarring through her arm. "Surrender. You're surrounded."

His horse whirled to cut in behind her. "Curse you, no!"

Two of her men spurred into the fight. One aimed his carbine into the horseman's face.

"Drop your saber," Gisel shouted, raising her blade for an answering stroke. "My man will blow your head off."

The Imperial cavalryman hesitated a second before letting his saber fall to the ground. His companion drew rein and raised his hands, surrounded by Reen's men.

Gisel turned her horse and trotted it up to them. "Get off your horse. You're my prisoner, do what I say and Iskander's law will protect you."

There was no such thing as a Geneva convention on Gaia. Enemy prisoners might expect torture or a quick hanging; only Iskander's army followed humane rules, and they were often bent in the heat of the moment. The two men who dismounted before her did not know that; Gisel could smell the fear on them.

From lower on the hillside Captain Reen galloped up to her. "We met about a score of enemy cavalry, Major. I have three of their wounded down in the valley."

Gisel swung off her horse and stood at its head to look up at him. "Any casualties?"

"One man killed by a pistol shot, another bleeding from a saber wound."

She turned to the prisoner who'd traded sword strokes with her and placed the point of her katana at his throat. "Who are you? What force is this?"

"I am an Imperial officer. I will tell you nothing."

"Suit yourself. I'll have you stripped of that armor and whipped until you change your mind."

He eyed her keenly. "What are you doing, riding with Iskander cavalry?"

"Deciding whether to have you strung up from that tree over there, or sent back to the rest of my force as a prisoner of war. Doubtless you've heard Iskander keeps their prisoners for exchange. Who is your commander?"

The man's eyes held hers a moment before his stare wavered. "I am on Duke Solerar's staff."

"And what were you doing here?"

"I cannot tell you. Hang me if you will . . ."

Gisel turned to Reen. "Take these prisoners with you. We'll question them more tonight."

"Very well, Major." He dismounted with his men to search the prisoners for weapons. More of her troopers rode back out of the trees.

Her sergeant cantered back to her. "We killed two of them, but the rest got away. Shall we gather up the men and go after them again, Major?"

"No, sound the recall. The fugitives are not worth blowing our horses for." She walked over to Reen and watched the prisoners' hands tied behind them as they sat their horses once more. The troopers took the horses' reins and led them back down the hill, two men with levelled carbines bringing up the rear. "What do you make of this party, Reen? Lancers and cuirassiers in a mixed formation? That's not usual."

"The only time Irodein such a mixed force, Major, was when I was sent out to a new formation to act as guide. We was selected according to what we knew of the country."

"Good thought. But I wonder, who were these fellows sent to guide?"

Chapter Seventeen

Zagdorf stood in the anteroom of the Novrehan castle talking with an Imperial cavalry captain who had ridden ahead of the Fifteenth Army to meet him. The Archduke's orderly disappeared into the great hall of the castle to tell his master they were waiting for an audience. Zagdorf hated kicking his heels to wait upon petty princes like this one, but knew he had no choice.

"Are the supplies for the army collected in the city, Commandante?" the captain asked, settling his plumed helmet under his arm. "I could conduct a few wagons back."

The captain had arrived that morning at the secret Trigon base, located along the river just upstream of the city. Zagdorf had not had time to question the man fully as they prepared to leave for this appointment. Now, it was not possible to talk seriously where something important might be overheard.

"I have had little time to collect any," Zagdorf said with a tightening of his jaw. "I arrived myself only a day ago." He walked to the window to look out on the city, a vista of steep pitched roofs in a dense cluster beside the river. The day was cool; every chimney issued a thin haze of smoke, almost hiding the more distant districts. Here and there a splash of color showed though the grey, where slight widenings of the streets showed the plastered walls of houses in pink or blue. He saw the wooden center span of the river bridge rise slowly to let a barge pass underneath -- this was the first bridge across the river in its whole course from Lubitz. The line of low stone arches, like the humped segments of a caterpillar, stretched across to a fortified gateway on the far side of the river.

"Perhaps I could help in collecting supplies," the captain said. "My regiment has stopped to rest their horses about a day's ride away. They must shoe many of them, replace worn-out tack and even clothing for the men."

"My instructions were to provide supplies for your onward journey, not make up your deficiencies along the way." Zagdorf said coldly. When a regimental officer, he had always been frugal with the army's money, but now he needed to be more flexible. This forcemustbe in top shape to meet the Iskanders. "Very well. If you will carry out the business, I will sign the necessary requisitions."

"Thank you, Commandante. We have been on the march for two months, and are in need of much."

Zagdorf frowned, he would rather that had not been said in the castle. He had the duty to hurry these men to war before winter. But they were already late. He would need to see they did not consider Novrehan to be their favored winter quarters -- these people would likely charge double for every service provided.

The Archduke's orderly swung open a door and saluted. "His Grace can see you now, Commandante."

Zagdorf and the captain replaced their helmets and followed the orderly into the hall. The stone walls gleamed brightly with fresh whitewash, and the coats of arms and weapons on them seemed clean and well enough cared for to put to use. The flagstones at their feet stretched empty all the way to a raised dais where a man sat behind a sturdy oaken table. Zagdorf marched briskly to the edge of the dais and saluted. The Archduke looked up, his dark eyes lively above a thick black beard -- a youngish man, no more than thirty.

"Another envoy from the Emperor? What does his Highness want this time?"

Zagdorf kept his displeasure from his face -- that cursed Count Soleberg had again muddied waters he needed clear. "My name is Commandante Zagdorf, your Grace. I have come to listen to your concerns on behalf of the Emperor. Is it true that the transit of our army inconveniences you?"

"Should it not? The harvests are not yet in -- the peasants are fearful they will be trampled or burnt. What do you suppose we have to spare for such a host?"

Zagdorf shrugged. "I was given to understand that some crops were gathered, we will make do with whatever the countryside can spare. But Count Soleberg told me you had not consented to the army's onward journey."

The Archduke sat back in his chair and smiled. "Onward journey, you call it? My generals tell me you wish to launch an attack upon my neighbors from this very city. Does not that make me a party to your war?"

Zagdorf strove to keep his face impassive as he considered the Archduke's words. In law and custom the situation was not difficult -- the weaker state was not blamed for allowing the stronger to march across it. But being one of the buffer states compounded the problem here -- and it had become a major factor with a Skathian army somewhere close to the border.

"Your Grace has received such thoughts from Prince Jeury?"

The Archduke looked away towards a small window in the east wall of the hall. "The Emperor supposes I have?"

Zagdorf smiled and spread his hands. "It seems to us that the Prince's opinion counts for much with you. Does his concurrence with our transit have a price?" Zagdorf threw out the question even though he did not expect to hear it answered. The message from the Emperor, awaiting his arrival the day before, had spoken of some adjustment of the border in the East, where both Empires met the towering mountains in the center of the continent. It did not seem likely to be a reason for the Great Khan to send his son here with an army, but the Skathians' way of ruling sometimes seemed as arbitrary as the flight of birds.

The Archduke lifted a parchment from the table before him, smeared with the wax of many seals and held closed by a broad ribbon of purple. "This was signed by an ancestor of mine," he said. "Neither the Great Khan nor the Emperor may send an army within the borders of Novrehan without agreement from the other. Do you wish to read it?"

Zagdorf smiled. "While it would be a great honor to set my eyes upon such a noble document, I do not believe I have any dispute about its wording. I was given to understand that Count Soleberg had obtained the consent of the Skathians for our army to cross your land."

"Then why do a hundred thousand Skathian cavalry ride upon the Horse Plains, Commandante? The thought of their reputation may not dismay the Emperor, but they are not close enough to attack his gates at any moment. I'm told we may expect them here almost daily."

"Then our Fifteenth Army may be the balancing counter, your Grace. I have not been told that Prince Jeury has received agreement from the Emperor to enter Novrehan's lands either."

The Archduke's eyes widened. "What -- you wish to prove the Great Khan's fears are well founded? Do you suggest my duchy should become a battleground?"

"No, your Grace. But I do suggest that you should not make a decision against the Emperor's pleasure until we have spoken with a representative of the Prince. Surely he intends to send one."

"Then you must understand Skathians better than I. My advisors suggest the Prince himself may be expected, and he will not come to the city without a significant force." The Archduke frowned. "One more reason for there being insufficient victuals and supplies for your army here."

"Perhaps we should go to the border ourselves, to meet with the Prince."

"Do you mean myself? I should journey with you?"

Zagdorf shrugged. "It appears to offer the quickest solution to our problems."

"I believe they are your problems." The Archduke steepled his fingers and sat back. "It would not suit me to ride with you."

Zagdorf understood that point at once -- the Archduke would not want Jeury to think Novrehan had taken the Empire's side. But he had wanted the Archduke's presence to increase the leverage of his embassy. He needed as much authority as he could get -- the Emperor had offered him little to bargain with. His Imperial Highness hoped to put off the Skathians until Spring. The most he would offer their proposal for a realignment of borders in the East was a joint commission to evaluate the territories.

"Could you send a Councilor to speak with the Prince? I would accompany him."

The Archduke shrugged. "If it would keep his army further from my gates, I might consider it. But what would we have to say that would please him?"

"I think any concessions would be mine, but I cannot define them until I hear the Prince's words. Perhaps sending a regiment in escort to meet him, and my own presence to offer recompense for his concerns would suffice."

"What recompense might that be?"

Zagdorf smiled and shook his head. The less the Archduke knew about such possible negotiating points the easier it would be to bargain with him. "Only that which the Emperor might authorize. I cannot speak for his will on the matter."

The Archduke stared up at the ceiling for several minutes without answering. Then he sat forward in his chair. "I will speak with my councilors and inform you of our decision -- tomorrow. Now, I see this dusty officer standing with you. Has he come to me with a supplication as well?"

"He wishes to take certain supplies from the city to the army on the march, your Grace," Zagdorf said. "May he have permission to buy them?"

"You have gold enough in the . . . Monastery? I will not see my tradespeople paid with scrip."

"I believe so. The army travels with a treasury, but they must be more than a week's march from the city."

"If he pays at once, then I see no reason to refuse. I would look upon any payment by credit to imply condoning your army's journey."

"Thank you, Your Grace. Unless you have more concerns for me to hear, I have nothing further and will take my leave."

The Archduke nodded and waved a hand of dismissal. "You may call at this time tomorrow to hear my decision on the envoy to the Prince."

Zagdorf saluted and gestured for the captain to follow. If the two empires were to bargain over borders, a ruler with as little power as the Archduke might find himself helpless to prevent his lands becoming a pawn. He could almost sympathize with the man. Taking direct control of Novrehan was the most satisfactory outcome for the Trigons -- it would enable them to bring their whole power to bear upon the Iskanders and their Lubitz ally. Did the Skathians care what happened here? He needed to speak to Prince Jeury himself to learn why he had come with such a force. If the only consideration was that their pride was not affronted -- that could surely be conceded to give the armies a free hand against the Iskanders.

*****

Yohan stood in the wheelhouse of Tug Two and watched the riverbanks creep past. The whole vessel vibrated with the splashes of the paddle wheel and the pounding of the piston in the cylinder. Their water speed was six knots, but against the river current, the banks only receded at about three. Even so, they were making twice the speed the sailing barges managed on this stretch. His view ahead was partially obscured by the accommodation barge the tug pushed -- a specialist rock drilling crew on its way to begin blasting at Blackrock Ford to deepen the river. About a day behind, Tug One was bringing the iron ferry that would go into service once they blew apart the ledge of rock.

Except he had not heard from Gisel for three days, he felt good about his progress. The steam engine was on its way to the Empire, his barges were beginning to work, and soon the Partnership would be earning revenue from them. It seemed Gisel wouldn't be able to go to Novrehan to oversee security on the river, but perhaps he should go instead. Without a barge, this tug should be able to get across the Blackrock shallows even before they blasted it -- certainly if he unloaded the coal and reloaded it in the deeper water beyond. He'd need to think more about making the journey -- he'd promised Lord Ricart to go back to the city right away to convey his ammunition barges.

The tug skipper came in from the bridge. "I b'lieves we shall see Blackrock after a couple more bends, Meister."

"Really -- we're that close? I thought I would recognize the riverbanks when we came near."

Perhaps that was too much to expect, he had been worried that day a year before when he and Gisel had taken to the scow. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to see the oxbow again, although he expected it to be unrecognizable since the dredging crew had finished turning it into a sheltered harbor. The Partnership planned to locate the accommodation barge in the oxbow and start building some sheds and permanent homes for the men who would operate the ferry. At first they would have to use horse whims to propel it across the river -- next year a steam engine would be set up on the bank to drive it back and forth. A small community would grow here. Gisel wanted it called Port Chronon, in Marc's memory, her friend and Iskander comrade.

The tug slowly worked its way around the last river bend and Yohan saw the stretch of water leading to the ford. He saw the tail end of Lord Ricart's division crossing, and a temporary army camp set up on the east bank below the border post. If he'd been here earlier he might have seen Gisel when she crossed.

His communicator buzzed and he stepped to the wheelhouse door. "Yohan Felger," he said.

The Baron's deep voice answered him. "Your uncle, Yohan. I want a private word."

Yohan looked around at the tug's skipper and the man at the wheel, "A moment, Uncle. I'll go out onto the bridge."

He stepped into the fresh breeze and walked to the end of the raised platform, glancing down at their wake stirring the placid river current. "Yes, Uncle. I'm alone."

"I have received a summons from the Emperor. I have to go to the Empire to answer an inquisition. No explanation is given but it must be about our agreement with the Iskanders."

"The contraband is on its way, Uncle. The Thalian Star left Lubitz two days ago."

The Baron's voice went up a few tones. "Good. I will look to be there when it arrives. My inquisition will be less . . . oppressive, if I have that to offer in exchange."

"It could take six weeks for the ship to get there," Yohan said. "Is there any way you could avoid the summons?"

"This is an Imperial summons, Yohan. Should I even try to evade it, his wrath would fall on all our Felger branches."

"Yes, I suppose so. I'm glad I'm not included."

"Do not even think of such a thing, my boy. Men have committed suicide to avoid less."

Yohan blinked and turned his gaze to the river. He had once dreamed that he might be a likely successor to the Baron, but perhaps it was an honor he could do without. It seemed this enterprise was career enough, if he could have Gisel beside him. "I appointed the apprentice Murrin to be Durden's replacement. He came to me with a request -- that he be sent away so that Gisel would not make him identify the man in Durden's company that night. He felt she could outwit him to betray his loyalty to the Felgers."

"He sounds loyal enough to take Durden's place. Good work."

Yohan gripped the rail tightly. "But I still need to know who gave the orders for that murder."

"Why would I know?"

"There was a man named Torgus aboard who left the Swift in Lubitz the following morning. He was a Felger man."

"Most of the Swift's crew are. Surely you cannot think I ordered one of our technicians murdered."

"Gisel looked for a connection to the Empire, but could not find one." She'd left some notes in their bedroom -- on purpose perhaps? Apparently Torgus had spoken with someone who used to have Empire connections when Wolk Kachupin was alive. It was not likely that he still did. She had decided that one of Zagdorf's men wouldn't be acting so far from Zagdorf's control. Her brief note at the bottom read, 'ask the Baron'. She suspected the murder to be a Felger action.

"She may be clever, but it is never possible to uncover everything which happens. But you must understand that I could not leave our Felger interests entirely to you and her. I expect my most faithful men to look out for a purely Felger interest, and some of them mistrust your Iskander friends."

"And they would resort to murder?"

"Do not be naive, my boy. Our business sometimes requires a dangerous enemy to be eliminated."

"And Durden was one?"

"I do not know. I expect I will eventually receive a report. You will be informed in due course."

"I don't like the idea of murder, Uncle. I hope you will prevent such a thing from happening again. I will do my best to stop such actions."

"If Durden was killed by one of my men it was because he could have been a danger to us. When you have operated for as long as I have, you will have a nose for trouble. I will lay odds your beloved received orders to place a spy in our operation. It would have been fatal if she had learned that Durden was to go to the Empire with a steam engine. Surely you see that?"

"So we . . . you, have people who spy upon our Iskander partners?"

"Not so easy, I believe. Your beloved is a tough nut to crack. Is she still in Lubitz?"

Yohan failed to take a breath. Suddenly he wished she were right there beside him -- he promised himself he would never try to deceive her after this -- no matter what the Baron wanted. As long as she . . . as long as she came back from this campaign. "Not now Uncle. Lord Ricart offered her a command in his cavalry. She is somewhere out there." He raised his eyes to the hills that rose on the western horizon. "In the field."

"Flame grace us. She does seem to be in demand. What kind of command?"

"I cannot say more, Uncle. You understand?"

"I'm sure you are worried for her, but I am relieved the chance our plan would be discovered is ended. But I hear the sound of an engine in the background. Where are you?'

"Aboard the tug -- we are just beginning to slow and turn the barge into the haven we have deepened at Blackrock. The Iskander crew will begin drilling on the shelf of rock tomorrow."

"Good work. I commend you for your efforts -- and do not fret about your lady. She is charmed -- I learned that in Lubitz last year."

"I hope you are right."

The Baron's voice sounded dismissive rather than encouraging. "Of course I am -- I do believe she has that skill which men assign to the luck of war."

Chapter Eighteen

Apprentice Murrin followed Ing. Wolfram and Lieutenant Cyrian down the ladder into the hold of the Thalian Star, holding aloft the lantern for them to see in the darkness. Another ship -- good job his seasickness were gettin' better. By the time they reached Genua -- he were told the journey could last six weeks -- he should almost call his-self a sailor. Ing. Wolfram had promised his good work could earn him a lifetime place in the engine-room of whatever ship they chose to put this engine in, but that were not to his liking. The Wild . . . oops! Topaz had wanted him to work in the shore factories.

He stood watching as the two bosses looked at the markings on the crates. Wonder what they be up to? They had anchored in some port, and now a high-up feller in gold braid, from the Empire ship alongside, was to come down to see their cargo.

"This is engine parts and tools. Does it have the plans?" Cyrian asked Wolfram.

Murrin's ears pricked up -- lor' don't open that'n! Petros had said the pistol was hid inside with the tools.

"I should rather show him the smaller copies I have," Wolfram said. "I'd liefer not open this when we have so much further to go. The sea air could rust things."

Cyrian stood upright and stared about. "The rest of the crates are so big. If he wants one opened I'd rather pick one this size."

"Them piston rods and firebox over there could be easy opened, yer honor," Murrin said. "Jus' pry apart some o' the planks what covers'en."

Wolfram regarded him in surprise, his eyebrows lifted. "Good thought, Murrin. What say we look at them, Lieutenant?"

They started to cross the hold between the crates and tarpaulin covered machinery when a voice called from above. "Have you readied the cargo for my inspection?"

Lieutenant Cyrian raised his head. "Very nearly, Commodore. Come on down." He gestured to Murrin. "Quick lad, take the lantern to the ladder so the Commodore can see his way."

Murrin hurried across to the foot of the ladder through the narrow passages between the engine parts. Topaz had told him what business they was on, but she hadn't said ort about stoppin' at Whonmark's capital. If they should open the wrong crates and find the Iskander secrets, he'd better hold his tongue. But he'd already spoken up -- what a fool! When would he ever learn?

He watched the officer descend, holding out a hand to steady him as he reached the floor of the hold. The Commerdor, or whatever the so'jer boss had called him, glared and brushed his hand away. "Where is Cyrian?"

"We are over here, Commodore. Murrin, show the Commodore the way -- and be sure to keep away from any oily parts."

"Aye, sir." He raised his lantern and slipped sideways between two great iron engine bearers. He turned to show a light before moving to see which way to go next. This hold was more cramped than the Swift's, he decided to slide past the chimney end of the firebox -- well, the boss had said oily, not black with soot. Cursed mucky-mucks -- he'd have no truck with their orders and their airs when the . . . when Topaz gave him his reward.

"Through thisaways, yer honner," he said, ducking down to go under the curve of the chimney.

He slithered through and lost sight of the Commerdor. A clang of something against iron rang out.

"Ouch! Bring the light here! Cursed boy!"

Lieutenant Cyrian hurried over and grabbed the lantern from Murrin's hands. "I'll deal with you later," he hissed in his ear.

After the two bosses had fussed and wiped at the officer's frock coat they walked across a small open space to the front end of the firebox. "This is the furnace end of the machine, Commodore," Wolfram said. "What you see here is the whole disassembled steam engine which the Felgers have acquired for the Imperial metal works. As I showed you on the lading papers, this is an important shipment to the Empire."

"And my orders were to wait here until the Admiral could provide an escort vessel," Cyrian said. "Even more important, now you tell me that the Iskanders patrol the waterways to prevent communication between Whonmark and its armies."

Murrin listened as the Commerdor drew himself up and glared about. "Papers can be forged. I have had no orders concerning this shipment."

He sidled away from the three -- best he kept away unless he were wanted. Chances was the so'jer boss would be too busy to remember to punish him. He felt more secure in the shadows while they inspected the shipment and argued.

"What are those metal boxes over there?" the Commerdor demanded.

"Those are the workers' tool boxes, Sir," Wolfram said.

"They are Iskander, too? I'll warrant they do not have the Empire's approval to own such things."

"But they are all special tools to allow them to assemble the machinery," Wolfram protested. "Without them these parts are no more than iron scrap."

"Let me see them. If there are any pieces not needed for their work . . ."

"They are locked, Sir."

Cyrian gazed about. "Murrin. Come here and show the Commodore your toolbox."

"Aye, Sir."

Murrin bent in front of the box, twistin' the rings into the shape that released the lock. Twas a cunning piece -- if he could learn its secret he could make a fortune crafting more. Then he lifted the lid.

The Commerdor leaned down to stare inside. "What are these things?"

"Files, yer Honor. Scrapers, calipers -- all tools fer to work with ingines."

"What's underneath?"

Murrin lifted out the top shelf. "These be smithy tools, y'see. Tongs an' hammers."

The Commerdor straightened up. "And you mean to tell me these are the tools that will build these things into an engine?"

"Not these alone, Sir," Cyrian said. "Over there is a crate with many more."

"No," Wolfram said. "We don't need to open that."

"Why not? Show me."

"Because that holds more delicate parts," Wolfram said. "I don't want them to rust on the voyage."

"They will not go on any voyage unless I am satisfied of the truth of your story. Show them to me."

Cyrian held the lantern aloft to light the way. "Bring your toolbox," he said to Murrin. "You will have to open the crate."

Murrin tried not to tremble as he pried open the crate. What if the pistol should be on top? Likely this gold braid officer would clap them all in irons. Not dangerous for these bosses, perhaps, but humble folk like him was likely to be sent to galleys.

When the lid was loose, Cyrian reached out to pull it aside. Murrin hardly dared look inside. The crate was full of different shaped objects -- all wrapped tightly in green oilcloth.

"What is this," the Commerdor demanded, reaching in to take up a packet.

Wolfram unwrapped it. "These are tools for setting the engine valves."

"And this?"

"I believe . . . yes, these are the sliding parts of the steam valves. If anything should happen to them, we might never get this engine working. As I said -- this crate should not have been opened."

Murrin peered in over the boss's shoulders an' his heart almost stopped. There, near the top -- how could they mistake that one, even if it were wrapped tight? The high-ups was still lookin' at the steam valve slide, an' argifying over what they should do next. Cyrian pulled the lantern away to show up the writin' on the crate.

Murrin reached in to grab the pistol. His heart pounding in his breast. The air in the hold seemed too thick to breathe. He pulled the package against his chest while he lifted up his toolbox shelf and set the pistol among the smithy tools. Just in time. The lantern beam came back to illuminate the inside of the crate.

"Do you want to see anything more, Commodore?" Wolfram said.

"You say you have plans. Let me see them."

"They are in my cabin, Sir. Shall we go up?"

The Commerdor stared around like some lord inspectin' his peasants. "Yes. I have seen enough."

Cyrian held out the lantern to Murrin. "Light us up the ladder, and then you can stay down here to secure the packages and close the crates. Do not forget to hammer those planks back over the firebox."

"Aye aye, yer honner. I shall do ever'thin' up proud."

*****

Gisel sat in the bow of one of the scows they'd found, when it started its third trip across the Makberg River. Her third major river crossing in seven days of campaigning -- and except for the strange mixed formation they'd scattered in the Moonwald, she'd hardly seen the enemy. She'd called Lord Ricart the previous evening and he'd updated her on the situation on the north side of the river. The leading troops of his Division were not far away, but so were Imperial cavalry harassing the advance. They had reacted more quickly than expected, could someone have tipped Solerar off? As soon as she had a troop across, she must send out a patrol.

It would take hours to get two hundred and fifty horses over a river this deep, more than a hundred yards wide. Her first men across the river had started erecting the holdfasts and stringing the heavy line that would become their endless rope to swim the horses over. With room for only eight men aboard each scow, many trips would be needed to ferry the troopers.

She glanced back to the men completing two pulley block anchorages for the endless rope on the south bank. Already the first mounts moved forward to prepare for crossing. The men rowing this scow would take the end of the line back with them. The workwentwell, but this was the first time she'd seen such a crossing expedient in progress -- no wonder moving an army took so long in the days before railroads and portable bridges.

When the scow neared the riverbank one of the troopers took position beside her. "By your leave, Major. I'll jump oversides to hold 'en against the current."

"I can do that, too," she said. "I'm as waterproof as you."

He grinned shyly. "T'wouldn't be fittin', Ma'am."

They were beginning to get used to her, perhaps even beginning to believe she was more than a figurehead. But between the men who tried to treat her like an old lady-- and those whose male pride was offended by her presence, she had yet to make her mark on the operation. That would change when they reached Leki. She intended to lead the first attack on Duke Solerar's army herself.

The scow grounded with a scrape and the trooper jumped out into the water. Gisel followed before he had time to pull the bow to dry land. "Don't waste time and effort, man," she said. "The passengers can wade to the bank." She looked up as three men came down the grassy bank pulling the endless rope. "Who's ready to take the end of the line?"

The five other passengers jumped to help get the line aboard and the scowsoon backed intothe river, two men rowing and six on the bank paying out the line. Shortly after the line reached the south bank the endless rope was ready and the first horse tied to it by its head rope and urged into the water. The team of men beside Gisel started to haul on the rope and the animal had no choice but to swim out into the current. It splashed its way along beside the rope, trying to hoist its head clear of the water until its panic faded. The next horse was tied to the line and followed.

Within a few minutes, a continuous stream of horses moved along, although only three were in the river at a time so the strain on the contrivance and the men hauling was not too great. As soon as each horse reached the bank a trooper rushed forward to pull the draw hitch free and lead the animal away. On the river, the three scows maintained a continuous shuttle. Gisel felt relief when Captain Reen's first troop assembled and rode off to secure the crossing place against attack.

By afternoon, half the horses and men were across the river. Gisel thought it time to call Laon Misiker, back at Abersholm. She spread her maps on a stack of ammunition boxes that had come across on a scow. "Laon, do you read me clearly?"

"Yes, Major Matah, wonderfully clear."

Gisel grinned -- he was still awestruck by the devices Iskander used. "What did C Squadron find south of Abersholm?" After capturing the cuirassiers, she'd called to order a scouting party upstream along the Makberg River.

"A troop of Novrehan cavalry, Major. No Imperial forces."

"Damn. So who the hell were those people going to lead?" She drummed her fingers on the ammunition boxes. "Do you have your map handy? The north one."

"Yes, Major." She heard the rattle of stiff paper. "It's here."

"Your men checked the road toward Leki?"

"Yes, they returned yesterday. It's perfectly passable as far as they went."

"Good, look on the map for the crossroads where your road and the high road from Makberg cross."

"I see it. Do we meet there?"

"No. I'm told that's within Solerar's patrol range. It'll be defended. A few miles south from that you see a wooded area and a bridge over a stream?"

"Yes, at a coordinate . . ." He reeled off a string of numbers. "It will take two days to get there."

"That's the one I mean," Gisel said. "I'll not get everyone over this river until after dark. We'll aim to meet there the day after tomorrow. Send a C Squadron patrol forward for enemy -- if the road's too hot to use, call me. Don't forget we're going to strike into the rear of an army of more than twenty thousand -- be ready for action at all times. I mean to start our war as soon as we join forces."

"Very well, Major."

"Anything else?"

Laon responded after a moment for him to draw breath. "Very little. Our patrols back toward Blackrock met up with more Novrehan troops -- they've increased their patrolling of the border."

"Interesting -- they've acted as if they didn't care up to now." Gisel frowned. "I wonder why they've changed procedure."

"We did talk to their officers, but they wouldn't offer any explanation. Orders, they said."

"Damn. Something is happening -- I wish we could go to Novrehan to check. Anything else?"

"I don't think so, Major."

"Good. Don't forget to read the men the Articles of War before you go north. You'll be passing through several villages and I don't want anyone thieving or intimidating the local population. Make damned sure everyone understands it's a Court Martial offence. In my command rape or murder will get a man shot."

When Gisel signed off she rolled her maps and tucked them into a bag on her gelding. She mounted and rode slowly around the area, before continuing as far as one of her outposts to the northeast.

A sergeant rode out to meet her. "There be riders comin', Major." He pointed. "See, over there."

She pulled out her binoculars and focused them on the distant riders -- recognizing the man at their head immediately. "It's the General. Keep watch for any enemy moving toward him -- I'll go forward to lead him here."

She cantered away before the sergeant could offer her an escort. If Ricart could ride ahead of his Division with a small party she could damn-sure ride to meet him. She went down into a shallow valley and then up the other side to draw rein about fifty yards from the oncoming horsemen. Ricart, two aides and four carbine-armed troopers -- he trotted his horse up to her and they both saluted. "Half my men are across the river, General," she said. "It'll be first light tomorrow before we move on."

Ricart smiled. "That's fine, Major. My timing exactly -- I didn't want you stirring up Solerar before I closed with the first of Makberg's fortresses."

She tightened her jaw before he saw her gape. Son-of-a-bitch -- the whole Moonwald thing had been a ruse. He'd just wanted to test that she'd carry out an order, even when she disagreed with it. "I'm sure I needed the experience," she said as coolly as she could muster. "You can rest assured that as long as your flank rests on this river no one is going to jump out on you."

He inclined his head graciously. "It's good to know that my river flank is secure. But I do have a serious task for you. How far is your crossing?"

"Just a couple of miles back." She turned her horse and pointed. "I'm going to make camp for tonight on the ridge you see over there."

"Good, you can tell me about your troops and their mettle as we ride to it."

When they arrived and dismounted, Ricart watched an aide spread his maps. "In the last few days the number of radio messages between Novrehan and their field army has increased," he told Gisel. "Your brother on the Iskander has the interceptions, but he still has no way of deciphering them. We don't know the reason for the traffic, but there is some good news. We have plotted the location of the 11th Army's radio transmitter." He pointed to a place on the map. "It seems to be at this fortified mansion several miles back from the siege lines."

Gisel followed his pointing finger. "I'll bet that it's also Solerar's HQ."

"My thought as well. Are you game?"

"Sure. We'll hit it first."

"It's several miles inside his covering force's perimeter -- not that it's thickly held. Iskander plans to fly the Intruder that way tomorrow -- we can find a hole you can send a force through."

"The Intruder is airborne again? That's good news." Iskander's only plane had been undergoing a lengthy overhaul -- made even lengthier because they had only six people in the Air Wing.

"They are flying to the mines in the Kosmoneos," Ricart said, his eyes searching her face in curiosity. "I'm told it's time to pick up this year's bullion shipment."

Gisel responded with a dark stare. What's with him? If he intended to spend the night in her camp she'd make damn sure she stayed away from her tent, checking her sentries. And she wasn't going to say anything unconnected with her mission. "Good, if I can get a situation update tomorrow night I can plan my operation for the following night. I should link with the Lubitz Rifles and my artillery in two days. Off the bat -- I'd say it calls for a night infiltration to hit Solerar by surprise."

Ricart's expression changed to one more appropriate and he nodded. "Good girl. I'll leave the details to you -- I know you'll want a free hand. What is the situation on this flank?"

"Quiet as a grave. We met a small mixed force of Imperial cavalry and captured some officers. They wouldn't talk -- I had the Lubitz Rifles take them to your rear troops as they passed."

"I heard that. My interrogators got nothing, either."

"The only other change is an increase in border patrolling by the Novrehan army. Know anything about that?"

"No, I don't. It could mean something -- if I had a spare unit I'd send it to keep an eye on Novrehan. This may have something to do with the Skathians."

Chapter Nineteen

Prince Jeury sat his pony at the top of the hill and watched a column of cavalry, escorting an open carriage, approach the Novrehan border post. The valley behind him was thronged with his army, all one hundred thousand warriors, with their camp followers and pack animals. The camp they had set the day before stretched the whole width of the valley and a league and a half into the distance. The wind blew the smoke of ten thousand campfires to the east, so the approaching foreigners could not suspect their presence.

His Gaffir turned away from regarding the approaching horsemen, and the Prince gestured for him to speak. "Shall we go down to them, Lord Prince? I perceive the cavalry is an escort for the men who ride in the . . . women's wagon."

"Your eyesight is as good as ever, old man. Does it reveal who the men might be?"

"A regiment of cuirassiers suggests an official of rank. The others seated with him . . . perhaps his entourage. I see also a man riding beside the wagon -- he is no common soldier."

"Good. Then we hardly need go down to see them."

The Gaffir pinched his lips tight. "If you mean for them to come here, they will see our army."

"Surely a sobering sight. They will not attempt to be clever and waste my time."

"Shall I send a messenger, Lord?"

"No. Unfurl my banner -- that will summon them here."

The cavalry escort below pulled aside at the widening of the road as the carriage stopped beside the border post. The guards, in the distance a nest of scurrying ants, poured out of the building and formed up in ranks. They obviously planned some formal inspection of greeting, but cut it short when one of the cuirassiers pointed up at the banner on the hilltop. The soldiers at the border post changed formation and the officers met in discussion beside the carriage. At length, the carriage and a lone horseman set out over the border. The cuirassiers formed up in double line and sat their mounts along the border to wait.

The carriage was obliged to leave the road and take to the open grassland to reach the Prince's vantage point. Its team of four matched greys easily managed the slope, but the Prince could see the men inside jolted about on the rough hillside. The rider alongside trotted slowly to avoid leaving them behind. They drew up just below the crest and all dismounted. Strange people that they preferred to stand on the ground like serfs to speak -- he urged his mount forward a few steps and then halted to await them.

One portly gentleman wore court dress of red and blue, with a cocked hat on his head dwarfed by a huge white plume. He took off the hat and bowed as he reached the pony. He spoke in atrociously accented Scholars' Greek. "I am sent in Embassy to Prince Jeury of Skathia. Can you take me to him?"

The Prince looked at him briefly and then at the rest of the delegation. "No," he said in the same language.

The portly gentleman drew himself erect as if offended. The two men behind the ambassador, in more somber court dress of grey and black -- obviously clerks or secretaries -- took single steps backward. The fourth man, in half armor and wearing a rapier, had the bearing of an experienced soldier. He saluted and spoke to the portly man more fluently. "What is meant, my Lord Count, is that there is no need for you to be taken to the Prince. I believe this must be he."

"Oh." The Count bowed deeply. "My apologies, dear Prince. I am sent by the Archduke --"

Prince Jeury turned his eyes onto the soldier. "And you are . . .?"

"Commandante Zagdorf, my Lord Prince. My master, the Emperor Zarl, has sent me to correct the mistakes made by the previous Imperial Ambassador. The foolish man should have known enough to speak with yourself, or your illustrious father. May I enquire after the health of the Great Khan?"

Prince Jeury curled his lips in a smile. "You may, but I'll give you no answer. It is four months since I left Tashkand -- he could be in an apoplectic rage by now."

"Then let us hope we can come to some arrangement which will soothe his anger. The Emperor wishes me to present this gift as a token of esteem." The soldier stepped forward and presented a jeweled pistol case.

Jeury beckoned for the Gaffir to ride forward to take it. "Please tell me, Commandante. What arrangement do I need to accept?"

The man's eyes dropped. "Only such as will please the Great Khan, my Lord."

The Ambassador stepped forward again as if the short conversation had created an emboldening atmosphere. "My Master, the Archduke, also sends a gift." He gestured behind him to his clerks. "Bring it here."

The Gaffir lifted the box Zagdorf had handed him and opened it before the Prince. Inside were a pair of pistols, engraved and chased with gold.

Zagdorf looked up again. "They are rifled pistols, my Lord Prince. Very accurate and the latest advance in weaponry."

Jeury reached in to take one. As he hefted it, the weapon felt well balanced to his hand, but did not please him greatly. The Great Khan had avoided changing the armies from their traditional bows for many years. No muzzle loading firearm could match the rate of fire trained archers could sustain. It would be a sorry thing for the leader of the army to appear before them wearing a brace of pistols. "How accurate? Are they loaded?"

"No, my Lord Prince. But I will be pleased to arrange a demonstration at your convenience."

Jeury turned his glance to the Ambassador's clerk who bowed from the waist as he lifted up another jeweled case. The Gaffir took it from his hands before the man should reach too close toward the Prince.

"What is this?" Jeury asked. "Not another pistol."

"No, my Lord." the Ambassador said. "It is a fine telescope, made to our Archduke's special order by artisans in Tarnland."

"Iskander artisans?"

"I believe so, my Lord."

The Empire soldier's expression soured at the name. Did he suppose the Prince of the Skathians had not heard of them? Perhaps he could goad him into more abject acquiescence if he let him think he had come here only to meet with them. He took out the telescope when the Gaffir presented the open box, and aimed it at the border post below. Impressive -- just a few quick pulls of adjustment and the building stood out as sharply as a mountain in frosty air.

He lowered the spyglass. "What do you know of the Iskanders, Commandante? I take it they are no friends of yours."

Zagdorf bowed. "They are the Emperor's enemies. You surely know we wish to bring an army northwards to prevent their invasion of this peaceful land."

Jeury smiled. "Ah, you wish to gain permission for the transit of twenty thousand peace-makers. What a noble enterprise. Have you spoken with the Iskanders to seek accommodation for the Emperor's grievances?"

"They are bandits and outlaws, my Lord. The Emperor does not negotiate with the likes of them."

"Who perhaps have little alternative but to defend themselves?" Jeury shrugged. "Should they be as evil as your words suggest, it could become necessary for both our empires to suppress them. But I, perhaps, do not have the same familiarity with them as yourself."

"I have met many of them, Lord Prince. They are cunning tricksters who delight in upsetting established order and custom."

Jeury gestured to the box of pistols. "By making such as these? Did they make them or did the Emperor's artisans?"

"These were made by the Emperor's workmen in Savoia, my Lord." The region was the only one where they allowed innovation, under military supervision.

Jeury gestured to his Gaffir to send the ambassador back to his carriage. When they walked away he spoke further. "But I suspect his Highness did not commission them before the Iskanders made such innovation necessary."

"I believe long established custom and stability are the watchwords of both empires, my Lord," Zagdorf said. "We both have reasons to be concerned at the actions of Iskander."

Jeury narrowed his eyes. "You think to tell me what I should be concerned about?"

Zagdorf drew himself to attention. "I presume nothing, my Lord. I merely suggest to you the thinking of our Empire."

"Of the Trigons, you mean. I do not doubt that your rule could ill afford to have the subject peoples given encouragement to remember times before you came."

Zagdorf's eyes widened.

"Oh, yes. You must surely realize I know the story of your conquest well -- and of the thunder fury from the skies. But do not fear -- it is a lesson learned only by those destined for the highest offices in the land. I think it amusing that we are almost cousins -- the Trigons were the Skathians of your world, were they not? Surely we understand how little each may be trusted."

"But we also understand who is fitted to rule, and how that rule may be maintained."

"Then why does your Emperor choose to make such weapons as those pistols? Has he given leave to make such changes in your armies? He must be very careless of the Skathians' concerns."

Zagdorf's fists clenched. "Not at all -- it is the fault of the Iskanders, Lord. If they can be controlled we may go back to ways that have been proven peaceful over two hundred years. Let our army cross Novrehan and we may soon find this trouble ended. I feel sure my Emperor would be pleased to settle the matter in the East, raised by the Great Khan, to his complete satisfaction."

"Smooth words, Commandante. I hardly credit you a soldier. But do not try to place too many sweet sentiments in my ears -- they are not used to them. Go to the plumed poppycock and tell him to await my pleasure at the border post. You will come to my camp to discuss these matters further. Do you have an orderly?"

"Yes, my Lord Prince. He waits with the cuirassiers."

"Tell the Ambassador that the Empire's army may travel no further than a day's march short of the city of Novrehan, until I decide upon the matter. Tell him to send your orderly to us -- you may be my guest for many days."

*****

There was no moon. The wooded hillside shone green through Gisel's night vision goggles. She led her horse slowly up slope, the white guide tape in her hand strung in a single line behind her to all the troopers in the squadron. With dawn an hour away, they barely had time to reach her jump-off line before daylight. She scanned from left to right, watching for that flash of brightness, the infra-red of body heat, that would betray a sentry posted to guard the approach to Duke Solerar's HQ. There had been none so far, the route picked out during the Intruder's reconnaissance flight had proved unguarded.

She'd memorized the satellite imagery map until the layout of the land about her in the darkness was as familiar as home. Two kilometers to the west stood the camp of a regiment of dragoons. Over the hill on the other side lay a newly established infantry camp revealed by the Intruder. She had no doubt her knowledge of the area equalled the Duke's.

"I'm going to stop at the crest," she murmured to Sgt Major Cubbins behind her.

"Aye, Major. I shall pass word back."

As the ground fell away before her she stopped, hearing the faint sounds of muffled harness and hooves as the rest complied. The squadron's jump off line was the crest of the next ridge. She must find the clearing to give her the view she needed to direct her artillery fire onto the fortified mansion. This army had been hit enough times by long-range artillery barrages from inside Leki's defenses that they'd automatically assume an attack from the north. She'd better have guessed right -- they needed fifteen minutes of confusion to drive their attack home.

She took out her communicator and thumbed it to 'local'. "Captain Viens -- the guns ready?"

"Yes, Major. Our covering force is in position -- we just need some daylight to aim the guns."

"Good. Captain Jans, is my backup in position?"

"We're ready, Major."

"Good. C Squadron has five hundred yards to go. We've seen no patrols so far."

"Good luck, Major."

Gisel grinned. "Kiss a rabbit's foot for us. Signing off."

After she'd gone another four hundred yards, the clearing on the next ridge showed up clearly in her goggles. She gave the word to halt just below the crest. "Give me a man to hold my horse, Sgt Major," she said in a low voice. "Have everyone behind lead their horses to the flank. First Troop right, Second left. Third Troop waits just down slope behind me."

"Aye, Major. I'll tell th' Lieutenant when he gets here."

Gisel had placed the Squadron Commander at the rear of the tape line in case something went wrong at the far end of their extended Indian file. They were five kilometers from where she had stationed the fifteen pounders and two from her other two squadrons -- they would give cover on her line of withdrawal. If an enemy force chased them they would stand and fight at the guns.

She tried to dismiss the knowledge of how far they were inside the Imperial army's positions as she walked forward to the crest. She gripped the hilt of her katana -- if a sentry appeared up here she'd best deal with him silently. The first glimmer of light in the east made a green halo on the horizon as she stood in the clearing. Soon she would be able to make out her target.

After a careful examination of her surroundings she began to breathe deeply. She needed to center herself. The first time in a week she was completely alone -- she'd found having a sentry even for her most personal moments very irksome. She took off the goggles and began muttering the mantra that would start a meditation. She decided to use the last few minutes of the darkness to hide her one-pointedness exercise and push distracting worries away.

Time seemed to stand still in the meditation, until she heard footsteps coming toward her through the long grass. She opened her eyes fully and turned. "Nearly ready, Lieutenant. It'll be light enough for the ranging shots soon."

"Everyone is in position, Major. Shall I wait here with you to take word?"

"Bring the Troop leaders, I want everyone to move off together."

As the sky brightened, Gisel took out her binoculars and scanned the long hillside sloping away before her. The river estuary gleamed from pale reflected light in the middle distance, and she could almost suppose a dark shape upon it was the Gorgon. The armored battery, similar to craft developed in Earth's Crimean and U.S. Civil Wars, ruled the waters around Leki and blocked the besiegers from easy communication between the two wings of their siege lines. She'd contacted the Leki defenders the day before and they promised a sortie up the estuary by Gorgon in support of her attack. Pity it wasn't going to be high tide, or Gorgon could have been close enough to add its cannon fire to her own bombardment.

Looking closer on the hillside she could just make out the bulk of the mansion about a kilometer away, completely surrounded by a sturdy wall. She'd try to get a ranging shot inside that perimeter before calling down the whole battery fire. It'd be a bonus to get a troop of men inside that wall, but she'd have accomplished her purpose if she could drop a hundred rounds onto Solerar's HQ. She scanned quickly in the growing light -- the maze of poles and wires of a Trigon radio setup should be easy to see. That was her main target -- it'd be the shits if she couldn't find it.

The sky brightened as the sun approached the horizon. She finally saw the poles holding the radio antenna wires, in what appeared to be an orchard beside the mansion wall. Good, outside the perimeter. Gisel called up the guns. "I'm ready for the ranging."

"On your word, Major," Viens answered.

"Two rounds, high explosive, ranging. Fire."

Gisel stared toward the mansion, the shells would land before she heard the guns from behind her. She wasn't close enough to the line of flight to hear them go over. There! A bright flash and eruption of smoke and dirt. The sounds of the explosions and then the gunfire rang out into the morning silence. Then the second shot. She raised her communicator. "Go right two hundred, up a hundred. One round ranging."

Another breathless wait. She saw tiny figures appear from the mansion gate -- running to and fro. Crump! Right on the wall -- debris flew in all directions. "That was better -- up another fifty. Battery fire -- five rounds HE."

While the guns aimed, Gisel ran back to her officers. "Mount up, bring my horse."

She returned to her OP site, her orderly and a bugler riding behind her leading her mount. Sounds of alarm calls and shouting came from the enemy down the hill. Now the whole placecamealive with running figures. The rolling rumble of battery gunfire and then the area around the mansion was torn with explosions. She called Viens one last time. "On target! Another ten rounds battery fire -- HE. I'll only call again if I need fire support. Out." She climbed into the saddle and drew her katana. "Bugler -- sound the advance."

To the bright trumpet call and the staccato crash of falling shells, the whole squadron trotted behind her over the crest and onto the downward slope. She rose up in the saddle to look behind, and waved her sword over her head. "Follow me! Gallop!"

Chapter Twenty

With the wind in her ears, Gisel galloped down the long grassy slope toward the mansion. She could hear the drumming hooves of her squadron behind her -- she could feel the exhilaration of battle. This was the drug of glory that made men soldiers. She gave voice to banshee whoops at the top of her lungs -- a pure noise without meaning. Behind her a hundred voices took up her cry -- whoops and yells of battle. She saw the puffs of powder smoke from a hundred soldiers standing firm against them, but would not allow that the unseen musket balls endangered her. Fifteen-pounder shells burst steadily on the grounds around the mansion -- occasional explosions on the building showing direct hits. One or two shells landed short, the explosions in the path of her galloping cavalry, but she kept on -- straight toward the smoking craters.

A greater belch of white smoke from the orchard revealed an emplaced cannon. Firing straight at her. She saw the cannonball hit the ground before them and bounce. The deadly missile curved toward her, dirt and gravel a lethal halo around it. It bounced again and flew past. Screams of horses and men told her it hit her troop behind. No slowing down. It'll take a minute's gallop to reach the cannon. It'll take the gunners that long to reload.

Katana upraised, she urged her mount straight at the cannon muzzle. The gunners ran to reload. She saw the powder charge rammed home, just as a gap in bushes revealed a low stone wall in front of her. She jammed her knees tight against the gelding's flanks and leaned low against his neck. She urged the horse on -- don't slow down. The ground before the wall looked uneven, but the animal's footing was sure as it launched itself into the air. With the wall vanishing beneath her, her eyes fixed on the gunners. The men with the powder saw her coming and scattered. A gunner cradling a cannonball thrust it into the barrel before he even looked around. She was fifty yards away.

He grabbed up the rammer and thrust it down the barrel. The gun commander at the rear rose up from priming the touch hole. She was only seconds away. The man with the rammer left it down the barrel and ran. The gunner with the linstock blew his match into flame and jabbed at the powder in the touch hole. Gisel was there. She raised her katana to strike him down. One swing and she passed, her wrist and arm numb from the impact. Had she hit him -- killed him? She had no idea -- another group of enemy soldiers raised up behind the orchard wall. One fired his musket, then another.

She leaned low over her mount's neck and took this wall at a gallop too. On the other side she hauled on the reins to turn the horse's head and glance behind. The troop on her left charged at the flank of a musket armed line of infantry. She hadn't heard anything from the troop behind her since the cannonball hit. Was she alone?

Sergeant Major Cubbins drew rein beside her. "Which way, Major?" At the wall a dozen of her men leaned over and fired their carbines at the soldiers trying to shelter below. Two more troopers jumped their horses over the wall. They didn't slow down but galloped on with the madness of the charge in their eyes.

"Clear the orchard, Sgt Major," Gisel shouted. "Set light to those poles with the wire strung on them."

Gisel realised she was panting as hard as if she'd run the whole distance beside the horse. Her throat was sore, but she didn't recall shouting. Which way to the radio itself? She sheathed her katana and drew her automatic pistol. Two of her troopers galloped across the orchard. "Follow me!" she yelled.

Galloping between the trees, she noticed the red apples on the branches. Soft brown windfalls splattered beneath their horses' hooves. She glanced this way and that. A soldier rushed forward to thrust upward with his bayonet. She raised her pistol and fired. Passed him -- a long wooden hut appeared between the trees. A festoon of wires draped from the posts above. She turned toward it and slid out of the saddle.

The door yielded to her shoulder. She sprang inside. A man in a long red robe leaped out from between racks of glass accumulators -- sword upraised. She jammed her pistol into his face and fired, leaping over his collapsing body. The room beyond was deserted -- filled with wooden cabinets, huge wire-wound coils, spheres of brass, and glass containers of capacitors. The whole place seemed to be a macrame maze in copper wire. She came to a halt. Jeeze -- was this place for real? She'd better take some components for Iskander's techs to examine. They'd never believe this.

The two troopers behind stopped to gape over her shoulders, making signs with their hands to ward off an evil-eye. Gisel turned to them. "Check if anyone else is in here. I have to see what's worth taking." Nothing was small enough to carry. In the center of the room stood a table with a huge trumpet shaped speaker and a clunky great morse key. She pulled a camera from her pack and snapped hasty pictures. Coming upon a heavy wooden desk, she grabbed a sheaf of manuals. The writing on them looked like the tracks of drunken spiders. She yanked open a drawer and pulled out several notebooks. If one contained the unencoded messages her brother had intercepted they could advance the deciphering of the code.

Her troopers came back. "Empty, Major."

She'd seen enough. She shoved the bundle of notebooks and manuals at them. "Take these outside and keep them safe. I'm going to bust up this place."

As their footfalls receded she decided what to do. There could be high voltage on some of this rat's nest of wires, best not to try to pull it apart. She reached into her pack and took out a grenade. She stopped near the door to pull the pin. Holding it closed in her fist she grabbed another and pulled the pin between her teeth. She tossed the two of them and leaped for the door. The explosions roared as she landed outside. She pulled out two more grenades and lobbed them into the room with the racks of glass accumulators. This time she ran for her horse -- the flying glass would be deadly. Two more explosions -- when she checked behind her she could see flames lick up through a broken window.

Sgt Major Cubbins rode up. "Orchard is clear, Major!"

"Did you see any men in red robes?"

"Killed two beside a tent over there."

"Good enough. They won't be receiving more messages here. Let's rejoin the rest of the squadron -- go!"

They galloped out of the orchard and over the wall again. Bodies lay everywhere -- an uncanny silence made her realise that her artillery had finished firing. From the river, she heard the boom of Gorgon's big cannons. She noticed a body in Iskander grey uniform and dismounted to check him. No pulse -- a gaping hole in his chest. She picked up his carbine and bandolier and scanned the area. Behind its enclosing wall, the mansion was in flames -- had Solerar been inside? If he'd been in the HQ, she expected his staff would have hurried him to safety. She remounted, the job was done.

"Bugler--sound the recall! Check for our wounded and get them mounted up."

Gradually her men left a score of small scattered firefights and assembled around her. She watched for her Troop commanders' signals -- the recall had collected most of the men. She ordered recall blown again and then led off at a canter up the long slope they'd galloped down. From their right appeared a host of riders -- Imperial dragoons from the cavalry camp.

"Damn! We'll have to see them off." She changed direction toward them -- couldn't let them pick off her stragglers as they rode. Looked twice the size of her own force, but the carbines would make up the difference. She reined in at long carbine range and waved a signal to spread out. "Fire at will! Four hundred yards."

She drew a bead on the leading riders. A ripple of rifle fire broke out. Riders and horses in the approaching charge fell -- horses collapsing and their riders pitching over their heads and under the hooves of their fellows. Her troopers cranked their lever actions and fired as fast as possible. The compact mass of dragoons dissolved, the survivors spread out -- away from the deadly hail.

As soon as the majority were in retreat Gisel called a halt in firing. "Let's go. Retire onto our support line."

They resumed their withdrawal up the hill. The dragoons hauled off but regrouped. More riders joined them -- a whole goddamned regiment by the time Gisel reached the top of the ridge. She hauled out her communicator. "Captain Jans, get ready for visitors. We're bringing a regiment of dragoons behind us. Captain Viens, battery fire -- when I give the word, two rounds shrapnel on my start line."

"Very well, Major. We won't be very accurate."

"I'll accept that. I need to discourage pursuit."

They increased to a gallop down the hill. At the bottom of the shallow valley she looked back to see the dragoons at the top. "Captain Viens -- I'll have that shrapnel now."

She sped up through the trees the other side. A succession of shrapnel shells burst overhead, the tight packed balls inside spreading out to pepper the further hillside. Gisel had no idea how effective the fire was -- it should be enough to make the dragoons think twice about chasing them. Down one more wooded hillside and into the open. They could see their other two squadrons advancing in support.

A and B Squadrons opened up and Gisel aimed between them, drawing rein as they passed. "Regroup C Squadron," she bawled. Better if they all withdrew together. The dragoons were still oncoming, she called more shrapnel down on them as they cleared the trees. This shrapnel fire had more effect -- they stopped half a kilometer from the advancing squadrons. "Give them a volley, Captain Jans. Then regroup on me. I think they're losing heart."

The dragoon formation wavered at the volley. They began to pull back, but Gisel could see them regrouping as they reached the cover of the trees. Damn, but these Imperial soldiers were tough. She wondered if she'd have the guts to keep up a pursuit against all the setbacks they'd received. She leaned forward to pat her horse. Its heavy snorts of breath sounded labored. They were all becoming winded; the rest of the withdrawal would be at a walk.

*****

Yohan climbed aboard the accommodation barge as it tied up in the oxbow after a day's work. The sailors pulled the chains free from Tug One, to let the vessel move to its own mooring. The barge carried the steam engine which drove an air compressor for the rock drills, it also had a workshop and living quarters for two dozen men. He had decided to stay to see how the work progressed. It meant he was a little closer to Gisel than he would have been at Lubitz. His subconscious could invent enough reasons to mask his motive even from himself.

The drilling was half done. Another week and they could set off the blast. The ferry was also anchored in the oxbow as work on its river-bottom hauling chain progressed apace. As he opened the door to the dining area the workers raised their heads. "Come in, boss. We did well today," the Iskander foreman said. "Another week and we can go back to Lubitz and start on the bridge foundations."

Yohan smiled. The ferry outside the city was to be replaced by a swing bridge to allow the tugs and barges through. Iskander was going full speed to turn the city and the river into the gateway to a new world. He found a seat and the cook's assistant brought him soup and bread. "You are a fast working crew, I must say. I've never seen men work as you do."

The foreman changed seats to move opposite him. "Iskander makes us partners -- we're not laboring for some aristocratic owner or a family enterprise like you Felgers. This crew is ours, we charge the fees, we pay the bills -- the money left over is ours."

"But what about all this equipment -- this barge?"

"It's being paid for -- we pay Iskander a portion every month. By the time all the work on this river is done, we will own it. You'd better talk to your Baron -- if you have another job for us, there is already a waiting list."

Yohan shook his head. This sounded like one of Gisel's outlandish social ideas, but he reflected on the foreman's words as he tore off a hunk of the bread. Her ideas seemed to work. But was the world ready for them? Iskander cared nothing about standing established custom on its head. How far were they prepared to go?

The Baron supposed Durden, the murdered worker, had been either an Iskander spy or an anarchist revolutionary. He'd likely had a secret task with the team the Felgers were sending to the Empire. He must question Gisel when next he saw her.

He wished he could call her, but receiving a call in the middle of some action could be dangerous. He hadn't heard from her for three days. He understood the wisdom but it was one more routine of hers to follow. Iskander's way was becoming the only way to do things -- it was exhilarating as long as he went along. But this had become a moving juggernaut one could not get off -- like one of the speeding trains on their railroad in Tarnland.

He listened to the workers talking as he finished the soup. They sounded more confident than any other men he'd ever known -- in control of their own lives. Was that any different than his own desires? He had allowed Gisel to prod him into the reckless journey to Lubitz last year because it seemed a way for him to escape the weight of his father's hand. He wanted to control his own life. Did he though? She really controlled the Partnership's direction -- she just made it too enjoyable an experience for him to rebel.

He ate his main course of beef and some novel vegetable from the Kosmoneos -- called potatas, or something like that. The workers finished their own meals and pulled out a deck of cards -- oh no! He expected some raucous gambling game that could lead to blows, but was soon surprised to find them playing a thinking game of suits and tricks he had never seen before.

"What is this called?" he asked.

"Ah, we doesn't know any name but the Iskanders' word," one of the men said. "Some o' their people taught us it. We jus' calls it 'the game'."

"I'd like you to teach me, but I feel my communicator buzzing. Excuse me, I'll slip out onto the deck."

He stood in the waning daylight and took out the communicator. "Yohan Felger."

"Yohan, this is Lawri Misiker."

"Oh, hello. How are things going with the coal testing?"

"I have not been able to start. We cannot sail through the bridge at Genrow, some huge column of soldiers is marching over it. They will not allow it to open. That's what I called to tell you. They are Imperial soldiers -- infantry, cannon, wagons -- a huge force. A whole army."

"By the Flame! Where are they going?"

"They are marching toward Novrehan. Do you suppose our allies know?"

"I don't know -- I should ask Gisel."

"I'm thinking I should leave the barge here and hire a cart to go to the mines. I'm going to take a room at a tavern in the town tonight. I will call you again tomorrow morning -- perhaps the army will be over the bridge by then."

"Yes, you do that. I'll be expecting you." He put the communicator away and stared off into the darkness. This was important enough to call Gisel, but would his call endanger her? Night was not even safe to call, he knew she often operated under the cover of darkness. He could call Iskander Control, but would they take him seriously? What if Lawri's information proved a wild exaggeration? This was something an experienced agent like Gisel should investigate. He would wait in case she called tonight -- otherwise he would call her in the morning.

Chapter Twenty-one

Gisel sat her horse at the edge of a coppice of trees to watch the Lubitz troopers canter down a gentle slope to the river. Beside the water, the Imperial Golden Orb banner flew from a makeshift staff, columns of cookfire smoke rose from a group of tents, but not a man could she see. The enemy was unprepared. She stayed with the backup squadrons today -- while Laon and his men had a chance to show their stuff. A couple of deer in the meadow looked up as the Mounted Rifles thundered toward them -- they turned and ran, white tails waving as if in surrender.

On their withdrawal from their attack on Solerar's HQ, they'd seen a flotilla of small boats drawn up on the riverbank. The defenders of Leki told her Solerar's army had prepared the fleet of rowing craft for an attack on them, down the estuary. The Gorgon's deployment had prevented the attack. Wooden boats stood no chance of getting past the armored, floating battery. Iskander's Chief of Staff had answered her questions and suggested she destroy them. So she'd returned this morning to do the job.

The nearest boats were only a few hundred yards from A Squadron's position among the trees, so she had a good view as the Lubitz Troopers rode in and dismounted. The enemy sentries only appeared as the troopers formed line and the spare men led their mounts to the rear. A couple of enemy musket shots brought a company of Imperial infantry erupting from their encampment tents. A bugle call sounded -- the guard company tried to form up, but they were already under fire. The troopers' rifle fire overwhelmed the disordered soldiers. They threw down their muskets and surrendered.

She turned to Captain Jans. "Leon seems to have things under control. I'll ride down to take a look -- keep a guard against any Imperial counterattack."

Jans saluted. "I'll call a warning if I see any movement, Major."

Gisel cantered her horse across the water meadow to Laon Misiker, beside the tents. "Count the boats, Laon. Get an idea how many men they intended to send in an attack."

"I can do that, Major. These boats can likely carry a dozen each."

"How many prisoners have you taken?'

"About fifty here, and about the same further down the bank. What do we do with them?"

Gisel shook her head. "No way we can take them. Burn their weapons with the boats, take away their belts and boots, and chase them away."

Laon laughed. "Do you want to interrogate any?"

"Do you have an officer who looks as if he knows anything? I doubt Solerar put his best men to guard this lost cause."

"There's an elderly captain, but he's wounded. He's just over there, near the flagstaff."

Gisel swung off her horse to walk over. A group of the captain's men clustered around and bent over him. "Make way," she said loudly. "Let me look at him."

The prisoners stood firm, staring at her sullenly. The riflemen standing guard over them pushed them back at bayonet point. The officer lay on a bloodstained blanket, his head resting on a backpack. Gisel stopped in front of him. "Major Gisel Matah -- how can I be of service, Captain?"

The wounded officer turned his eyes to her, his face pale and sweating. A handsome older man, clean shaven with a full head of white hair. "Captain Heston, Makberg Militia. I don't think you can help me, Major. I'm bleeding to death."

Gisel knelt down. "I'll examine you if I may. I'm a dab hand at fixing wounds."

She took out her knife and slit open the leg of his breeches where the blood seemed to be coming from. As she examined the damage she spoke to the dispirited prisoners. "Do any of you know how to treat a wound?"

They merely gaped -- these guys were as raw as recruits.

The captain smiled wanly. "Don't be hard on the lads -- they have little experience."

"Then they'd better learn -- and damn quick." She pointed at a young lad with red hair. "You. Come here and give me a hand."

"You may be wasting your time, Major," Heston said.

"Not at all. It's a clean wound -- the bullet went right through. But it nicked a vein -- I think I can stop the bleeding." She pulled out her combat pack and opened it. "Watch me, lad. You will have to change the dressing I put on the captain until some medic comes to help."

"If I can. Captain's a good man."

"You will do it," she snapped. "If you don't, he will die."

"Why are you doing this, Major?" Heston asked. "I'm your enemy."

She sat back on her heels, noticing the pall of smoke gathering in the sky from the burning boats. "We're both soldiers -- call it professional courtesy."

"How does a woman come to command Iskander cavalry?"

Gisel grinned as she bent forward to work again. "Special engagement. The general wanted a good troublemaker."

"There was a terrible fight at the Duke's mansion yesterday, by all accounts."

Gisel paused from cleaning the wound with alcohol on a handful of gauze. "I think we burned Solerar's ass. Was he wounded?"

Heston winced. "I wouldn't tell you if I knew."

"You wouldn't tell me if some support force could be about to counterattack me at any moment? I'd probably need to shoot a bunch of these lads to clear my defensive position."

Heston stared at her a moment, then shook his head. "We have no support. These boats were barely worth our guarding them."

Gisel nodded and taped a gauze pad over the bullet hole to protect the drying spray that patched the vein. She directed the red-haired soldier's eye to the wound. "This part doesn't get disturbed. If he starts to bleed again, put pressure down here until the bleeding stops. If your army doesn't get a surgeon to him you'll have to keep him alive until his body mends itself. You can do that?'

The red-head nodded. "That I can."

"Good. Now four of these men have to get something to carry the captain on -- take him back to his tent."

She watched until the soldiers lifted the wounded officer on a trestle. He raised a hand to his brow in salute. "I've heard of a mad Iskander woman called the Wildcat. Would that be you, Major Matah?"

Maybe some psychological warfare was in order; she laughed shortly. "Yep. The Wildcat is on the rampage -- Solerar had better do more for you poor devils -- I mean to make everyone's life a living hell."

As she walked away to check on the progress of her raid, her communicator vibrated against her thigh and she took it out. "Major Matah."

"Gisel, it's Yohan. You've not called me."

"Been busy, sweetheart. I intended to tonight -- where are you?"

"At Blackrock with the blasting crew, but I have something important to tell you.'

She frowned. "Go ahead."

"Lawri Misiker went upriver to test some steam coal for shipment. His boat could only go as far as Genrow -- he saw an army crossing the bridge and they would not open it for river traffic."

"An army?"

"An Imperial army, marching to Novrehan. He's counted thousands of them."

"Oh shit." This was about the worst time. There'd been no warning from Iskander intelligence. "Thanks Yohan, I'll pass this along."

"I thought you'd want to check the information."

"Don't need to. I think it makes sense of some other things we know." She paused for breath. Now she knew the reason for the increased radio traffic, for the stepped up Novrehan border patrols, and the cavalry guide party she'd attacked in the Moonwald. Could Ricart's force handle another army? Not likely -- with his division outside the gates of Makberg they'd be lucky to extricate themselves.

"I'd better tell Ricart right away. Thanks, Yohan, but be careful where you are. It'd be a good idea for you to leave Blackrock -- they're closer to you than to me."

"Not yet. I have Lord Ricart's ammunition coming up the river on barges. It will be here tomorrow."

"I'll tell him that, too. We'll get back to you when we decide how to handle this. Take care."

She called Ricart several times before he answered. "I heard the call the first time, Gisel. What's the matter -- are you in trouble?"

"No. You are." She relayed Lawri's information she'd received from Yohan.

"This Lawri Misiker -- is he a reliable source?"

"His brother is commanding my Rifles. He was wounded in the naval battle last year, but handles the Partnership's business with the Misikers. I vouch for him."

"Damn. I'll see if they can fly the Intruder once more. I need a proper strength estimate. I have something from its last overflight of Leki that will interest you. Solerar has started pulling troops back -- some have left their siege lines. He seems to be reacting more quickly than I expected. I'm asking the defenders to put on a foray tonight to test the situation."

"I haven't met any strength here to suggest that."

"No, he's only redeploying infantry as yet. It will take two days before you'll meet them in the rear area. These troops are on the east side of the river -- those most vulnerable to an attack by the Lubitz forces. It could be the beginning of a general withdrawal."

"Those radio messages may have been to coordinate an operation against us -- one army from the north and another from Novrehan."

The communicator hummed softly a minute before Ricart answered. "You could be right. I'll cut my attack on Makberg short and start pulling back. I'll send an advance force to take over your operation. As soon as you're relieved you'd better take everyone over to the Novrehan border and find out what's happening."

"Sure. You want me to chase away an Imperial army?"

"I wish you could, but that might be a tall order even for the Wildcat."

"Huh! If you've got a difficult job you need to give it to a woman."

Ricart's voice sounded guarded, Gisel could visualize the haughty expression on his face. "You sound to be in good spirits, things must be going well."

"Yep -- we're just burning Solerar's boats."

"Hmm. A pity you couldn't do something about the bridge at Newtown. He needs that to link the two wings of his army. If he lost that, it would slow his redeployment a lot."

"What's the strength of Newtown's defenses?"

"Too strong for your force. You'd never get in."

"Well, I'll look at it. There's always the river . . . Oh shit. I'd better run and make sure Laon doesn't burn all these boats."

*****

As Nagat reached the outskirts of Lubitz he saw how much the city had changed since he'd visited last. That had been before the city switched sides, when it struggled to fight a war against Iskander. He'd learned the selfsame lesson, it were no easy path to set yerself agin them. So why had he taken on the task? He could chide himself for fool.

The open fields were gone. Where the city folk had taken themselves garden plots to try and stave off famine, the land was covered by new workshops and warehouses. Seemed every soul were some form of artisan or trader, for as he rode his pony along the muddy tracks between the new buildings he saw nothing but hawkers and workmen in the front of shops, making or displaying some item for sale. Grindstones showered his path with sparks as men smoothed and sharpened knives and scissors, scythes and axes they worked on. All forged from Iskander steel, he didn't doubt.

One street was filled with cart and wagon builders, with smiths heating iron bands for wheels, or fashioning springs and axles to carry them. Another had little industry going on but a great smell of oil and powder from the shops of gunsmiths where one might buy a hunting shotgun or a musket for killing bandits. No doubt Iskander rifles were on sale somewhere in the dark back rooms, and pistols that a man could hide in a pocket. Over all the activity hung a pall of smoke from the steam engines in spinning mills and factories and from the new tugs on the river.

Why did he think to set himsel' agin such a fever for wealth and profit? Surely every man and woman loved the Iskanders, but didn't he? Iskander had taught him much, an' even the Wildcat had saved him from a hanging when his followers had derailed the train. But they turned the world over, like a nest o' ants stirred up, and in that turmoil was as much chance to find aggrieved men who luck had scorned as fat proprietors who'd sooner feed him to the gallows. The apprentice's brotherhood here had nearly started revolution in the darkest days, he'd heard. It was time to return to see what spirit remained for Kullen's Rights of Common Man.

He stopped outside a dark building already stained with soot and the rusty smears from iron working. The front of the building was open to let in light for the men to work and he could see enough activity to recognize a foundry. A heavy set man in a shabby suit, but with a gold chain across his waistcoat, stared up at him on the pony. "What's yer business, fellow? Are you lookin' for work?"

"I might be, Sir. I come to Lubitz 'cus I were told a good wage could be made in metal workin' here."

"If ye have a good skill, I might hire ye. What do ye do?"

"I have worked around furnaces, Sir, and know how to judge when brass or bronze be ready to pour. If you work with iron, as the color of your walls do tell me, I have builded two furnaces for the same -- fashioned the pipes and bellows to purify the melt."

"Have ye now? Come in and look at mine -- tis not as suant as it were this summer."

"Do ye have time and money to put it to rights?"

"If I think you might know your craft, enough to hire you. Come and see."

Nagat swung off his pony and the man beckoned an urchin over to hold it. It was a risk to admit such advanced skill -- it would not be long before this fellow suspected he had learned the craft with the Iskanders. That would immediately raise questions -- suspicions about his conduct that he did not work for them still. But he could demand upwards of a hundred thalers for reworking the pipes inside, which always burned away from their task. Enough money to set himself up in business and attract the apprentices and workers who shared his dreams. Fellows who had kept alive the goal of a worker's brotherhood that ruled instead of slaved for the city.

Chapter Twenty-two

Zagdorf took care to hide his anxiety as he rode among Prince Jeury's huge escort of horsemen over the rolling hills of the Novrehan lands north and east of the river. The sound of the strange throat-singing of the mounted tribesmen made a discordant background to his concerns. He was not sure where they were going, but the general direction seemed to be toward the city of Novrehan.

Although they had spoken many times in the past four days, he still had no idea of the Prince's thoughts and intentions. As often as it was politic to raise the matter, he had asked for an agreement to allow the completion of the Fifteenth Army's journey and allow its attack on the Iskanders. He never once received an answer. Now, a large part of the encampment had begun to move, warriors, wives and camp followers, but the Prince deigned no word of explanation. Zagdorf was angry, this was not an acceptable way to treat an envoy.

The Prince's elderly adviser, the Gaffir, rode up to him. "The Prince wishes to cross the bridge at Novrehan. He sends you ahead to tell the Archduke."

Zagdorf looked at him sideways. "I am not an officer of the Archduke -- neither am I his keeper. He will not wish such a force as this to cross the bridge and enter his city."

"That is why the Prince sends you to tell him. Surely he will not disobey the soldiers of the Empire."

"What surety does the Prince offer for his men in the city? If they enter it, there is bound to be violence."

"The Prince does not want his men to remain in the city any longer than it takes to ride through it. You can tell him to have his people bar their doors and shutter their shops."

"There is another bridge at Genrow. We could cross there."

"The bridge at Novrehan is closer. The Prince will use it."

The man's words stopped abruptly, as if he were deliberately keeping any thought of consequences from leaving his mouth. Zagdorf knew enough about these people to have a good idea what they might be. He didn't care about the fate of the citizens, but it would be impossible to keep Imperial troops from being drawn into a conflict. The Emperor would blame him for any disastrous outcome. He had no choice -- he must ride ahead to meet the Archduke. He should locate their army's commander, the Strategos, first -- with an Imperial army at his disposal it would be easier to negotiate Jeury's demands.

He signaled for his orderly to ride beside him and increased his mount's pace. The road he and the Archduke's ambassador had taken from Novrehan lay somewhere to the south -- he pulled at the reins to urge his horse in that direction.

As he rode, he reflected on the previous four days. Did the Prince completely discount the danger the Iskanders presented? The wild horsemen lived a life unchanged since the time of their ancestors -- even to their military tactics and continued reliance upon the bow. Iskanders' new weapons would sweep them from the field -- and good riddance, was his own feeling. Another reason for the Empire taking control and securing the advances for themselves. With Iskander weapons, they could overcome the Skathians for all time. Even if they were not able to restore the star cruiser to service, the Iskanders' other arts were enough to assure victory over savages.

On the other hand, if the Skathians should ally themselves with the upstarts, the Empire would be hard pressed to maintain itself. Was that the Prince's plan? How could he upset it if the Prince rode north to meet the Iskanders? He must journey on with the Skathians and stay alert for any eventuality. The only way he could think to prevent such an alliance -- a disaster for the Empire -- was to draw the Iskanders and the Prince into bitter conflict at their first encounter.

*****

Just before nightfall three small boats pushed off from the riverbank not far from where the Lubitz Rifles had burned the rest of Solerar's flotilla. Gisel had salvaged these, although the scow she rode in had one gunwale badly burned. The boat was still sound enough to carry her explosive charges and the men who would help install them. The other two craft carried her security elements, assigned to silence the guards while she set the demolitions on the bridge. She smiled grimly -- always assuming they could approach under cover of darkness without calling out the town's garrison against them. All these men were volunteers, the rest of her force would meet them downstream or wait to cover the withdrawal.

She beckoned the helmsman of the nearest boat to steer closer. Laon Misiker looked across as she spoke. "When we get closer to the city, I want your two boats to do a bounding overwatch. You remember what I mean by the term?"

"Yes, Major," Laon answered. "I think I am becoming accustomed to Iskander's tactics. I set one boat on guard while the other moves forward."

"Right. If we cannot bluff and the alarm goes up before we reach the bridge, we'll have to abandon the attack."

"We will do as you suggest, but I'm willing to fight our way in."

Gisel grinned. "I thought you might be, but if we can't bring down the bridge, there's no point."

"If you say so, Major."

Gisel nodded. She'd pulled enough high explosive from artillery shells to make up the charges, and used gunpowder as the detonator. Blowing up a stone bridge without a modern army's resources was tricky -- she'd need at least fifteen minutes to set the charges. She just hoped the garrison guarded against a cavalry sortie, not an attack down the river.

Gisel gauged the current flow as they rowed slowly away from the launching point -- waiting for darkness before making more speed. This river was a trickle compared to the other two they'd crossed in this campaign, not fifty yards across and almost shallow enough for men to wade. At the town it became tidal, but the bottom everywhere was too soft to ford. If Solerar's army lost the bridge, his troops could not unite for another two days' march upstream. It would make the withdrawing infantry vulnerable to an attack by Lerris Garriker's forces.

Sgt Major Cubbins ducked under the long planks carrying the explosive charges in the center of their scow. He took a seat on the thwart beside her. Just ahead of them, one of the volunteers swayed back and forth pulling an oar. "What if we have no time to attack three spans, Major?"

"I'm thinking about that. I prepared three charges in a fit of optimism." Using her communicator to uplink, she'd accessed the military manuals in the starship's database to plan her operation. The one most appropriate to the task at hand was copied from a field booklet three hundred years old. She'd like to attack the haunches of a span to bring the whole thing down, but the keystones were a more vulnerable target. Destroying a pier would be even better, but she'd need some of the resources Yohan had at Blackrock -- and a whole day to drill some holes. Not possible -- she'd have to do what she could. The description of this bridge, given by Lubitz men who'd been to the town, said the structure had two piers in the river and took most of three spans to bridge the stream. Dropping all three would finish it off, but even two would prevent the withdrawing force from using it.

"When we place one charge we shall know what time we have for the others," Cubbins said.

"You're right. War is the art of the possible, and we go with whatever luck hands us."

"If I may say so, Major, you have been more . . . pensive the last two days. Does this raid worry you?"

She glanced at the rower and lowered her voice. "Something worries me, but it's not this raid. I can't tell you why yet, but we're pulling out tomorrow. Lord Ricart is sending another battalion to replace us."

Cubbins frowned.

"Thanks for telling me about my manner," she said. "I must not let the rest of the men see anything. Don't say a word to them."

She scanned the riverbanks until it became too dark to see anyone with the unaided eye, then took out her night vision goggles. From her position in the rear she'd be unable to give a warning before an enemy saw the boats, but she must trust her men's actions. She had to let Laon and his volunteers handle the approach, or they'd think she had no confidence in them. She had an hour to fret about it.

They reached the outskirts of Newtown without seeing a single sentry. Houses clustered on the riverbanks and the river, wider and with almost no current, told her they'd met the upper end of the tidal reach. They rowed as quietly as they could. A voice rang out loudly across the silent river. "You men in the boats! Come ashore to identify yourselves."

They lay their weapons on the footboards and pulled over to the bank where the group of soldiers challenged them. Gisel took off her goggles and made sure her boat stopped furthest from the shore, so their cargo would not be too evident. An officer came down to the bank with another man holding a lantern. She hid her face in her collar and hoped the rest didn't appear too anxious in the dim light.

"What's your business? Whose men are these?"

Laon Misiker answered. "We are from Captain Heston's Makberg Militia. We have been told to bring these craft to town for safety."

The officer raised his chin haughtily and stared hard at those seated in the three boats. "We were told the Iskanders burned them."

"That they did . . . some. But these we saved."

The officer shrugged. "You had best take them on then. Report to the officer commanding at the town center."

They pushed off and rowed slowly away. No one spoke until they had gone far enough that the darkness hid them. "Good work," Gisel murmured. "The next sentries we see will be on the bridge. Don't waste any breath on them."

The houses and streets of the town were dimly lit with lanterns, and a few figures moved about. At one warehouse a group of soldiers loaded a wagon with military stores -- looked like they'd received orders to pack up. She hoped that was the extent of the activity, if the town center was busy they'd never be able to plant the demolitions. Then the bridge loomed like a grey wall in the distance. Laon Misiker's boat turned to the right bank, and the other security force went left. Gisel directed her men to wait in midstream, backstroking gently against the current.

She sat as still as she could and left her carbine on the boards at her feet, but the tingle of her nerves almost seemed audible. She put the goggles back on and scanned for movement at the bridge abutments. She could see sentries moving on the bridge, and a lantern shining from inside a guard post on the bank. Stealthy figures flitted across outside a lighted window, and she steeled herself for the sound of musket shots.

Not a sound. So far, so good.

One of the sentries disappeared as she watched him. She grinned -- these guys of Laon's must be experienced cutthroats. Then she saw Laon Misiker standing on the center span, waving an all clear. "Let's go," she said to her oarsmen. "Next stop at the middle."

They hurried over the intervening space. From the scow, the center of the arch was only about eight feet above them and she could see the roadway measured the usual ten feet width of a Gaian bridge. The man in the bows reached up to grab a rope dangling from the parapet. As they came to rest, a rope ladder unfurled down to them. Gisel took up the rope from the closest end of the demolition plank, grabbed the ladder and scrambled up.

At the top she bellied over the parapet and took up the slack on her rope. Sgt Major Cubbins reached the top and patted her on the shoulder as a signal. He made for the other side of the bridge, and she glanced across to see him let down the rope he carried. Their scow drifted out of sight under the bridge and she let out a little rope.

A minute passed. "Ready, Major," Cubbins called softly.

They both pulled on their ropes until the plank reached the bottom of the arch. Gisel leaned over until she could ensure the explosive side pressed against the stonework. Holding the rope taut she regained her feet and backed to meet Cubbins. She threaded the free end of her rope through the eye they prepared on the other and then yanked everything tight. The explosives needed to be tight against the stones they were to blast.

"One done," she said, and looked down into the scow. She waved toward the left span. "We'll take that one next," she whispered.

While Sgt Major Cubbins pulled the grapnel free and took the ladder across to the next span, Gisel checked the other end of the bridge. If anyone attempted to cross they'd find the rope in their way. She saw Laon Misiker and two men standing at the end with their rifles sloped like sentries. She ran over to them.

"No trouble here, Major," Laon said. "I've sent the rest of my lads back to the boat."

"If anyone tries to cross --"

"I know," he said with a grin. "I tell them the bridge is closed until further notice. It should work, we got away with it once."

She slapped him on the shoulder. "Good work. I have to get back to the demolitions. I'll call 'clear the bridge' when I'm ready to take to the boats."

When she got back to Cubbins he had one end of the demolition plank ready to lift. "Here's your rope, Major."

She took it and crossed the bridge in three quick strides. Leaning over she lowered the rope to the men below. They tied it to the end of the plank and waved all clear.

"Ready to lift," she said. As the men in the scow reached up to steady it, she pulled the plank up toward her until it stopped against the underside of the arch. Quickly, she pulled the rope tight, made sure the end of the fuse poked out beyond the parapet, and met Cubbins in the center of the roadway. They secured the ropes together.

"One more. Think we've time?"

"We'll see," he said, leaning over to signal to the men in the scow.

Gisel ducked under the rope and ran to the men guarding the far end of the bridge. "Any trouble here?"

"No. Major," the sergeant in charge answered.

"Where's your boat?"

"Under the bridge -- at the bank."

"When I call, clear the bridge, it means I've lit the fuses. They're short, so jump in and row like hell."

The man saluted and she turned to run for the last span. She ducked under one rope, and then the other. She'd just reached Cubbins when a shot rang out. She heard Laon's riflemen fire in reply.

"That's done it," she said to Cubbins. "Get in the boat and wait for me on the downstream side."

Running footsteps approached over the bridge -- Laon and his two sentries.

"You guys had best take to the boats," she shouted. "Can anyone swim?"

Only Laon indicated he could.

From the end of the bridge she saw lanterns bobbing as men ran toward them. They shouted but their words meant nothing to her. Laon thumbed a new round into the breech of his rifle and shouldered it. He fired at the oncoming men.

One of his men fired and then turned to Gisel. "Our boat's gone."

"Quick. Follow the Sergeant Major." She pushed him toward the rope ladder on the parapet. She'd no time to see more -- two fuses to light.

She ran to the far one and leaned down with a striker and windproof match. She rubbed it once, then again before it flared. A rattle of gunfire sounded from the end of the bridge. The fuse took and she sprang upright. As she ran back to the center she saw Laon crouched down, firing at the Empire soldiers.

"I'll cover you," he said.

She bellied over the parapet and reached down to the end of the fuse. She could hear Laon firing as fast as he could -- every three seconds. She struck the match and lowered it to the fuse. Couldn't quite reach -- she stretched further. A clatter of running feet from the roadway -- more rifle shots.

The fuse caught, she heaved herself upright and darted into the roadway. Two bodies on the ground, and Laon was fighting hand to hand with two men. She grabbed her automatic and fired.

"Thanks, Major."

"Let's get the hell out of here! Dive over the edge."

They both rushed for the parapet as more soldiers dashed out of the darkness to sieze them. Laon fired and then swung his rifle butt. Gisel jumped onto the stone parapet and fired into the soldiers. A heavy pistol report sounded and Laon pitched backwards. He fell against the parapet. Gisel stared -- his face was blown away. She fired once at his attacker's chest and launched herself into space.

She heard shots and then she hit the water.

Chapter Twenty-three

The icy water shut out all light. Gisel planed with her hands to level off before she hit the bottom -- didn't think the river could be very deep. A good idea to get as far as possible from any more soldiers with muskets. She was almost bursting to take a breath when she broke surface.

A flash of light and loud explosions told her the charges were going off. She gulped air and dived again. As she stroked downwards a rock hit her back, enough to hurt but not injure after plunging through the water. The watery splashes of more debris sounded like fists hitting a wet sack. The brief glimpse she'd had above the water revealed three boats lit up by the blast. The nearest should be about twenty yards away. She swam toward it as she gradually rose to the surface.

She took a deep breath of fresh air. Where the hell was that boat? After the brilliance of the explosion, the night seemed twice as dark. She could hear men shouting -- more shouts and angry exclamations coming from the riverbank. She raised her head out of the water to call, "Hey! Wait for me."

"Over here, Major." Cubbin's voice. "Hold your oars, men."

She could barely make out the shape of the boat against the lights and bobbing lanterns on the bank, but swam as fast as she could. The flash of a musket shot lit the river's surface momentarily. The shot hit the boat, somewhere ahead of her. Nearer, she could see it drifting. Then it seemed further away -- was it drifting faster than she could swim? One of the men leaned over the stern to hold an oar toward her. She grabbed it and let herself be pulled to the transom.

Another musket shot from the riverbank splashed into the water beside her as she reached up. She felt the scow lurch as the men aboard prepared to reply. Three rifle shots silenced the attackers. Then several arms reached for her. "Hurry up. They're running down the bank after us."

She doubled her body over the gunwale and grabbed a thwart to pull herself in. "What about our other boats?"

"Rowing for all they's worth," a trooper said.

Sgt Major Cubbins leaned over her. "Where's Captain Misiker? Isn't he with you?"

The image of the bloody mess of his face came to her, she felt anger and regret. "No. I'll tell you later. Let's get the hell out of here."

The men at the oars leaned into their task while Cubbins and another kept watch for pursuit. The clouds parted to let a quarter moon brighten the scene. They exchanged fire with a group of soldiers at the end of the houses, then they floated past the town wall and were away. Gisel's mind replayed those last few seconds on the bridge. By the amount of debris that flew she could hope the bridge was breached, but it was too dark to see. If the mission had succeeded, one casualty was militarily a small price -- but did it have to be Laon?

She groped around the footboards until she located her carbine -- the one she'd taken from another of their dead. How many men had she lost? This was the hard part of command -- everything she did was paid for in blood. Her wet uniform chilled her in the night air. She sat on the thwart and checked the weapon over, seeing bodies, not the steel in her hands.

After half an hour on the river they saw a lantern flash three times from the bank. The pre-arranged signal; they steered the scow toward it. The other craft were already there, the men making their way up the bank to the horses. Captain Jans met her as she slid over the side into waist deep water.

"A success, Major! We heard the explosions from here."

"I think so . . . a lot of shit hit the water around me. But we've lost a man . . ."

Several of the troopers gathered around Jans as Gisel reached the bank. She took someone's hand to pull herself up. "Captain Misiker was killed. I'm sorry, guys . . . couldn't do anything. He was covering me as I lit the last fuse -- fighting hand to hand. Took a pistol shot . . . right in the face . . . went down at my feet."

The men murmured. Jans took her arm. "Then he died bravely. A hero's death. You both did your duty."

"Aye, a hero," one of the troopers echoed.

"But we cannot stay here discussing this," Jans said. "The horses are waiting, we have to ride before the enemy finds us."

*****

Nagat lifted the peephole cover with a pair of tongs and slanted his face away from the hot blast that came out. By squinting and shifting his head from side to side he could just see the flames jetting across the furnace in the air from the vents.

"Well," the master demanded. "How do it look?"

"As it should, Meister. The heat be good . . . isn't it?"

The man shrugged, his gold chain rising with the shoulders of his waistcoat. "Better'n it has been. But we shall have to finish the job and see inside afore I shall deem the job well done."

"If thou thinks," Nagat said. "But I exspec's honest pay for work well done."

"I has twenty castin's to pour for th'Iskanders." He pointed toward the doorway. "Their Meister be here to ask for them finished. Mayhap you should tell'n."

Nagat turned sharply. Who might that be? If he were recognized . . .

He could make out a tall man near the open doors standing with his hands behind him. He didn't look familiar . . . was it Felger? They'd never met. He set down the tongs and walked toward the doors, wiping his hands on a rag.

In the daylight from the street he still didn't recognize the man, but he'd been told that Felger were fair haired and this man was dark. "The owner says you'm come for the castin's, Meister. We is just raisin' heat to ready the iron for pourin'."

"It was to be done yesterday. Why are you late?"

"Cos I were hired to fix the air jets in the furnace. I only finished this mornin'."

"You repair furnaces? I don't know you -- are you an Iskander employee?"

"Nay, sir, but I worked in foundries and with bellows enough. Should I know you, Meister?"

"Engineer Berzoni. I'm supervising the assembly of the Partnership's tugboats -- in charge of the whole operation with Meister Felger up at Blackrock. What's your name?"

Berzoni -- he'd heard the name, but the fellow had not been associated with the section of the steelworks he'd worked in. But his own name could be too well known among the Iskanders -- he must think of another. Quick. "Thou may call me Markov. I be lookin' to start mesel' a business in iron hereabouts."

"Well, Markov, I'm sure you could do well. I have to send a crew to repair a tugboat up the river. It sailed on its maiden trip and blew some boiler tubes. I'm running short of experienced men -- would you like to hire on as artificer's assistant?"

"I could be interested, but I has to stay until this job is done -- if'n I wants my pay."

"A tug leaves tomorrow to take the repair crew. If you want the job, be on the Partnership's dock within an hour of dawn. We pay ten thalers a day, and there'll be a bonus of fifty if the tug returns to Lubitz under its own steam before week's end."

"Thank 'ee kindly, Meister Berzoni. I shall see what transpires with this pour. If all is well thou should have the castin's in the mornin'."

He stood to watch as the lanky Berzoni walked away. He should not be on that dock in the morning -- every ounce of common sense told him to stay away from the Partnership. It was too likely the Wildcat would see him. But Petros had needed him to place a loyal Brotherhood man on a tug to carry messages on the river. Maybe he could manage the task before she returned . . . then he'd best stay away from fixin' tugs forever. Petros -- Markov . . . curse it. Why had that name popped into his head? If the Wildcat heard the name again, she'd get suspicious. He had better hope she was a long way away -- and stayed.

*****

The morning after the attack on the Newtown bridge Gisel rode at the head of the Lubitz Rifles as her whole force made a foray across Duke Solerar's rear area. The Lubitzers were silent and morose from the loss of their commander and she felt her presence might help rebuild their morale. She'd questioned them intensely to see if they blamed her for his loss -- not that she did herself. They accepted his death as stoically as she suspected they'd meet their own -- long and happy lives were a rarity in this society. They seemed to appreciate her account, which made him a hero.

Behind the column of Mounted Rifles came six of the guns of the artillery battery, followed by their remaining transport wagons -- the last ammunition wagon, emptied of its stores, had been burned for campfires the night before. C Squadron, dispersed in three troops, ranged about the hills and valleys as the rearguard. Her two forward squadrons were out of sight ahead, commanded by Jans, with orders to disrupt any enemy forces they came across. He had Viens, commanding a half troop of fifteen-pounders, to add muscle to any attack he should launch.

Everyone drooped from six days of continuous operations. The retirement from the bridge attack had lasted half the previous night, but that was the cavalry business -- they only rested when the horses had to. Today they'd met a few small detachments of the enemy and scattered them, but Gisel scanned the hillsides for bigger threats. Solerar's troops were out of their lines and on the march. She'd told everyone to watch for his cavalry screen.

The good weather had turned, and a cold wind said winter was definitely on the way. She scanned the cloudy sky -- it would rain before nightfall. Damn -- that would make their own march south miserable. As she rode, she mentally tallied her remaining supplies from the figures Jans had given her that morning. Forage for the animals was low -- if they couldn't find some locally they'd lose more time on the march letting the horses stop to graze.

Artillery ammunition was in fair shape, despite the shells she'd cannibalized. They had sufficient 8mm for the Lubitzers, but the cavalry troopers' bandoliers were only half full. She needed to receive fresh ammo in a day or so -- Iskander's tactics depended upon maintaining a high rate of fire. Yohan had called to tell her that one of the army's two ammunition barges was stuck with tugboat trouble, but he'd bring forward supplies from the other. He was being foolhardy, getting involved in the military action, but she'd not complained -- she looked forward to meeting him on the road.

She'd also received a call from Ricart -- he'd dispatched a force which she should meet this morning. There was an officer with them who she'd met at the Margrave's reception -- a Captain Naserdin. Naserdin was a special protege of Ricart's -- a Skathian, a rarity in any army outside of the Skathian territories. Likely he was an exile -- just like Ricart to send her some murderous cutthroat who even his own people couldn't abide. He said she might need his advice, but hadn't explained what he meant.

The crack of rifle fire sounded from over the hills ahead. She reached for her communicator to call Jans just as his voice came over it. "I'm attacking an enemy supply convoy on the road, Major. Will keep you informed."

"Understood." She turned in the saddle to speak to her NCOs riding behind. "Routine clash, but stay alert."

Jans and the convoy he attacked sounded a couple of kilometers away, around a wide leftward sweep in the hills she could see ahead. She looked back at her column, raising a cloud of yellow dust along an unmade trail in the bottom of the same narrow valley. Not enough room to deploy, but she shouldn't need to. The low hills cut her range of vision to a few hundred metres. She felt a claustrophobic twinge; a bad place to be if the enemy found them.

A louder volley of rifle fire came from ahead, then another.

Jans' voice again. "A cavalry covering force came over the hills at us. I think it's a trap but we can handle them. Two squadrons of lancers."

Gisel felt her nerves tense, she rapped an order to the sergeant behind. "Close up the column. Make sure there are riflemen posted with every gun and wagon."

The sergeant saluted and swung his horse about.

"Where are Captain Viens and the two guns?" she called into the communicator.

"I'm on the road at the rear of Captain Jans' force," Veins replied.

"Come up the hill between us. Deploy the guns to cover my column."

She started to call Jans again when a warning shout from the column made her look up at the hilltop beside them. Enemy cavalrymen appeared, deployed in line -- cuirassiers, by the light glinting on their breastplates. Goddamn it -- heavy cavalry, and she could see hundreds of them.

"Definitely a trap, Jans. I'm being attacked by cuirassiers here -- I'm ordering immediate recall. Break off your action."

As she waited for Jans' answer she halted the column and called out to the Lubitz Rifles NCOs behind her. "Pull the guns and wagons into a double line and station the riflemen between them."

Jans' voice sounded breathless on the communicator. "Breaking off as soon as we clear these lancers off us, Major."

Damn, there was no time to delay, the cuirassiers were starting down the hill at a trot, sabres drawn. Gisel called Lieutenant Bowns at the rear. "Main column is under attack -- C Squadron close up."

"I see them, Major. Collecting my rearguard troopers."

She turned off the trail and glanced at the men following. Her orderly and half a dozen troopers of the HQ troop -- eight carbines -- not enough firepower to dent the line coming down the hill at them. Should fire, anyway. She drew her carbine from the scabbard in front of her saddle. The enemy cavalry still advanced at a trot, obviously intending to keep control of their formation. She could hear their NCOs shouting commands to keep the attacking line's dressing. A regiment of cuirassiers had enough shock power they'd not need to gallop -- did her men have enough time to take fire positions before they were cut down by those sabres?

She worked her carbine's lever and sighted on a cuirassier holding a standard aloft. Range about two hundred metres -- she squeezed the trigger. Its sharp crack preceeded the fire of the men around her. From her column on the road came a ragged volley.

The man with the standard pitched backwards out of the saddle, and several other men and horses fell. The enemy troopers closed ranks and continued advancing.

She led her small group across the front of her column at the trot. She ordered the men to keep firing while she studied the progress of her order to pull the wagons into a double line. No time to unharness the horses, five field guns behind their teams formed their front -- with detachments of Lubitz Rifles scattered among them. One more field gun and a half dozen wagons were still pulling along beside them to close the rear of their position. The ends were wide open -- if those cuirassiers got inside they were done for.

Where the hell was C Squadron? Where the hell was Jans?

A combined group of gunners struggled to unlimber the centre field gun and swing it around to bear on the enemy. They might just have time to fire a round before the cuirassiers were on them. Her artillerymen were poorly armed -- a pair of rifles on each limber for men mounting guard, and only short swords for the rest. She saw some of the gunners wielding axes and spades from the limbers.

At last the whole company of Lubitz Rifles was in position; Gisel turned her group to ride back between the two vehicle lines, encouraging her men. "Aim well, my lads! Good shooting will make them keep their distance."

She had no idea if her words were true. Cavalrymen's morale and the closeness they would engage was notoriously indeterminate. The very reason Iskander trained theirs with firearms. Horses would balk before they'd crash into an enemy force, so she might expect these attackers to stop at their perimeter and slash downwards with their sabres. As long as they could keep the cuirassiers outside their wagon and gun barrier, they might be able to hold their own.

The Lubitzers began a steady rifle fire, and soon many of the enemy saddles emptied. Shouts and screams of pain reached her ears. The acrid stink of nitro powder assailed her nostrils.

Her small party reached the artillery teams at the front of the column, now her left flank. Her eyes scanned the length of the valley -- where the hell was Jans?

She gauged the safety of her flanks. The enemy regiment deployed in single line had a similar frontage to her position, 250 metres. But many of the cavalrymen would be unopposed where they came abreast of the artillery horses, they could thin out and send several squadrons around behind the position.

She heard a ragged cheer from the rear wagons and rode clear to see. Some of C Squadron's troopers had appeared on the road, perhaps two troops. They were five hundred metres from her right flank, could they reach the wagons before the cuirassiers cut them off?

She gathered her small party and cantered down the rear of the position to take control, thumbing fresh rounds into the carbine as she went. About a hundred of the cuirassiers veered off their left and turned toward the C Squadron troops. Gisel fired and led her tiny force into a charge against their flank. If she'd judged her timing right, her men would join her before she was cut off. They'd have to fight their way back to this defensive position.

She increased speed to a gallop, keeping her mount's head aimed toward the leaders of the enemy squadrons. Converging on them at a shallow angle, they kept up a steady fire as the separation narrowed. An enemy officer drew a flintlock pistol and fired back -- Gisel guessed the common troopers had no pistols.

At forty metres distant from the enemy -- about two hundred from her oncoming C Squadron men -- her pressure on the trigger produced only an empty click. Damn -- she couldn't possibly reload the magazine at a gallop. She looked at the others -- their expressions told her they had the same problem. She jammed the carbine back into its scabbard. "Draw sabres."

She thought briefly and then drew her pistol from its shoulder holster. Her men were at a tactical disadvantage for sabre work -- the enemy converged against their rein hands. Impossible to swing a powerful sabre-stroke -- difficult even to parry one from an opponent. Their nimble light-cavalry horses were much faster than the heavy-cavalry mounts, but some cuirassiers were still ahead of them. If the enemy veered right the heavier horses could crash against them, with their riders' sabre-arms free to make powerful strokes. She swerved to their left flank to cover her group.

The small rounds of her 7.65mm automatic would do little harm at the present 30 metre distance -- she must aim each shot at the cuirassiers' heads. She saw a man starting to swing toward them. She fired. His shining helmet flew from his head. The man threw himself forward over his mount's neck and swerved back among his companions.

A few more shots and the automatic was empty. She drew her katana.

Her oncoming troopers had almost joined them. Gisel thought to pass behind them, but they'd deployed into line. Couldn't reach their far flank -- would have to go between them and the cuirassiers. As she slowed her horse to turn behind her own men she heard the pounding of heavy hooves behind her. A glance over her shoulder -- a tall, red-haired officer rose up in his stirrups. His sabre flashed behind his head as he began a back-hand stroke at her.

She twisted in her saddle to parry with her katana. The swords met. Hers flew from her grasp. She felt herself reel in the saddle from the impact. The cuirassier raised his sabre for another blow. Her mount twisted beneath her and she tumbled to the ground.

Chapter Twenty-four

Gisel hit the ground hard and rolled. Hooves pounded toward her; before she could raise her head she saw an animal's belly as it jumped across her. An inconsequential thought came -- Ricart was right when he told her a horse would not deliberately trample anyone on the ground. Yeah, great -- but there were more. She raised her knees and rolled over -- sensing other riders aiming sabre strokes at her.

As long as she crouched on the ground their sabres couldn't reach her. One of the cuirassiers swung from his saddle and stepped toward her, sabre raised. More hooves pounded, coming closer. A shot rang out. Her assailant doubled over and fell, blood spraying from a great gash in his cuirass. That shot had to come from a carbine at close range.

"Get up, Major! Take my hand."

Lieutenant Bowns leaned down from his saddle toward her. She looked swiftly about -- the cuirassiers had drawn off. A group of C Squadron men surrounded her, their mounts steaming with sweat and blowing hard. She saw her katana, stuck in the ground about five metres away. She loped over to it, her back muscles and legs feeling as if a wagon had rolled over them. She pulled the katana from the ground and sheathed it, then drew her automatic and slid a fresh mag into the butt. "Are we ready to go? Where's my horse?"

Bowns walked his mount to her. "Your orderly has him, but the enemy are between us."

She glared. "Okay, give me your hand." She hated to ride behind a man -- like a damsel in distress. She grabbed the back of his saddle and his hand to pull herself up.

"Are you hurt, Major?" he said as she slid her left arm around his waist.

"Hell no! I'm still breathing -- I'm still fighting."

The troopers all grinned.

She could see as far as her column's position from the higher vantage point. The Imperial cuirassiers were ranged about on all sides -- sabres rising and falling. A thick group of horsemen tried to force their way into the gap between the last field gun and the last wagon. Regular rifle shots countered them.

She drew her automatic and gestured with it. "There's our objective. Take them in the rear."

"Our horses are blown, Major," Bowns said.

"I see that. Advance at the trot. Fire when you get a good shot."

As they started forward, she leaned out to see around Bowns' burly shoulders. A hundred metres to go, about half a minute. Enough time to fire off full magazines -- they'd have to attack with sabres if the enemy still held their ground. The odds didn't seem too bad -- she had fifty men against about a hundred.

She leaned forward to speak into Bowns' ear. "Echelon right -- aim at the left flank of those bastards." That would place the enemies' flank under their sabre arms -- the advantage would be hers this time. Aimed carbine shots sounded as her troopers spread right at Bown's signal.

Halfway there they reached the remnants of her foray -- three troopers and her orderly, still mounted and leading her gelding. The group of cuirassiers engaging them turned their mounts' heads and galloped off when they saw the force approaching.

"Look there!" a trooper riding beside them said, pointing.

Over a kilometer away, a large body of horsemen galloped down the hills toward them -- the sight of a wheeling field gun team on the summit above identified the force. Jans returning at last. She grabbed for her communicator. "Good to see you, Captain Jans. You hit their right flank, I'm engaging their left."

"Be there in five, Major."

She stuffed the communicator back in its pouch. Some of the cuirassiers ahead fell from her men's fire, others turned to see the attack bearing down on them. Some swung their mounts and raised their sabres in readiness -- others put spurs to their flanks and rode away. Gisel drew her pistol again and took aim at the face of an officer who attempted to rally them.

Her shot was one of several. The officer dropped his sabre and toppled from the saddle.

The first of her troopers reached the dismayed enemy and their sabres clashed. Her orderly appeared on her unengaged side with her gelding. Gisel leaned toward Bowns. "Let me off."

Bowns reined in and Gisel slid to the ground. Two cuirassiers swept out from among their fellows to attack. She had time to loose off several pistol shots before her troopers charged from behind. Bowns surged ahead, his sabre swinging.

She grabbed her gelding's bridle and the reins from her orderly. The horse, nervous from the clash and screams all about, pranced sideways, almost dragging her off her feet. "Steady, dammit!" She grabbed for the saddle and hauled herself up. An unhorsed cuirassier ran out of the melee. He swung his sabre at the belly of Bowns' horse. The animal reared in pain and terror. Gisel drew her katana and spurred at the attacker. He'd lost his plumed helmet, she aimed a downward stroke at his head. The razor-sharp blade sliced into his skull, blood and brains flying up. The shock of impact traveled up her arm. Beside her, a trooper leveled his carbine point blank at another cuirassier's breastplate. The shot sent the man crashing backwards in a spray of blood.

A babble of shouting came from the far end of the column. "They're falling back!" Thank Heavens -- Jans' force had taken the enemy in their other flank. They might just drive these bastards off. Gisel turned to urge a party of her troopers to follow. "Come with me. We'll put the run on some more!"

She led the men around the flank of the waivering cuirassiers and scattered a score of them attempting to regroup. The heavier crump of a field gun sounded -- Viens had the guns on the hill deployed.

Everywhere, their front cleared as the cuirassiers drew back. Several hundred began to rally about their regimental standard on a higher knoll. A bursting artillery shell sent them fleeing. Stragglers drew off from the front of the position and the whole body of the enemy streamed up the hill in retreat, bursting artillery rounds speeding them on their way.

Jans, at the head of his squadron, trotted across grass littered with enemy dead -- horses and men. He drew rein and saluted. "Sorry we didn't get here faster, Major."

She saluted back. Her first thought was to tear into him for endangering the whole force. He should have scouted for opposition before engaging the decoy -- but what the hell. She'd fallen into the trap as well -- some cavalry colonel had nearly bested them both. "I'm glad you arrived at all. Take your squadron up the hill -- they may yet reform and have another go at us."

Captain Reen rode up with a troop of men. She wiped blood and brains from her katana and put it away. "Reform the men, Captain. I'm going to tally our losses in the column."

She walked her mount into the space between the two vehicle lines, Lt. Bowns holding on to her stirrup and her orderly following behind. "Gather some of your troopers and round up loose horses. I expect we've lost quite a few mounts in this mess."

Her fears for her men were confirmed, they'd lost twenty and had half as many wounded. Some of the sabre wounds were likely fatal. About a hundred of the enemy lay on the valley dust and hillsides round about. She took her binoculars from her mount's saddlebags, and focused them on a party of cuirassiers watching from a crest two kilometers away. Would their commander gather enough of them to mount another attack?

An hour later, Gisel sat her horse beside Captain Viens at the head of the reformed column. The Lubitz Rifles were stationed by troops, in the front, the rear, and between the two artillery troops and wagons loaded with their wounded. Her cavalrymen sat their horses on each side of the road. Captains Jans and Reen cantered over to her. "Ready to move off, Major," Jans said. "What are your orders?"

Gisel pointed up the road they had been traveling. "We continue that way. Two troops of C Squadron scouting ahead; A Squadron following the crest on our right, in case those cuirassiers have another go. B Squadron rides as rearguard."

The captains exchanged glances, they were less than half the strength of the surviving enemy cavalry.

She smiled tightly. "Captain Viens has his guns loaded in the column. If we're pursued we drop the trails from the limbers and fire. Then the Cavalry form up on the guns."

Reen saluted. "I'll make the enemy keep their distance, Major."

"Good, but don't let them pin you. I haven't enough strength to send anyone back to help," Gisel said. "Lord Ricart is sending cavalry to meet us. I hope to contact them before nightfall. We'll be in better shape tomorrow."

The officers saluted and rode away to issue the orders. Gisel turned to Viens. "Captain, I want you to command the vehicle and artillery convoy."

"And the Lubitzers?"

"I'm going to speak with the senior NCOs as we ride. I'll have to appoint one of them to take command. He'll report to you on the march."

Captain Viens saluted as she rode away to attend to all the little organizational details built up over five days of continuous action. They'd had a narrow escape -- but she guessed the worst was ahead. As soon as she met Ricart's force, they'd have to ride for the Novrehan border.

*****

Commandante Zagdorf crossed the bridge out of Novrehan and rode to Prince Jeury's encampment on the meadows beside the river. Children played among the animals -- goats, horses, and female asses -- that wandered between the circular tent-like structures. They were called yurts and made of hemp and horsehair. He'd found them warm and comfortable for the few days Jeury had called him a guest and yet refused to discuss any decision about the army. Even now he hardly expected one, but the Prince had given leave for the Fifteenth Army's cavalry to advance to the border with Lubitz. The rest of the army must not leave its bivouacs a day's march southeast of Novrehan.

Zagdorf approved that the Strategos had taken direct command of the division -- if he couldn't move his whole army, at least he could use his cavalry to best advantage. Depending on what the Prince would permit. He suspected the Prince wanted to see the Iskanders in action. It amounted to a military demonstration to satisfy the whims of an erstwhile enemy, but the Strategos had agreed to the outrageous demand. With a hundred thousand Skathian horsemen on the border, he'd had no option to refuse.

It might be the most significant action the Fifteenth Army would manage -- Solerar's brother's plan to catch the Iskanders in a trap seemed to be unraveling. The radio telegraph between Novrehan and the Duke's headquarters had ceased, and the station commander here swore his equipment worked perfectly. It would be almost impossible to coordinate the movements of the two armies with only mounted couriers to pass messages.

He rode between the tents until he reached the largest, with the Skathian royal standard planted in the ground outside. Before he had time to dismount, a score of warriors appeared from the tents around, bows in their hands and arrows notched. "I am the Emperor's envoy -- come to speak to the Prince."

The flap of Jeury's tent swept aside and the Prince appeared in the opening. Zagdorf slid from the saddle and saluted. "The Strategos has the division ready to depart, Lord Prince."

"That pleases me. Does he come here for my instructions?'

"Here, Lord Prince? I was not aware you were placing him under your command."

"Do not be impertinent, Zagdorf, or my men will use your head for target practice. I want to know the Strategos' intentions."

Zagdorf took a deep breath. This barbarian was harder to take than the Emperor's courtiers, but he had to smile and bow his head. Just you wait, you little runt -- one way or another I'll see the Iskanders wipe the arrogance from your face. He and the Strategos had agreed, if they could maneuver the Iskanders to weaken themselves against the Prince's entourage, the Imperial cavalry could finish them off. He almost wanted the Iskanders to triumph over this Prince, but not enough to increase their power.

And the Wildcat was likely with them -- he'd seen her. This time he'd take her in chains, from the battlefield if need be.

"I will ask the Strategos to meet with you when we ride out, Lord Prince. I'm sure he is too busy with preparations to leave at the moment."

"I want to know which way he goes -- I see cavalry crossing the bridge at Novrehan."

"Yes, Prince. A flanking force -- if the main body finds the Iskanders holding too strong a position at the border, these will cross the river at Blackrock to attack their rear."

Prince Jeury bared a line of blackened teeth in a smile. "I like that. But no action starts without my permission."

"Will you accompany the division, Lord Prince?"

"No. But I shall be close at hand. A Skathian army does not move in a column -- it covers the land like a swarm of locusts. We shall be there even if you do not see us. Come to me yourself to report when you meet the Iskanders."

*****

Apprentice Murrin watched from the weather deck the whole time the Thalian Star took to enter the Shallow Sea and sail the navigable channel to the port of Sterdam. If he forgot about the rest of the voyage, it felt like coming home. As he scanned the city waterfront, a place he knew well, the ship dropped anchor in the fairway. Ahead of them, the Imperial warship "Magnus", which had escorted them from Whonmark, slackened sail and hove to.

Behind him, just up the companionway to the quarterdeck, he could hear the bosses arguing again. Lieutenant Cyrian and the naval officer both claimed command and guard over their cargo. Han Petkre, the Baron's man, had spoke as loud, holding on to ownership until they should come to anchor in an Imperial harbor. This harbor was such a one.

The Thalian master stomped over from his place behind the wheel. "I shall not take orders from any of you unless I meet some man of undisputed authority here. This is my ship and I can order any or all of you off it."

Murrin turned his head slightly to watch them out of the corner of his eye. He saw Cyrian grasp the hilt of his rapier. "I have guard over the ship and cargo. My commander owns the ship -- you cannot put me off."

The naval lieutenant gestured to the anchoring warship, its masts and yards alive with mariners furling the sails. "My commander's guard is more powerful -- and happens to be here. This cargo is under naval protection."

Han Petkre threw up his hands in disgust. "None of you has ownership of any credit. I purchased the cargo for the Felgers. It will please me if we stay at anchor here while I go ashore and contact someone in authority."

"That might take weeks," Cyrian said.

"No. I cannot agree to that," the naval lieutenant said. "My ship is to return to its station as soon as victualing is complete."

Cyrian laughed. "And as soon as that happens your Commodore loses any claim to my cargo."

The Master shook his head. "You may all argue, gentlemen, but I am sending a boat ashore as soon as we anchor. I shall ask the harbormaster to honor my authority as master of a Thalian ship. He cannot lawfully refuse me."

"And is there room on this boat for me?" Han Petkre demanded.

"For all who wish to go ashore. I shall launch all the boats if need be. My craft has needs for victuals and water too -- we shall anchor for seven days."

Murrin's breath caught. The city was but two days from his own place of birth -- he would have time to see Sara if he found a carter goin' that way. But what could he tell her? The Count may have a man watching her -- seems he had some care for the boy bastard he'd gotten by her. Should he ask Petkre or just go . . . no that would'na do. He had to make sure to go on with the engine to get the rewards Topaz had promised him.

By the time the Thalian Star had anchored the harbormaster's officers had done their duty, inspected the ship, and sailed away in their cutter, his idea to ask Petkre for leave lost its reason. Another cutter sped across the harbor to them, a small group of wealthy men standin' by the mast. Everyone waited on Thalian Star's deck to learn who these men might be.

The first up was a bodyguard of sorts, an older man but sprightly with a rapier at his side. Behind him came Garn Felger, the head of the company in Sterdam. The next climbed the ladder more slowly. Murrin recognized this man, heavier, with a gold chain across his vest, though he'd glimpsed him only once before. Petkre stepped forward to greet him. "My Lord Baron. How pleased I am to see you. You have ended a terrible concern of mine."

Baron Anton Felger smiled. "And you have eased a concern of mine. The engine is aboard?"

"That it is, Baron." Petkre smirked at the two officers. "And still under the ownership of the Felgers until you yourself choose to confirm the sale to his Imperial highness."

"And that shall I do in person. I mean to sail with you."

The very next day the Baron consented to speak with his artificer crew at his chambers ashore in the local Felger mansion. Murrin felt like a mouse that had gotten into the mansion's larders -- in fear that someone would pounce and send him scurrying. But his memory of Topaz's trust, had given him the courage to speak his name and qualification proudly, and the Baron was most gracious to all, even him. He summoned nerve enough to ask if indeed the ship had plans to stay a week . . . and if so, could he have the Baron's leave to be absent for five of those days . . . time enough to go home and see his family. The Baron consented.

The Baron was more gracious still, he had Garn Felger have his factors find a carter going in the right direction and secure him space. Which was how, late the next day, he rode beside the carter and his mate into the yard of a whitewashed farmhouse. "This be the place?" he asked.

"That tis. The Count have set his mistress here -- tis truth you wanted to come here? That is what you said."

The name of his enemy sent a stab of fear through him. Murrin nervously put a hand to feel the pistol in the waistband of his breeches. Come on, great fool . . . you'm a man o' affairs now -- no need be afeared. But the Count had set a price on his head. "And you'll wait in the village for me?"

"As Meister Felger's man told us. Go an' fetch the load an' come back to village to meet thee. Tis what thou wants . . . to go back to Sterdam?"

"In truth I do." He stared about at the outbuildings, clean and empty, unlike any farmyard he'd ever seen. "There be no animals here -- no bailiff or master neither?"

"Ah, does the Count tell us his business? Course not, lad. None do dare make mischief here -- the Count have twenty men in arms up at castle. Dost think any would trifle with they?"

"No. No, o' course not." He licked his lips. "But I promised my cousin I'd visit if I could."

"Well then, lad. Best climb off -- I ban't goin' drive this cart up through the door."

Murrin jumped down and reached back to take his bundle. "Tomorrow mornin' then. In the village."

The carter touched his forelock and turned his face toward the mate -- likely to share a smile. Murrin stood watching them ride off, feeling sure he heard their laughter before they disappeared around the bend in the road. He gaped at the farmhouse -- how much would it cost him to buy Sara another one as good? Likely the gold coins he'd taken from the boiler tubes could buy a house near as big, but he knew he dare not spend like they was his. Maybe a coin or two, he might borrow. He could even ask Topaz, but he'd been told not to use the demon machine to speak with anyone until he reached the destination.

A face appearing momentarily in a window brought him back to his surroundings. He picked up his bundle and walked up to the farmhouse door. Before he had a chance to knock, it opened before him, a small girl peering around the door at him. "What please be yer business, fellow?"

"I come to see Mistress Sara. She be here?"

"Who shall I tells her?"

"Her cousin, Slin Murrin. Come on leave from a ship in Sterdam. I mus' see her at once. . . . I do go back in the morrow."

He barely got the words out before a movement in the hallway made the girl glance around. Murrin stared into the shadows -- was it? Could it be? She stepped to the door, her eyes like a startled doe. She put a finger to her lips as she reached out a hand to take his sleeve. "Come in, Slin. But do take a care. Mistress Marcham do have the Count's ear in all my doin's. She be down the garden at the moment . . . us have until the carrots and onions be pulled for winter storage I do believe."

He followed her into a bright parlor and took in all the furnishings -- rockin' chair an' sideboard, settle an' long deal table, walls done up wi' pictures and shinin' horse brasses -- in the certain knowledge that he must one day provide such luxuries for her. Even to the fire in the chimney corner.

"Sit you down," she said, pointing to this. "Tell me how you fare."

"I be doin' capital, but I came to ask after you." He settled into the warmth of the bench under the wide chimney piece as she took the rocking chair beside him. She seemed bonny enough, perhaps more meat on her bones than when she'd been a slip of a girl. "You look well. Does . . . he . . . take good care of thee?"

"I scarce sees him these days. The boy is his only int'rest."

Murrin frowned. "He have cast thee off? Curse his fickleness."

She put a hand out to him. "No. Say nort bad, Slin. Tis no cause for my grief -- neither should it be your'n."

"But to take ... advantage ... an' then spurn thee. These lords do try a man's charity."

Sara smiled faintly. "He have a wife these days. I doubt he shall visit me . . . 'less she bears another daughter."

"Ye says the boy be his concern?"

"Indeed. He be the only male child he have begot. The boy will have great 'vantage when he should become a man."

"If'n the Count have no son by a lawful wife. If he do, thy boy would be a danger to the heir. Thou had best keep careful watch and be advised to leave -- be there any danger to each of thee." He reached into the leather pouch on his belt. "Best thou takes these two pieces. Keep them hid. They shall buy thee respite an' a place of safety if the Count turns agin' the boy."

"These be gold, Slin. Where hast got them? Ye haven't robbed some merchant --?"

He laughed. "Nay, lass. I be carryin' they on honest purpose. I do work for two o' the richest estates in the world."

Her eyes widened. "These be earnin's?"

"Well . . . not exac'ly. But I shall earn much more than these. When I gets a chance I shall tell the . . . Lady, that I have borrowed these."

Sara regarded him carefully. "Lady? Who be this Lady?"

"Ah. Not what thou thinks. She be a noble lady of great power an' fame. I cannot speak her real name, but she have placed a great trust in me. I shall do her biddin' in the Empire an' become a person of wealth an' power meself."

Sara put her hands to her face.

"When I have done the duty I bin given I shall return for thee, Sara. I shall take thee away an' we shall be wed ... if thou wishes. Dos't still wish that? We was pledged afore . . ."

Sara gasped and her eyes grew wet with brimming tears. "Oh, Slin! Tis not possible. What of the boy? The Count will seek us down."

"Ah, he might try. But I shall have a greater power than he at my back."

Chapter Twenty-five

Gisel rode into a lofty stand of stately beech trees at the rear base area she'd set up before her first attack on Solerar. Hidden under the trees were tents for her wounded, and heavy transport filled with supplies that would have hindered her rapid movement. A troop of cavalry and her last three empty supply carts followed her along the approach trail. The picket on duty galloped down to her from his vantage point. "Sergeant will be glad to see you, Major. Does you want us to get ready to move?"

"I've returned to take you with me," she said. "How are our wounded doing?"

The trooper lowered his head momentarily. "Three has died, but the rest is lookin' well."

"May the Flame protect them." She blinked away tears that tried to fill her eyes -- the strain of command was catching up to her. She'd taken a close interest in caring for her wounded and moving them to a safe place. She'd need another opportunity to dare fate if her Wildcat persona was to reassert itself. "Ride ahead, lad, and tell the sergeant I'm here."

When she dismounted in the encampment a few minutes later, the sergeant walked out of a makeshift tent erected between two wagons, some of the walking wounded following him. Beside the sergeant strutted a short swarthy figure in Iskander uniform -- of course -- this was Captain Naserdin who Ricart had sent to her. She'd first seen him at the Margrave's reception. The man must have the senses of a wolf to find this hidden camp without a guide -- or else Skathians were as expert at tracking as rumor held.

Gisel saluted. "Captain Naserdin? I'm glad to meet you again."

He answered her salute, but his eyes held no welcome. "I wish I could admit the same, Major, but I think we may both curse the day that has brought us together."

Gisel steeled herself not to appear taken aback. "Lord Ricart has sent you with information for me?"

The Skathian inclined his head. "When you are ready for it, we will talk."

Gisel turned away from him to speak to her own men. "Pack everyone up, Sergeant. We're going back to the Novrehan border."

"With the wounded, Major?"

"Not all the way. I expect to meet an ammunition column on the road. I'll send the wounded with the returning wagons."

Naserdin turned to her. "These wagons are supposed to have the ammunition for Lord Ricart's big guns."

"Yohan didn't say. One of the barges is stranded with a broken down tug, but I believe both were to carry the same mix of ammo. Do you want to go back to Ricart with them?"

Naserdin waited until the sergeant marched away before answering. "His lordship orders me to stay to advise you. He believes Prince Jeury could be with the Empire's advance troops."

Gisel felt her breath catch. Wasn't one enemy enough? "They are in alliance?"

Naserdin shook his head. "The politics are against that, but Lord Ricart wants you to make certain. Let us walk over this way. The men should not hear what I have to say."

Gisel breathed slowly and deeply to still her racing heartbeat as they walked to the edge of the trees around the small clearing. This sounded very bad. She should have taken Yohan's advice and stayed out of this campaign, but this seemed to be a political task, and she had more experience of political matters than these soldiers.

Naserdin stopped and placed a hand to the heavy, curved sword he wore. "I cannot believe Prince Jeury will form an alliance with the Empire. They have been enemies for two hundred years. His father, the Great Khan, has executed men for even visiting there. No, I believe the Prince has come here to learn what the Iskanders can do."

"And having an Imperial army in Novrehan to send against us is just a convenience? He's cynical enough to watch men die for his education?"

Naserdin nodded. "I fear so. He is easily that cruel. The Prince is not a lovable man, but he is honorable in his own way. Lord Ricart met the Prince many years ago when he traveled in my country, he believes he can be appealed to -- from a position of strength."

"If we had strength we wouldn't need to appeal. Does Ricart think I'm the one to meet him?"

Naserdin regarded her slowly, as if testing her against some standard in his mind. "He thinks highly of you . . . and there is your success with the Lubitz truce as further example of your qualification."

"But I know almost nothing about Skathians. Even the language -- you'll have to be my interpreter."

"That will not be necessary -- the Prince speaks Scholar's Greek, and I believe you know it also. As for knowledge about him . . . that is why Lord Ricart sent me to you."

"Then you'd better fill me in. How close to the rulers are you?"

He straightened his posture. "I am the son of a Gaffir, the chief of household and adviser to a royal prince."

"There's more than one royal prince?"

"About twenty that matter. The Great Khan makes alliances by taking wives. Prince Jeury has already taken six or seven, even though he prefers boys, and has no certainty of succeeding his father."

Gisel made sure not to show a reaction -- it wasn't her place to judge the Skathian. "His brothers are rivals then -- and this huge army of horsemen are his own followers?"

"I do not doubt they are. All except those who remain in Tashkand to keep a finger on the pulse of his father's court."

"So coming here for half the year is politically dangerous for him? If his father were to die --"

"Yes, his brothers would attempt to oust him."

"Then he must have come to get something pretty important. Do you know what it could be?"

"The Skathians are more a traditional society than the Trigons. Iskander's developments could be even more subversive to them."

Gisel's heart fell. "Then he's come to stop us."

"Or to keep Iskander from becoming the Empire's tool. That would be as bad for them."

Gisel looked down and kicked at a clump of grass. "Or perhaps the Empire's ally. We have one bargaining chip there, but little to back it."

"I think bargaining with the Prince would be a death warrant. His person is almost sacred to our people, one does not speak against him and live."

"Oh great. Ricart sends me to get my head cut off? I doubt Jeury'd even listen to a woman."

"That is a concern, but Ricart thinks he will find you novel. If he senses your . . . what can I call it? Your power and charisma . . . he will pay more attention than to many others."

"Talk about a fatal compliment, but let's get on. What do you suppose has passed between Jeury and this Imperial army? It's likely that Zagdorf is in Novrehan."

"Yes, your enemy. Let us hope he is engaged elsewhere. The latest information Lord Ricart received is that only the cavalry element of the Empire troops is moving forward. The rest of the Fifteenth Army is camped about a day's march from the city."

"Ah, Ricart has some good intelligence to know even the identity of the force. Where did he get it from?"

"I believe a man you know has reported to Colonel M'Tov -- an agent called Markov. He has told us the army is commanded by the Strategos of a province in the east. This army has been withdrawn from those forces guarding the eastern frontier against the Skathians."

"So the Khan was likely aware it was on the move -- at about the same time Prince Jeury decided or was instructed to come here."

"Very likely."

"These two big pieces were sent across the board to smash a few pawns?" Gisel shook her head reflectively. "Maybe we're bigger fish to them than we supposed. I wonder what the kicker is?"

"It has to do with your knowledge."

"Yeah -- and they both want us to can it. What else does Ricart want from me?"

"He hopes you can keep the Fifteenth's cavalry division tied down until he can extricate the division from this noose. Given enough time, the two Lubitz forces -- Garriker's and the Kachupins -- can smash the troops marching away from Newtown before they find a new crossing to join Solerar's main army. Ricart thinks you did a good job on the bridge, we believe they are days away from repairing it."

"Glad he thinks I've done something right. So if he has enough time he can chase Solerar away from Leki?"

"That is his intention. With a secure fortress at their backs and the Leki and Lubitz armies providing the infantry strength, the allies could meet the Fifteenth with some hope of success."

"Provided Solerar scuttles into Makberg with his tail between his legs."

Naserdin smiled for the first time, but she saw little humour in it. "He has no radio now -- he has no idea what is happening on the Novrehan front."

"Except by dispatch riders traveling through the Moonwald. A pity we didn't have a spare squadron to leave there."

"The fact that you were seen there could mean they are detouring right around the area. That would add another day to their journey."

"At least." Gisel stared off into the trees, but didn't see a single one. What must she concentrate on? Ricart was in charge of the fight against Solerar, so what happened here was no longer a concern of hers. Assuming the Imperial cavalry from Novrehan intended to advance until it could smash into his rear, there was only one place she should be -- somewhere along the high road between that city and Leki. That would put her beside the Makberg River, upstream of Abersholm -- all territory she had come to know well.

Somewhere on her way there she must meet the ammunition column -- as long as the Imperial cavalry didn't find it first! How much time did she have? No steady and deliberate advance to the Novrehan border as she'd intended -- she'd have to send the light cavalry on ahead to gather intelligence. And how the hell was she supposed to meet Prince Jeury with several thousand Imperial cavalry getting in the way?

She walked back into the campsite still worrying over the puzzles. The men had the camp ready to move. She was pleased to see they had loaded the wounded into their two- wheeled carts and left the clumsier wagons empty. Since they'd dropped off the captured officers along the road -- with two days' food and instructions to keep walking -- and used up two cartloads of forage, they'd enough room on all of them.

She mounted up and sat her horse beside Naserdin, watching her men make the final preparations to leave. "How can you help me with the Prince? Can I send you to him as an envoy?"

"If you wish to see me killed. I left Skathia because of blood feud."

"Great. So I have to make sure you stay out of his sight?"

"Perhaps not. My feud is with the followers of a rival brother of his, but one thing you must understand. Skathians are very superstitious people, driven by signs and omens. No one may predict how they may respond to a given situation -- the Prince could even befriend me. But I would rather not take the chance."

"Shit! And I'm supposed to make a logical plan to deal with him? I may as well wing it."

Naserdin stared at her with his small dark, Skathian eyes. "I'm told you do that well. You have a soldier's luck."

"Sure I do, and half the poor devils die on every campaign."

*****

Nagat stood on the foredeck of Tug Two, holding his toolbox with the other three artisans as the vessel nosed slowly against the broken down tug. The deck crews of both tugs tossed heavy lines across the narrowing gap between them and quickly wrapped them around the mooring bitts. Tug Two's leading hand, a man called Torgus, stepped up to them. "Well, lads, hurry and jump across. Was ye expectin' us to lay a carpet for tha?"

The chief artisan didn't answer, but waited until the bulwarks had settled solidly together. "I'll cross first. Pass they toolboxes to me."

Nagat leaned over to hoist his into the man's arms. He had been no more'n a day aboard, an' already he hated Torgus. He swung a leg over the bulwarks and scrambled across to the broken down tug. As the next toolbox was passed across to them, he eyed Torgus over the chief artisan's shoulder. A Frendlander; Petros had told him Torgus had been aboard the Swift when some mechanic had been murdered. The tavern wench Dorna's information suggested Torgus was an enforcer for the Felgers. He had yet to get that word to Petros.

Petros said the Wildcat was concerned about the business. She had placed the murdered mechanic in the Partnership's employ -- doubtless more were happenin' than met the eye. He'd best keep his wits sharp, and make sure friend Torgus didn't stand too long behind his back. Why had he been so stupid as to tell Markov's name to Berzoni? It were jus' as dangerous as his own.

As the rest of his crew transferred to the silent tug, he looked about, surprised to see two men carrying Iskander weapons. Closer inspection revealed an Iskander swivel gun, mounted on a platform beside the wheelhouse -- another stood on the other side. These were the same weapons that had decimated enemy infantry in Tarnland, smoothbore breech loaders which could fire canister, grapeshot and ball. Now he could guess some of the Wildcat's business in Lubitz -- protection for the Partnership's vessels.

The engineman of the broken down tug clambered up from the engineroom hatch. "Come this way, gents. Ye'll find the sick horse this-a-way."

Nagat saw the chief artisan scowl, obviously not impressed at the man's attempt to laugh off the trouble. Likely the breakdown was the engineman's fault, but this seemed no unusual mischance. When he'd been in the Iskanders' works in Tarnland, mistakes and outright dull-witted neglect had been a constant bane. The Wildcat had spoken of it when she had saved his neck and sent him on his way. Training a workforce that knowed nothing but driving oxen or furlin' the sails o' windmills, to understand machines an' engines was no easy job. She'd said their best machines must wait until the sons of these workers were ready trained to handle them.

They climbed down to the engine and spent some time looking it over. The eccentric rod had bent and put the valve timing all at odds. Likely the steam valve had seized in its slide from a lack of oil -- definitely the engineman's fault.

The chief artisan turned to him. "We shall needs have a smithy fire to straighten this rod. Would you set one up on deck?"

Nagat nodded. "I shall ask the tug's master to give his leave, sir."

The tug's crew helped carry the bellows and brazier across from the other tug and two of the firemen brought up coal from the bunkers and helped him light the fire. He was just getting a nice glow in the coals with a fireman pumping the bellows when Torgus climbed across to watch. He stood beside Nagat silently awhile before looking at him with a sly grin. "They says your name is Markov. There was a man of that name on a crossin' of the Swift some days ago -- but you is not the same."

"Markov is a common name about the Inland Sea. My given name is Swen -- what was this feller's?"

Torgus shrugged. "I don't think I heard it. He was some tradin' feller . . . had a withered hand. Dos't know him?"

Nagat shook his head. "No kin o' mine. I come through Makberg, afore this fightin' closed the road. I bin told th' Iskanders was good folk to work for -- is that your billet?"

Torgus wrinkled his nose. "I'm a Felger man, through an' through. This Partnership is as close to they as I'd choose to get. They has brought down the Empire's wrath on this land -- I hopes they knows how best to appease it."

Two of the machinists appeared through the engineroom hatch, lugging the eccentric rod between them. Nagat and a fireman hurried to help them lift it. He was glad to leave his companion's side -- this Torgus was certainly not the man he'd hoped to befriend on these tugs. Not someone to tip him off about the Partnership's business and warn him about the Wildcat -- but he had learned enough to keep clear of him. This man was a heavy for the Felgers, placed to watch their interests. Aboard the sickly tug he might find a friend -- perhaps the slothful engineman. Now there was a feller in need of makin' friends.

Chapter Twenty-six

As the day wore on Gisel's main force rounded a bend and she saw the supply wagons on the road. She galloped up to the leading wagon, which Yohan was driving, and slid from the saddle onto the wagon's step. Yohan stood to haul her up beside him. They kissed, long and hard.

She'd begun to fear he had fallen afoul of the Imperial cavalry. "You had trouble on the road?"

"We were shadowed by some horsemen around midday. Luckily, we met your Captain Jans and he sent a troop to chase them off."

"You were angry at me for getting into this war, but at least I have a battalion of troops behind me. Look at you -- a dozen wagons manned by old men and boys."

Yohan shook his head, he sat back onto his seat and hauled on the lead oxen's rein. He turned to the lad sitting beside him, the boy's eyes wide on Gisel and her weapons. "Get down, lad. Stop this team before we reach the column before us."

As the lad ran forward to stop the team of four oxen, Gisel studied Yohan with a smile on her face. His fine, merchant captain's breeches were brown with earth and ox-shit, his shirt smudged with sweat and grass stains, and his boots thick with mud, but his eyes were bright and he looked to be enjoying himself. "Is the Partnership's manager supposed to be so dirty?" she said with a laugh.

He glanced down at his clothes and shrugged. "Your uniform is a lot dirtier than it was two weeks ago. But you're all right -- no injuries?"

"Only to my pride. I lost Laon a few days ago, he died protecting me."

"Oh no! Tell me what happened."

She looked away from him. Their two columns were almost nose to nose on the road. Her lead troop of Lubitz Rifles pulled off and let Yohan's oxen halt just short of the horse team of the leading field gun. She didn't want to remember Laon's death right now -- she was with Yohan. She must immerse herself in this intimacy -- it could only be fleeting. "Can't tell you right now. We need to divide up your stores and my wounded. You should hurry back to Blackrock and get your work crews away. There's a column of Imperial cavalry headed their way."

Yohan spread his hands. "In this? It's taken me two days to come this far."

"I'll give you a horse. More if you need them -- you have an escort? I think I see some of my Partnership guards on the next wagon."

"I brought two of the men from Tug One, but this convoy needs an escort."

"Then I'll send it on under my protection. I can spare a few men." Her words rang in her ears -- it could be that she'd spare the lives of the men she sent to Ricart with the ammunition. The rest of them were needed at Thermopylae to stop the enemy.

"I'm looking for a place to camp for the night," Yohan said. "These animals need to rest and feed after those hills behind us."

Gisel glanced around at the wooded hillsides, growing shadowed as the sun neared the horizon. "We can stop to rest awhile after we get the loading done. You saw my leading squadrons -- I have Jans and Reen out in front as a protective screen, but I must get the heavy hitters on the road again before night ends."

Sgt Major Cubbins rode up and saluted. "Do we march on, Major, or shall we rest and feed the horses?"

"I think we should locate a safe bivouac -- give men and horses a few hours rest. What about that knoll over there? Park the guns pointing out and finish the perimeter with these wagons and our carts. Tell the men we can have cookfires -- tomorrow we'll be closer to the enemy and won't want to advertise our presence."

Cubbins saluted. "I understand, Major, I'll make sure they don't light fires too close to the ammunition."

Gisel watched him ride away. She was becoming fond of the old soldier, she'd send him to command the ammunition wagons and escort. C Squadron's lieutenant should have recovered enough from his wound to ride with his men. She started to climb over Yohan's legs to get back to her mount.

He put his arms about her to stop her leaving. "So we have a few hours together?"

"If I can spare the time. I have a battalion to command."

"I'll have a bed made up in the back of this -- if you don't mind sleeping on boxes of sixty-pounder ammunition. I think the battalion commander deserves a rest, too. I'll bet you've been going night and day."

"You want me to sleep with you?" She grinned. "And get a good rest? What's the matter with you -- taken a vow of chastity?"

"By the Flame, Gisel. I'd hardly thought of that. It's just . . . I have something I should tell you."

His expression was strained, about as guilty as she'd ever seen him. That damned contraband engine, maybe Durden's murder. With the task ahead of her she owed him the time to get it off his chest -- this might be their last time together. She couldn't tell him that, she'd have to make sure he didn't get a clear idea of their mission. She wondered about telling him even more, about her -- her menses were almost a week late. It could be the strain of all the riding . . . but then she realized it was something she shouldn't tell him. Not if she didn't come back.

By nightfall they were all sitting around campfires eating a hot meal and yarning. When the soup kettles were empty, Sgt Major Cubbins instructed the men to bake bread on the ashes. "Cover the kettles with turves -- have a care for the ammunition wagons at night."

Yohan spoke occasionally to Captain Naserdin, but seemed to have trouble understanding his accent. When the captain turned in, leaving Gisel and Yohan beside the fading ashes, he queried her about him.

"An aide of Lord Ricart," she said. "He sent him to me when I lost Laon, but the Lubitzers seem in better spirits if I command them."

Yohan seemed to accept her lie, but didn't leave his line of questioning. "You know there is a large army of Skathians on the border? People are afraid, wondering why they have come."

"The army is monitoring them. We have no reason to suppose they mean us any harm -- they could as easily be watching the Empire forces."

"What of the army I reported to you?'

"The Imperial Fifteenth Army? Still at Novrehan, our agents tell us. Except for the cavalry."

"What is your mission, Gisel? They must be a much larger force than yours."

She shook her head.

He leaned toward her, his brows knitted. "Now, don't plead military secrecy with me. I know you'd tell me if you wanted to."

"Ricart is on the way back from Makberg -- I'm scouting ahead for him."

"Then why does he want this ammunition taken further west? It could wait here for him."

"Not in our army. We don't take anything for granted. We keep the caissons full."

Yohan stared at her, as if he might test her words in the light of the flickering flames. "And what happens when you meet the Imperial cavalry? Do you fall back . . . scurry away to Ricart as fast as possible? No . . . don't try to tell me that -- I know why you insisted on getting these field guns. You mean to fight."

Gisel kicked some clods back over the dying fire. "Time to go to bed, if we mean to rest. I'll put some of my men on the wagons and give you their horses before I leave. You need three?"

"Don't change the subject, Gisel."

She stood up slowly and faced him. "Okay . . . I mean to give them a bloody nose. But I'll be damned sure not to lose the battalion. Now stomp out the fire and come to bed, I'm beginning to think you found a girlfriend at Blackrock."

He jumped up and put a hand out toward her. "Gisel! That's not funny. You know me better than that."

She put her arms around him and nuzzled against his cheek. "When did you shave last? I hope you don't intend to give me a whisker rash." Then she laughed. "We stink, I haven't touched any water since I dived in the river at Newtown. You've only been on the road two days but you smell as if you've been sleeping with these oxen."

"Don't. You're embarrassing me."

They reached the back of the ammunition wagon, arm in arm, and Yohan put a hand up to the tailgate. "Do you need a lift?"

Gisel jumped up, caught the edge with both hands and hauled herself up. She twisted to roll over into the back of the wagon and then crawled to the tailgate on hands and knees to look down at him. "No, do you?"

"I can manage, thanks." He placed a foot on a rear wheel and heaved himself up, banging his head on a chain hanging from the canopy.

"Can't you see?" she said with a chuckle. "Want me to strike a light?"

"Don't be silly -- this is an ammunition wagon."

"I feel silly. I'm so glad to see you . . ." she reached forward to hold him around the waist and pull him into the wagon on top of herself. "Where's your boy? I hope he's not in here listening to us."

"I sent him to camp with some soldiers. He thinks he's in some boyish heaven."

"I don't want anyone listening to us. These men have treated me like a sister, but I'll bet they're all as horny as hell. I've kept them away from villages."

"If you don't want to be heard, you'll need to scream quietly."

Gisel ran her hand across his breeches until she found his belt buckle. "You mean business. Good, I thought you'd lost interest in me." She undid his belt and pulled at his breeches. Then she guided his hand to the zipper pull of her combat fatigues. They squirmed out of their clothes and found the blankets Yohan had piled on the ammunition boxes.

Gisel found the air cool on her naked skin but she wrapped herself tightly around Yohan. She pulled away so he could slide a hand to her breasts and insinuated a hand between them to hold his erect member.

"Careful, darling. I might . . ."

"Then I'll just have to get you up again."

They kissed, their breath merging as they gently stroked one another's bodies. She rolled onto him and lifted up to slide him into her.

Yohan's breath caught.

"Are you nearly there?"

"Yes, go slowly. Lean down and let me kiss you."

She slid up and down on him. "You don't mind me on top?"

"It's not going to be for very long if you . . . Oh! Ohh!"

She felt him ejaculate inside her and stopped moving. She pressed herself tightly to him, concentrating on the feel of his orgasm. When he stopped she placed her mouth lightly on his. "Let's just lie quietly like this."

"Sorry . . . I . . ."

"I don't mind. We have hours yet, I set the march for four."

"I wanted you to rest, as well."

"I am resting, being in your arms is rest enough."

They kissed again and then lay quietly. He put his hand to her face and ran a finger down her chin. "Gisel . . . I have something to tell you."

"You already said that, when we met this evening."

He was silent awhile. "The Felgers are deceiving you, I'm smuggling a steam engine to the Empire for them."

"Yes, I know."

He jerked convulsively and tried to sit up. His flaccid penis slipped out and released the semen from her. "Oh . . . I . . ."

"Here," she said. "I've a cloth ready. I think it's your best kerchief."

He took it and dabbed at them both. "How did you know? When did you find out?"

"You didn't suppose Iskander keeps no track of its major products? Inland Lakes Transportation reported the sale."

"To you?'

"I was informed." She decided to keep the half-truths going. Was it kinder than admitting her part in the sting? "Wasn't it aboard the Swift when we came to Lubitz? The shiplaylower in the water than the manifest said it should."

Yohan placed the cloth aside and lay down. He pulled her back against him. "You're too smart. I can never fool you."

"But I was worried when Durden was murdered. It had something to do with the engine, didn't it?"

"I had nothing to do with the murder. You must believe me, Gisel!"

"I do. It's not your style, but I knew you were avoiding answering my questions."

"You know who the murderer was?"

"I think it was a man called Torgus. Did the Baron send him? Who is his next target -- me?"

"No! Of course not. The Baron did send him, but didn't order him to kill anyone. Durden must have acted suspiciously. Was he working for Iskander?"

"Iskander? No."

"For you, then?"

She raised up to look at his face. How did he guess she had her own network? "You've been too observant. I'll come clean -- Durden was taking something to the Empire for us. I assume that was why he was killed."

"Taking what?"

"I can't tell you. He was to report back to us about the Empire's steam progress. I could see killing him for that -- if Torgus was Zagdorf's man. But what's the Baron's problem?"

"He has been summoned to the Empire. He needs the steam engine to show the Emperor he has his interest at heart and works to his advantage as well. Does that do Iskander great harm?"

"I think you know it doesn't. We're starting to produce better engines. Iskander decided sending the engine could help us -- showing the Emperor what he's missing by making war. But why kill Durden?"

"The Baron did not know. He just said Torgus was to ensure that only loyal Felger men went with it."

Gisel lay silently again, sliding away a little until she was only half across him. Was that really all Yohan knew? It didn't tell her how Torgus had found out Iskander had subverted Durden. If the Baron knew, he'd left Yohan out of the loop -- keeping the secrets from getting too close to her.

Yohan stroked her breast. "What had Iskander done with Durden?"

"We trained all your technicians. You know that."

"And you know I'm not asking that. Iskander's novelty has started a ferment among the lower orders of society . . . it's happening everywhere . . . they think they are as good as their lords and masters."

"Aren't you as good as any lord? What about me?"

"Don't try your specious tricks on me, Gisel. You know what a danger that could be to all Gaian society."

"Are you suggesting Iskander does this deliberately?"

"No, but are you doing your best to stamp it out?"

Did Yohan know the way she'd taken care of the Brotherhood's meeting in Lubitz? She didn't doubt that the Misikers had informants in the city's government, and could have told him. "We are monitoring activity. You know we often do things differently than Gaians would."

"How differently?"

"Guiding, not killing." She ran a hand down his belly to feel his penis -- he began to stir in her hand.

"Don't, Gisel. This is important."

"And I cannot tell you any more. Let me say something to you."

He reached down to take her hand from him. "What is it?" His voice was grudging.

"If I can't get to the Misikers . . . I mean if I'm delayed." Whoops, she'd almost given her secret away. "I want you to tell them how Laon died."

"Very well."

She told him about the raid on the bridge and how she'd been the only one who knew how to set the explosive charges. "We were the last ones left on the bridge. The fuses were very short, so the enemy could not cut our charges loose. Laon covered me while I lit them. He took a pistol ball -- right in the face."

"You're sure -- you saw him?"

"He was right beside me. He died saving the mission, saving me. It was a hero's death -- tell them that."

"By the Flame! What about you? I knew you'd be doing something this reckless!"

"I had time to shoot his assailant and dived off into the river." She placed her hand back on him and he immediately grew a hard erection. "Make love to me again, Yohan. Take me away from these memories. I need you so much."

Chapter Twenty-seven

When the sounds of firing came from ahead, Gisel pulled her gelding off the road and waved Captain Jans forward. She whipped out her communicator. "B Squadron -- are you engaged?" No answer, Reen was likely too busy. She looked at the sun, partly obscured by low cloud -- it was mid afternoon. Her men had been on the move for twelve hours, ever since she'd left the bivouac they'd shared with Yohan's wagons.

A Squadron set off at a gallop, the riders fanning out until they spanned the whole valley between the wooded hillsides, their carbines held at the ready in one hand, the way she'd shown them. Captain Naserdin left her side to gallop away to the east. Lieutenant Bowns now had C Squadron, whose senior lieutenant had been wounded. Bowns spurred up to her and she pointed up the hill to her left where Naserdin headed. "Take your squadron to the high ground. When you can see, tell me what the hell is going on. If you get a chance, take the enemy in flank."

He saluted and galloped back to gather his men. Another volley of firing sounded -- definitely Iskander cavalry carbines. This sounded like more than a skirmish. She looked at the sky again to see a group of ravens twisting and turning as they followed A Squadron. Would that Iskander could offer her more eyes in the sky.

Captain Viens rode ahead of his guns. "Do we deploy, Major? What is our front?"

"Damned if I know. Spread the guns in an arc across the valley floor. I'll post the Lubitz Rifles among them." She wished she could ride after the others to see what was happening, but it wasn't possible. In defence, her post was with the main force until the situation became clear. She galloped her horse down to the nearest Lubitz men to send her orders to the separate troops. The loss of just one radio, the one Laon had carried, hampered her more than she expected. To send orders to the Rifle company she'd need to keep a couple of messengers at her side.

Her communicator crackled, then she heard Captain Reen's voice. "Imperial lancers . . . a whole regiment. We're falling back."

"A Squadron is coming forward. C is on the hills to your east. I'm deploying the guns -- lead the enemy onto them."

"If . . . we can. They're right on us."

"Keep coming. Captain Jans can't be far away." She beckoned for a messenger rider to follow and galloped away to the first of her supply wagons. The sergeant on the first one signaled its driver to stop and stood up on the footboard as she approached. "Keep coming," she shouted. "Position the wagons across the back of the guns -- make a laager."

She turned her gelding's head to gallop back to the guns. Scattered firing sounded again. "Captain Reen -- I need to know how far you are away."

"Don't know, Major . . .. Maybe a league."

"I'm going to fire a ranging shot with the guns. Shout like hell if we're short!"

She hauled back on the reins as she reached the centre gun. "Captain Viens -- two guns, one round HE, ranging. Straight down the valley, three kilometers. What's the elevation?"

"No idea, Major. What about shrapnel? Three seconds fuse."

"Good idea. Fire high, we don't want to kill our own men."

Before the guns could fire, a heavy volley sounded in the distance. That'll be A Squadron engaged. "Captain Jans -- watch for high shrapnel bursts."

There was no answer, just an agonizing wait. At last, a voice answered. "Jans here -- we've joined the fighting but there are too many for us."

Gisel signalled to Viens and the two fifteen pounders fired. "Shrapnel on its way. Try to see the bursts."

Two puffs in the sky blossomed on the heels of her words. "Aim more west and come down," came Jans' voice. "The bursts were over my shoulder."

Viens watched her for instructions. "Right one hundred, come down about five degrees. Two more shrapnel at three seconds." She was guessing and hoped Viens would make a good estimate of a hundred yards lateral shift at that distance. Her brain balked at trig calculations in the heat of the moment.

The guns fired.

Gisel raised her communicator. "C Squadron -- Bowns, where are you?"

"Just at the crest, Major. There are horsemen here -- Captain Naserdin says they are Skathian. What shall I do?"

"Leave them -- for shit's sake! How many?"

Captain Jans' voice broke in. "Those shots did a bit of damage. The lancers have backed off a bit. Come down eight hundred yards."

Viens waved at her -- he'd heard and was making the corrections. She heard Bowns again, "Just a dozen or so. Captain Naserdin says to follow them along the ridge."

The guns fired again -- four this time. She tried to think what Naserdin was up to. If the Skathians were up on the ridge it could mean that the Empire troops were not -- but surely he didn't intend to get behind them. "C Squadron -- recall. I repeat -- recall. Come down to support the guns."

"By th'Flame! Right'on!" Reen's voice, so excited she could barely understand him. "Those landed right in among'em. They're wavering."

"Another salvo, Captain Viens," she shouted. "C Squadron -- Bowns. Are you coming back?"

"Yes, Major, but the Captain is riding on."

"Leave him." She hoped Naserdin knew what he was doing. She swung around to stare down the valley -- in the distance she could see her cavalry squadrons coming back. Four shrapnel shells seemed to burst right above them -- they looked frighteningly close but she knew the musket balls inside would continue on before reaching the ground.

Half a minute passed before she learned the effect. "You can hold your fire," Captain Jans said, his voice sounding calm and measured. "They've turned tail. Permission to follow?"

Gisel frowned -- shit, how could she be expected to switch from withdrawal to attack so quickly? But Jans was right -- they should keep contact. "Take your squadron after them, Captain Jans. Just a troop ahead to keep contact -- I don't want another fight. They could be drawing us onto their main body now."

"I understand. I'll keep my distance."

A body of horsemen appeared between the trees to her left. She stared for what seemed an age before she recognised C Squadron's standard. Along the valley to their front came B Squadron, several men helping their fellows stay in the saddle. They drew rein beside the guns.

"Ten men lost, Major," Reen reported, with a salute. "Five are still mounted but they need attention."

She looked at her medical orderlies. "Take these wounded back to the wagons." Reen led her over to the bloodstained troopers, and she gently lifted one man's hand from a long gash in his thigh. "What kind of wounds are these?"

"Glancing lance points, Major. Our firing kept them from taking steadier aim."

"Clean them well," she said to the corporal orderly. "Disinfect and give the wounded pain killers. They'll have to ride in the wagons for a couple of hours before you can set a tent for them."

The coporal saluted and helped lift the man from his horse. Gisel regarded her nearby officers and NCOs. "We'll remain here at alert until we hear from Captain Jans. Good work gunners -- and you cavalrymen. Spread the word that everyone did very well -- I think we could have held off a much larger force than that -- we looked ready. But have the men prepare to continue the advance -- I want to find a position further south than this. Along the next valley we can rest one flank on the Makberg River."

By the time they were ready to move off again, a detachment of A Squadron troopers came in with four more wounded they'd collected from the battlefield. Captain Naserdin rode with them. Gisel motioned him to ride with her a short distance away from the column. "What were you doing, Captain?"

"Trying to make contact with the Skathians, Major. If we could send a message to the Prince --"

"Did you need all C Squadron for that?"

"I felt that if we followed but made no attempt to close the tribesmen would stop to challenge us. I'd have a chance to send our message by them."

"So -- what happened?"

"I lost them. I can try again if we see more."

"You said you didn't want the Prince to catch you -- aren't you taking a chance?"

"Yes, but there could also be reward if he can be put in contact with Iskander. I'm sure his interest is more on us than on the Imperial forces. Those men were maneuvering to watch you, not the lancers."

"But if he means to investigate Iskander, why not force the Imperial troops to back off?"

Naserdin smiled crookedly. "He will not act until he's seen your mettle. I think another of your Wildcat exploits may be called for."

*****

Zagdorf sat his horse beside the Strategos and seethed with anger as the commander of the lancers came back to report. What a hangdog crowd! They had been thoroughly trounced and chased away. He wasn't sure how big an Iskander force was coming to meet them but it was certainly no larger than the Lancer Regiment.

The valley of the Makberg River stretched over a league wide at this point; the hills of the Moonwald showing over the ridgeline to their left across the river. The road they followed little more than a dusty track that wound this way and that over knolls and around clumps of trees that extended to the marshes fringing the water. Behind them, the whole column of three regiments waited on the road, the horses snorting and stamping their hooves.

The Strategos looked impassive. His shining helmet had a nose piece which made his face seem longer and sterner, but his long sideburns rounded it again. An owl with a stork's beak. He wore a polished cuirass over a dark blue Cuirassier uniform, and sat a tall black horse. "How many casualties, Hippolyton?"

The First Hippolyton of the Regiment sat his horse like a polo player. His long moustaches and hooked nose quivered with anger. "Shells bursting in the air, Strategos! We could hardly get close enough to use our lance points. They fired carbines at us all the time -- my men showed great determination to pursue as long as they did --"

"How many men lost, Hippolyton?" the Strategos said calmly.

The Hippolyton took off his helmet and gestured toward his ragged ranks with it. "I should think between fifty and a hundred. I will give you a definite figure when all the stragglers have come in."

"Is the regiment ready to go back into action?"

The officer looked down a moment. "Give me time to talk to them. In the morning, perhaps."

"I have no other light cavalry," the Strategos said. "Who should I send as a screen?"

The officer shrugged. "I will put a half squadron together for outpost duty. I believe you should send Dragoons with them -- these Iskanders do not close to fight with steel."

The Strategos nodded. "Thank you, sir. I will do that. The rest of the division will camp here tonight."

Zagdorf frowned as the Hippolyton rode away, but he made sure the Strategos did not see it. Calmness in action was a great attribute, but giving freedom of action to the enemy was always a bad tactic. Some force should go out to drive them away or these Iskanders would take advantage of the inaction.

The Strategos turned to him. "Is this typical of the Iskanders, Commandante?"

"Indeed it is. That is why your army has been issued a higher establishment of cannon and firearms. Their light cavalry are armed like Dragoons, but their carbines are deadly to four hundred yards. I captured one last year and tried it."

"They fired cannon that these men never saw. Some kind of canister that burst in the air. Has this been encountered before?"

"Yes, shrapnel shells. They are what has checked Duke Solerar for more than a year. Were you not apprised of Iskander tactics?"

The Strategos' face screwed into an expression of distaste. "I received a long letter. The words seemed fanciful. Whoever wrote the apprisal seemed to discount cold steel entirely -- never heard such a thing!"

"I do not know who wrote on tactics, but I believe the account of their cavalry carbines was mine," Zagdorf said in an apologetic tone. "I did try to dispel the impression that the weapons were slow or clumsy."

"You haven't one here?"

"The one I captured went to Savoia to be copied, I believe. But the artisans have not yet succeeded in doing so." The thought struck him that Felger's steam mechanics would soon be close, in Genua. He should suggest to his Highness that they try to help the gunsmiths.

"When we've made camp you must attend me in my tent. I will go over the letter again, with your commentary." The Strategos turned to an aide. "Go to the Regimental commanders and tell them to make camp. War footing -- a defensible site and clear of obstructions. These damned people are marksmen, so we must put out pickets and outposts."

The officer saluted, clenched fist to forehead. "And water, Strategos? The river --?"

"Send the squadrons down one at a time for the horses to drink."

Zagdorf leaned forward in the saddle. "And if I may suggest, Strategos?"

The Strategos stared at him past his steel nose piece. "Yes?"

"Have them site the artillery for defensive fire, the Iskanders like to attack at night."

"Curse them to Gehenna!" The Strategos' horse stepped sideways at his rider's exclamation, and the man hauled on the reins and pressed his knees tight until the animal quieted. He lifted his free hand to the aide. "Do as the Commandante says."

"And the howitzers, Strategos?" The aide looked at Zagdorf as he said this.

"I would suggest they are sighted in on wooded gullies and the riverbank marshes before dark," Zagdorf said. "Those are all favourite Iskander hiding places. How many howitzers did the force bring?"

The howitzers were a new weapon to most soldiers. They could fire an explosive bomb about half a league, and yet were lighter than cannon. They had been sent in an attempt to counter the Iskanders' field guns, but were severely outranged. Zagdorf felt they would be most useful in night defense.

The Strategos glared at him. "I told them to bring one battery. Four guns, I believe. I hope they will serve some purpose."

"Indeed, Strategos. I sincerely hope they do." Zagdorf saluted and turned his horse's head to ride away. This afternoon's clash had not given him much confidence in these men. They had been too long in garrison duty in the east. The Strategos had sent two regiments via Blackrock Ford to attack the rear of any defensive force and kept four with him. It could take all of them to dislodge these Iskanders, if they were well supplied with their devilish artillery.

Was this the Wildcat's force again? He regretted not staying at Blackrock longer to better gage the strength of her unit. These lancers should have been sent forward to scout such things, but the Strategos seemed self assured with the strength of his force. Certainly two heavy regiments -- two thousand cuirassiers -- should knock over any force trying to stand against them, but they would lose heavily getting to saber range if the lancers' experience was anything to go by.

He scanned the hilltops and ridges around them. Where were Jeury's horsemen? He could be certain the Skathians were watching both forces, but the Prince's men would not show themselves until they wanted him to report. The Strategos had agreed on a plan to carry Skathians into a charge with them -- all it should take was to ride close by the wildmen and they would be unable to hold their ponies back. Not all, perhaps -- enough to get the Skathians moving. But he had to know where they were, first.

The regiments had already dismounted behind him. Some men erected the posts that would become horse lines, others ranged the tents in lines and worked to erect them. A few small piquets rode toward the crests of spurs that stretched down from the hillside above them, while others rode into the clumps of trees to gather firewood. These men well knew how to campaign, tomorrow would tell him if they knew how to fight as well. As he turned his mount to ride slowly back into the new campsite he glanced back once along the valley to the north. If they had met the Wildcat's force, he may have his chance to take her in the morning.

Chapter Twenty-eight

As the Iskanders moved about on the wide sweeping hillside below, Prince Jeury sat his pony amid a thicket and studied their dispositions. The Iskanders were preparing to meet the Imperial cavalry on this ground, and he had to admit their commandermadegood use of it. One flank rested on the river, too deep to ford and too swift to swim safely. The other was refused, a company of troops and two guns sited toward the rear, on a knoll halfway up the ridge. He didn't know what the commander could see from there but guessed they had a clear view in all directions. More than enough for those deadly guns to rule the approach to their positions.

He'd some idea of the power and range of those guns from the afternoon's clash, although he'd not been able to see as much as he wanted. This field was far better for his purpose -- was that tall, slim officer deliberately picking a place with few trees for his convenience? He trained the Iskander spyglass on the small party of officers again as they cantered down to the main position. One of the riders was dark and short in stature -- a Skathian, perhaps? One of several questions he waited with anticipation to see answered when battle was joined. Like the wide gap between the wings, what were they going to fill it with?

The main position was a wagon laager, much elongated and shallow, with more of those guns sited along it. Then he saw the plan -- two guns were sited in the rear, aimed at the gap. Any cavalry charge trying to go between the positions would present both flanks to the deadly guns. A cunning, wicked plan -- he began to feel his liking grow for this unknown commander. A small coppice stood in front of the main position -- a disadvantage if the Strategos' dragoons took position in it. But a squadron of the Iskanders seemed to be working there now -- he pointed the spyglass at them. As he watched, he saw the trees cut down and trimmed. Some of the riders hooked chains to the trunks and dragged them to the position on the hill. Ah, he understood. Breastworks to form a barrier and firing rest for their rifles -- low enough that the two guns could fire over it. This would be a strong position come morning.

A rustling in the bushes made him look down, his Gaffir advanced on foot -- standing to ask permission to speak. "Yes, old man? What do you want?"

"The sun sets, Lord Prince. Do we camp here all night or go back to the army?"

"What word from the riders above the Empire force?"

"The Trigons make camp. No action will take place until the morning."

"The Iskanders still have a squadron watching them?"

"A small party on top of the ridge, the rest are returning."

Jeury gave a snort of laughter, a cavalry division that made camp and filled their bellies within sight of their enemy. Did they prefer a good night's sleep to swift victory? Were he commanding here, the fight would be over. The Iskanders would have had no time to prepare their position. This Imperial general was a slow and deliberate man -- he seemed to fear action that might go on into darkness. No doubt excellent tactics for fighting the kind of infantry army the Empire favored. How would he fare against these -- far outnumbered as they were? If he could turn their position, they'd be done for.

"We will return to our own encampment. Send a rider to call my escort here, the Iskanders will see us as soon as we leave this cover."

As soon as Prince Jeury's escort appeared over the ridge top he saw the Iskanders react. In quick time they had a squadron mounted and formed to face them, though they sat their horses in readiness and did not leave the position. Through the spyglass he saw four of those deadly guns aimed toward them. He rode out of the thicket and had his standard raised. His nerves prickled as he sat his horse to await the arrival of his men -- doubtless the Iskanders recognized them, but would they fire anyway? He had seen enough to know what carnage they could wreak before he could make it over the ridge. His opinion began to form strongly -- if these Iskanders were to take the field in future, then they must do so serving him. Too many of the felt tents would lack husbands and fathers if he made war against their deadly arts.

The chief of the Baskabs headed the oncoming escort, riding down the hillside to him. He stopped, bowing low in the saddle. When he received permission to speak he sat tall and gestured toward the Iskanders. "What pleases you, my Lord? Shall we feed them to the wolves, or do you still wish to enjoy their maneuvers in the morning?"

He laughed. "Leave them be. Spread your tribesmen wide on the hillside as we retire. Turn your backs in confidence they will not fire after us. If they fail tomorrow's test you shall have your sport with them."

They cantered up the hillside and as they approached the crest one of his young men rode to him and gestured behind. Jeury drew rein to look back. A rider had left the Iskander lines below and galloped up the hillside toward them. Jeury held up his hand and they halted to wait for him.

As he drew near, Jeury saw he was the fellow he'd taken for a Skathian -- now he could see he had been right. He searched his memory for highborn sons who had left the tents of their fathers. There were few who had come to live among the western serfs, but this was doubtless one. The man drew his sword as he neared the escort but in his own time he reversed it, holding by the blade. He bowed low as he approached the royal standard and offered the hilt to him.

Jeury narrowed his eyes. "Do I accept the sword of a traitor?"

"Of a suppliant, my lord Prince. Of an innocent man driven to exile and given refuge by a westerner you befriended -- Lord Ricart of Amberden."

He remembered the tall foreigner who had arrived in Tashkand while he was just entering his rightful position as heir. The man had been of use then, was he going to serve some purpose again? "What is your family name?"

"I am called Naserdin, second son of the Gaffir of the Mangones."

"The Mangonins perished in blood feud, many years back. You must be the last."

"Doubtless, my Prince. I would restore their name -- in your service."

Jeury remembered the affair. His brother Kassab -- his most dangerous brother -- had attacked them in a dispute over horses and pasture land. If he had some treachery to deal against Kassab, this man could be of use. "You are Amberden's man, then. He is below?"

The fellow shook his head. "I am an aide -- he has sent me to advise this commander. He wants her to speak with you."

Jeury swung his head to stare down the hillside. "Her? You tell me a woman commands down there?"

"Have you heard the name Wildcat? It is she."

Jeury did his best not to gape -- he turned his back on the valley bottom. "What words would I wish to exchange with a wench? I thought hers to be a fanciful tale for frightening children. Do not say she exists and has the powers that are told of her."

"I do not know what stories are told in the tents of the people, but she is well regarded here. She holds the hand of the God of War, and has the heart of the Cunning Raven."

"She is high placed in the councils of her people?"

"Her father is of the highest. It is he who causes these deadly weapons to be made. He builds the machines which work and run more strongly than horses -- which gain their power from harnessing fire and water."

Jeury's Gaffir urged his pony forward. "All men know that fire and water are enemies. This man speaks nonsense -- kill him."

Jeury shook his head. "If Iskanders can gain strength from a marriage of fire and water it is surely a great omen. We should see this thing."

The Gaffir stared at him, his eyes widening.

"Speak again of this Wildcat. I would hear more."

"She has conquered cities, by fire and by cunning."

"How so?"

"She went as a spy into the city of Skrona, in Tarnland. When her people's army approached she blew down the city gate for them to ride through. The city fell in an hour. When she went as a spy to the city of Lubitz, she turned all men's minds away from war with Iskander -- you now see them as friends and allies."

Jeury nodded his head slowly. This was very much what he had heard, although the stories of travelers were greatly embellished by wondrous signs. "What force does she command here?"

"This is their Third Light Cavalry -- Lord Ricart sends them forward to delay the Trigons while he deals with Duke Solerar."

"She seems to handle them well."

"She has just dealt Solerar two heavy blows which have crippled his power to unite his army. He will likely not be able to fight in concert with this new army behind you. She has ridden hard to change front."

"Two blows?"

"Among others. She attacked his own camp in a fortified place and burned it, then she slipped into a town at night and destroyed the bridge which linked his army. I think she means to stand firm here -- I would never choose so, but she has the luck even to succeed."

Jeury inclined his head. "As you say -- she holds the hand of the God of War. But she is charged to speak with me? What message does she have?"

"She keeps her own council, but she did say one thing. There is one way that the Great Khan's people may keep their traditions and the ways of their forefathers -- even though the Iskanders change the world around them."

"And what is this way?"

"She did not tell me. Perhaps you should speak with her yourself."

Jeury narrowed his eyes. What was he that he should care for the words of a wench? Did the Iskanders not insult him by sending her? Much advantage could be gained by matching wits in council, but would he sit with a woman? His followers would laugh at him. But she wielded much power in these guns -- if she were as much a fighter with her own hand he could test her in single combat. No! What honor was there in vanquishing a woman? Mere boys did that every night.

"Does this marvelous creature carry arms?"

"She fights with sword and pistol. I believe she has killed several men in duels with the rapier. She now carries a sword from the Island peoples, in the far Eastern Sea, I do not doubt she handles it well -- she has the spirit training."

"Huh! You have seen her do this?"

"No, but just three days back she was almost taken by a cavalry charge. She parried sabers with the sword she carries until her men could join her. She has the courage of a soldier."

Jeury gazed down into the valley. Perhaps he was destined to speak with this Wildcat, if she yet lived after tomorrow. It was in the hands of the Gods. Daughter of the man who mated fire and water -- this was an omen which not even his father could deny.

The man Naserdin let his horse take a step closer. "Well, Lord. Will thou take the hilt of my sword? Will thou touch it before I return to my post below?"

"You would rather go back to these foreigners than stay to serve as your Prince's footstool?"

"I should serve the Lord of Skathia in any way he commands if he should but say the words. I had thought to serve as emissary between the armies -- they will not suffer a large force to come under the guns without firing on them. It was I who urged them not to fire upon your escort."

Jeury felt anger. This Mangone claimed to have saved him -- him -- from those guns. He decided he had listened enough -- it was time to exert his own power. "The Prince needs no traitor's service. Seize him! We shall take him with us to decide his fate."

Naserdin swung his sword up to grab the hilt, but a score of riders attacked him in that instant. One fired an arrow into his sword-arm, one slashed at him with a dagger, but even though Naserdin dropped his sword, he fought back. More riders pushed forward into the melee, the center of the escort force becoming a bedlam as men jockeyed for position to strike some blow against the man proclaimed traitor.

Naserdin spurred forward in an attempt to lean from the saddle and take up the sword, which had fallen point-down into the earth. He missed but charged forward into the riders about the Prince, knocking six men from their horses with his bare fists. The riders surged against him, one launching himself from the saddle onto Naserdin's back.

At last he was subdued by a larger man who swung the flat of a sword against the back of his head. Naserdin fell from the saddle to the ground. Prince Jeury looked down on him as men sprang from the saddles with ropes to bind him. "Keep him alive until I have made judgment. We shall consult the Gods to learn if he shall sire a new tribe of Mangonins, or whether he shall be castrated to serve in my harem. Take him away."

*****

Gisel anxiously watched Naserdin through her binoculars as he rode up the hill to Prince Jeury's escort force. She kept the glasses on him as he talked to the man beside the royal standard -- she guessed that was Jeury himself. Ugly little toad he seemed to be. Had her curiosity prompted Naserdin to go? She would have spoken differently if she'd realized her questions challenged his courage. She had no idea what made the Skathian tick, but perhaps he was getting somewhere with this Prince.

Just when she thought things seemed to be proceeding well, she saw him raise his sword and disappear into a whole mob of them. She felt helpless -- there was nothing she could do to help. When she saw his bloodied form trussed across the saddle of his charger and led away she felt as if the bottom of her stomach had fallen out. How the hell was she going to fare any better with Jeury?

Her men were still busy cutting down trees and brush that obscured their fields of fire, and the Lubitzers were building up their breastworks. She needed to do something to banish the sight of Naserdin's silent form from her mind, so she walked over to Captain Viens at the guns. "Maximum range is just under eight kilometers, right?"

"Yes, Major. What do you have in mind?"

"Captain Jans estimates the enemy encampment is almost ten up the valley. It'll be dark soon, but we've just time to move one gun forward. Are you game?"

Viens shrugged. "One gun won't do them much damage at extreme range --"

"No, but firing one round every hour or so will sure keep them awake and on edge."

Viens grinned. "If we had some way to aim. We don't have a location, or a bearing to train on."

"I'm going forward to change my advance picket come nightfall. We could do a bit of ranging before I come back."

"How long would the gun be out there?"

"Bring it back into our position at first light. I'll send a half troop of the Lubitzers to keep the gun crew company."

It was dusk when Gisel rode up the valley with the forward gun. She used the position function on her communicator to get a fix on the new gun position, and set the zero sight for the gunlayer on the Pole star. The dial sight of an artillery piece was always zeroed on a fixed point in sight of all the guns. Then, the angle from that to the target was derived by calculation and corrected by the forward observer -- to be Gisel again tonight. Only when the target was in view would the guns fire without prediction -- over open sights.

Captain Viens stayed with the crew to help them get on target. Then she put on her night vision goggles to lead the ten cavalrymen up the ridge to relieve those who Jans had left on guard. They let the horses walk over the uneven ridge country and took about an hour to reach the observation point Jans had pointed out on the map.

Gisel took another fix and then scanned down the valley in the direction the picket corporal pointed out for the enemy camp. She used her binoculars to find the scattering of campfires. Estimating the direction and distance from her position she did a rough trig calculation in her head and called up Viens. "Yep, it'll be maximum range. Set about one sixty off the aiming point. One round HE when you're ready."

"Right, Major. One round ranging coming up."

Gisel and her troopers turned to watch down the valley for the gun's muzzle flash. After several minutes, several men called. "There she goes! Fire."

Gisel aimed her binoculars at the distant campfires and counted to herself. One hundred -- one, one hundred -- two, one hundred -- three; the shell would take about twenty-three seconds to reach the target. She heard the sharp bark of the gun's report, and then nothing. Just as she thought she'd missed seeing the shell land, a bright orange flash flickered across her lenses, just out of her field of view. The crash of the detonation echoed across the hillsides. A clear miss but not bad for distance.

"Captain Viens, go right two hundred. Same range -- one more HE."

She aimed the binoculars at the campfires. If these were the right ones and not a decoy, she should be able to see some movement. Yes, she could see men running -- some this way, some that. Bugles sounded the alarm, down in the valley. Yep -- that was the camp all right.

"Gun flash, Major," the corporal reported.

Gisel counted to twenty seconds. This time she didn't use the binoculars. She stared down at the campsite until the angry red shellburst flared briefly and the report came to their ears. This one was good for line, but had fallen short.

"Was that elevation still forty-five degrees, Captain Viens?"

"Yes, Major."

"It fell about a hundred yards short of the first impact."

"At this range -- not too much we can do about it. Probably just the difference in shells."

"Okay -- fire me another on the same line."

This shell landed just about where Gisel judged the campsite to be. She trained her binoculars and saw men dashing about in the firelight, but no sign of casualties. That might be too much to hope for in the dark. She did see that some of the campfires were being extinguished or covered. "That's good for elevation and distance. Hold your fire until I return, I don't want to stir them up too much while we're moving."

She gave last minute instructions to the corporal who was to remain on watch until morning. "Stay until the light is strong enough to tell whether they are mounting up or moving. As soon as you've that information you all move out and head for our position at the gallop. Got that?"

The corporal saluted, though she could barely make him out in the darkness. "Yes, Major."

"Good. Relieved party, mount up and follow me."

She put her night vision goggles back on and led down the valley. A pair of Lubitz Rifles sentries materialized out of the darkness as they reached the gun. Viens was still there with his gun crew.

"I think it's worth keeping up our fire. About one round every hour should be enough to keep them from sleeping. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Major. We'll judge by the stars, it's a clear night."

"Good work, carry on. One round now and then take your time." She rode back to her main position as the gun barked again, and found her bedroll spread out where her orderly had lain it. She crawled into the blankets and munched on a piece of the bread they'd baked the night before. Tomorrow would be the big test. The position was as good as they could make it. If all went well, they'd be able to hold this cavalry force off long enough to break their spirit. Even if she had to pull the battalion out and run for it, she was pretty sure her pursuers would be too chastened to be a threat.

She dozed off about the time the gun next fired. She sat up with a start and then relaxed. It was going to wake her men every hour as well, but they'd have the luxury of rolling over and going to sleep again. Her enemy would be frantic trying to move out of the line of fire. They'd be feeling sorry for themselves by the time they launched their first attack in the morning.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Zagdorf and his orderly walked around the encampment surveying the damage caused by the night's shelling. The Strategos had ridden out at first light with an escort of two squadrons. He had not spoken to Zagdorf but his intention was clear -- he'd gone to study the Iskander positions. Zagdorf shook his head -- this careful scouting and planning was the way Imperial armies had dealt with enemies for almost two hundred years. It had not worked well against the Skathians, and it was obviously not the way to deal with Iskander commanders who made plans on the run.

Zagdorf stopped at a shell crater where three men had died. Just a small scoop in the ground, perhaps a foot deep and three wide. Not a big shell, but with a lethal radius of about twenty-five yards. The troops had better be warned about bunching up in the charge -- a natural impulse of both men and horses. Widely spaced troops would suffer fewer casualties from these guns.

He met the First Hippolyton of the Dragoon Regiment, also examining the effect of the Iskander's fire. "Good morning, Sir," he said. "I see little damage, considering the alarms and stand-to's of the night."

"I must agree with you, Commandante Zagdorf. But my men got very little rest, and a number of horses were killed or bolted in the night when our horse lines were hit."

Zagdorf scowled. "Just nuisance fire, but it has done us appreciable harm. I fear for the men's morale this morning."

"I'm glad the Strategos has gone to reconnoiter the enemy's position. It gives me time to feed my men a good breakfast and make a morale building speech."

Zagdorf mastered his feelings about yet more delay. "Morale will be highest when we have sent these people scurrying for their lives. It is my suspicion that we are faced with no more troops than I saw crossing Blackrock Ford almost three weeks ago. I suspect the Wildcat has care of this flank, with no more than a single regiment under her command."

"The Wildcat? A woman -- surely not."

"A very tricky little witch. This night of nuisance shelling is exactly what I would expect from her."

"Her fame has certainly spread. They say you have met her."

Zagdorf frowned. The less he said about the way she had outwitted him in Lubitz, the better. "I did, several times. She gave me a bullet wound in the arm, and then escaped from my men when I had her in my grasp. But she succeeds by audacity, and by her opponents under-estimating her simply because she is a woman. Do not make that mistake, Sir. Her boldness is the equal of any good soldier, but that I believe is the way to overcome her. Her own rashness and cunning will one day be her undoing."

The Hippolyton nodded. "Perhaps we do best by making careful plans. I believe the Strategos is concerned to make contact with his flanking regiments before he launches any attack If they come in behind the Iskanders by way of Blackrock Ford, we shall have them in a trap."

"They should have contacted us by now," Zagdorf said. The Hippolyton was probably correct, the Strategos stubbornly stuck with the plan he'd made a week ago. But perhaps the Skathians had prevented their advance, for some purpose of Jeury's. Personally, he would have abandoned the attempt to outflank the Iskander's position and attacked at dawn -- the night's disruption notwithstanding. But he was not the general commanding an army, and would not likely attain that distinction unless he could pull off some success with the Skathians. Those wild devils were out of sight again, and Flame only knew where they had made their camp, but he did not doubt they were close by. It made the day's assault on the Iskanders doubly important -- Prince Jeury could well make his decision based on the way honors went in the fight.

*****

When Imperial cavalry appeared on the crest of the ridge, Gisel had two guns aimed at them and fired off two rounds of shrapnel while she watched through her binoculars. It looked like a scouting party, but the shrapnel soon crashed it. A few men and horses went down and the rest swung their mounts to gallop out of sight. Since the range was only three kilometers, they must have been dreaming to think she'd let them survey her positions. But old habits die hard -- against an opponent armed with muzzle loading smoothbores, they would have been safe.

Captain Jans rode over from his squadron's reserve position. "Should I ride out on a sweep, Major? They could be trying to outflank us."

"Can't spare you." The Skathians were somewhere over the ridge, and Jeury likely wanted his demonstration. He wouldn't want to see their position turned without a head to head fight. "I expect to see the Skathians up there soon. You could keep watch for them."

Jans stared, his eyebrows lowered. "What is going on, Major?"

"I think this is a mix of war and politics. Naserdin went to arrange a meeting with the Skathians yesterday, not that I asked him. Prince Jeury's army could easily overwhelm us, or the Imperial forces -- maybe both of us together. It's pretty evident he came all the way west to learn about Iskander -- what we do today is going to tell him what we are worth."

Jans shook his head in disbelief. "He sets us fighting -- like a man places two fighting cocks in the ring?"

"That's about it. Want to place a bet?"

"I think we're betting our lives."

Gisel nodded. "Sorry I didn't tell you -- I've expected this was the case since Lord Ricart sent Naserdin to me with his instructions. But look at it this way -- a victory today in this field could have more impact than the clash of armies ten times our size. Tell your men -- the whole world will envy them the honor they shall earn today."

"Indeed, Major. I shall, but so should you make your way to everyone with that message."

"They will not think me too dramatic . . . too like a woman?"

"Not you. They have seen you in action too much to think that. When I first heard you would command us I thought our commanders hoped to sway us with a reputation gained in easy circumstance. I have learned better . . . and so have the men. As long as you stand firm against the enemy, not a man will think of his own skin. We will conquer here or all die in the attempt." Jans stopped talking abruptly, gave a salute and turned away.

Gisel watched him go -- that was the biggest speech she'd heard him give. But his words made sense. She spent the next hour visiting every gun and troop position, while the horse detail led most of their horses to safety in the narrow ravine behind her position. The men cheered her until she felt unworthy of their confidence. She might be taking them all to their deaths, even though she'd promised herself she'd send the battalion home in some semblance of order. No one was leaving this field except in victory. If there was indeed a God of battles, she owed him a prayer.

Close to noon, the attack started. First, the enemy rushed forward a battery of cannon on the closest spur. Gisel watched from the knoll with the Lubitz Rifles. She trained her binoculars on the guns -- six pounder smoothbores. Likely their cannonballs would barely reach them, but she gave them no leisure to test them. She called Captain Viens and the position was rapidly blanketed in high explosive shells.

While these guns were dueling, a large body of cuirassiers rode into view, sabers drawn and arrayed in attack formation. With a two kilometer ride to reach them, they started at a trot. From some position out of sight behind a high spur, more guns opened fire. Exploding shells soon told them that these guns were howitzers, but the first shots fell way short.

"Captain Viens, turn your guns on the cavalry. Open sights, shrapnel at three seconds." She gave orders to her riflemen arrayed beside her. "Set your sights to two thousand yards and fire on the enemy. Sergeants -- make sure your men lower their sight's ranges as the horsemen come closer -- and aim low. Swing the fifteen-pounders to fire into them."

The guns below fired at the cavalry, still at the trot with most of the distance still to cover. She had a better view of their numbers as they came out of the distant spurs -- at least two Imperial regiments, two thousand sabers. Her men would have eight or nine minutes to try to stop them, unless the cuirassiers started to gallop soon and finished their charge with winded horses. At six rounds a minute the guns would get in a hundred shots. At least half should be hits.

A trooper close to her shouted, "Look up on't ridge!"

Another large group of horsemen were crossing a crest between spurs, quite high up on the hillside. That was rough ground, dotted with scrub and thorn bushes, hardly the place for a cavalry charge. Gisel aimed her binoculars -- dragoons. Damn, they were making for the shallow valley that would take them around her flank.

She ran to the nearby gunners and helped lift the trail of the first gun and haul it around to aim at this new threat. The gunlayer squinted through his sight and gave the final instructions while the ammunition number loaded a shrapnel shell. The gunner slammed the breech shut and they stepped back. The gun fired, and the exploding shell sent more men and horses sprawling in their blood.

"Keep firing until you break their advance," she shouted.

Gisel moved to the limber to check the ammunition. She took a shrapnel shell from a gunner and examined the fuse setting. They had been told not to set the fuse to zero in case the shell exploded in the barrel, but she could see this fight might be concluded at point blank range. They were going to have to risk blowing up their own guns. The limber wasn't full -- only twenty rounds left. The rest of the fifteen-pounder ammo was in the ammunition wagons in the main position below.

All her guns fired again, in a rolling thunder. Gisel ran to stand beside the shield of the nearest and trained her binoculars on the enemy cavalry. The ordered ranks of cuirassiers had dissolved into a jumbled mob. Several hundred bodies, men and horses, littered the ground they'd ridden across. They still came on, but the large number of stragglers at the rear told her some were losing their nerve.

Up on the hillside, the dragoons had dismounted and she could see them advancing through the cover of the scrub. She ordered one of her fifteen-pounders to stay with them and keep them pinned down.

The enemy's howitzers fired again. They must have moved them forward because these shells landed just short of her position. A cloud of powder smoke billowed up from behind a closer spur. She called Viens. "You're gonna have to switch two guns to searching behind that spur for their howitzers -- they're getting close."

"Yes, Major. I think I know where they are."

Before her guns' aim could be altered a shell landed inside the wagon laager. Gisel saw bodies tossed in the air and heard screams as the echoes of the explosion died away. The enemy cavalry were now galloping, at a kilometer distance. Obviously the officers had taken the choice of ruining the horses rather than the men. Two squadrons of her light cavalry waited on foot behind the guns; soon the range would be close enough for their carbines to be effective. Captain Jans' men were in their saddles, waiting to counterattack.

Gisel felt like a shirker in her position on the knoll with the Lubitzers, but that could soon end. Shefeltsure they would get their own attack to fend off. Her men's rifle fire picked off cuirassiers and some of the enemy changed direction against this flank attack.

The gunners set to and shifted their guns' aim again as the enemy came nearer. The cuirassiers' charge swung closer as more men aimed at the gap between the deadly fire of the fifteen-pounders and the smaller position on the hill. More shells from the howitzers landed on the main position but now her own artillery answered back. Gisel took a minute to run to her orderly and mount her horse he'd been holding in the rear. She drew her katana and rode into a clear space beside the breastworks. A quick glance up to the top of the ridge -- there, a line of horsemen sat their mounts -- the Skathians.

At half a kilometer, two hundred carbines added their fire to the hail of deadly missiles carving through the Empire's ranks. Still the cavalry charge came on -- if hundreds had fallen there were still hundreds more determined to close and fight with their sabers.

Gisel urged her horse into a trot, as if starting down the hill. Then she halted fifty yards away from her position, stood tall in the stirrups and waved the katana above her head. More of the cuirassiers swung away from the main position, aiming to reach her. She turned her back on them and walked her horse back into the Lubitzer's position. Her men gave a cheer, barely audible amid the din of firing.

When she halted behind the breastwork she raised her sword in salute to her men below. The enemy were now only seconds away from reaching their line. She took out her communicator. "Captain Viens, I believe our hidden guns will soon see their target."

"I'm on it. We're just waiting for them to try to come around behind us."

She watched the final few yards of the charge. She could not estimate how many men had reached their defense line, but if two thousand had started, there were more than enough still mounted to outnumber the defenders of the main position by three to one. In addition, about two hundred had broken away and were spurring into the gap between her positions.

The hidden guns fired. Shrapnel poured into these riders at close range. Gisel gave an order and one gun on the knoll added its fire. "Set the fuses at zero!" Gisel shouted. The enemy who had broken away to take the safest point of attack recoiled, many whipped up their mounts to flee. Captain Jans led his squadron out from behind the wagon laager in a charge -- crashing into the wavering survivors.

At the main position a desperate fight raged as cuirassiers discharged their pistols and charged home with their sabers. Her men fought back with rapid fire from their carbines; the gunners loaded their pieces behind the gun shields and fired point blank into the mass of horses and men. Gisel's orderly rushed up to her, slapping her on the thigh. "Look, Major. Here come more of them!"

On the distant flank of the ridge another body of horsemen started toward them at a trot. Gisel aimed her binoculars at them -- mixed dragoons and lancers. Further up the hill were yet more lancers -- riding very close to the Skathians on the crest. As she watched, a large group of Skathians broke away to ride with them -- then another group. Damn! She might have guessed -- these undisciplined warriors could not resist joining in the fight. Did her men have enough ammunition left to take on this new assault?

Chapter Thirty

Yohan stood on the bridge of his newly repaired tug, checking the cavalry pistol Gisel had given him before the coup in Lubitz. He watched Tug One head away down river with the accommodation barge. He'd frantically organized their departure ever since returning from his meeting with Gisel. The second barge had arrived with the ammunition -- but with Imperial cavalry expected at any moment, it was too late to send it on. They had emptied the new buildings at the oxbow of everything the Imperial troops could find useful. The final connections of the explosive charges in the river had yet to be made, so he'd kept the Blaster and his helper with him, as well as the armed tug he used as their base.

About two hundred yards upsteam, where the river widened in the shallows over the ford, he could see the Blaster and his helper stringing the firing line. If they could work undisturbed for just a quarter hour longer, the ford would be no more. He glanced across the tug's starboard beam at the buildings beside the oxbow, the ferry was moored here as well -- would they be far enough away from the flying debris?

He heard footsteps on the companionway leading from the main deck and looked over the railing. It was the new fellow Berzoni had hired to help with the repairs to this tug. He was called Markov, but wasn't the same fellow who had taken passage on the Swift when he and Gisel had sailed from Skrona. This fellow had two good hands, both of them ingrained with oil and metal dust from his work with machinery. Yohan had decided to keep him aboard to help the engineman -- in fact he was toying with the thought of offering him the job, since the engineman seemed incompetent.

When the man reached the bridge he gave a nautical salute with his knuckles. "We has steam up, Meister. The tug be ready to leave at any time."

"Good, maintain steam. When the Imperial cavalry arrive we will have to leave in a hurry."

"Tug Two be comin' back?"

"I ordered them to, after they anchor the ammunition barge a safe distance downstream." Yohan glanced across the water at the ferry. They had unhooked it from its chains and moored it in the oxbow to deny its use to the enemy. "I'd like to take the ferry completely away, so the enemy can't make use of it."

The tug's skipper stepped out of the wheelhouse to join them. He was the ex-bargee Bulli Durfen, who had carried him and Gisel to Lubitz the year before. The big fellow knew nothing of steam vessels, but understood the river and its moods better than most. With the good quartermaster he had at the wheel, and a better engineman, Bulli would lead an excellent crew. "If'n we was to use sweeps for a rudder, an' rig a mast on 'er, I'd sail 'er downstream for 'ee, lad."

"I don't doubt you could, Bulli, but you're needed here." Yohan smiled -- because he'd been hiding and in disguise when they'd first met; he didn't think Bulli would ever call him Meister or Sir. It was apparent the old river sailor missed being under sail, but was shrewd enough to see that the old ways were bound to die under the Partnership's influence.

"That Torgus may not come back, if there be fightin' here," Markov said.

Yohan glanced back at him. "What was the name you said -- Torgus? What is he?'

The two men stared at him and Bulli spoke up. "He be leadin' hand on Tug Two, don't thee know? Surely you give him the post."

"No, I didn't hire all the crews -- I must ask Meister Skurry if he assigned him there."

"Torgus be leadin' hand," Markov said, "but he act like he rules the Felger holdin's."

Yohan frowned, was this Torgus the man the Baron had assured him had been transferred away from Lubitz? If he was still here, he'd a mind to let Gisel have him. There was little doubt that he'd murdered Durden. He gazed across the mooring to the distant hills -- she was out there with her battalion, determined to meet a far superior force. He wished he understood her beliefs better so he could offer a prayer to her strange Deity -- some formless everything.

He looked out at the ford where the Blaster and his mate were stringing their firing lines to the cable of the blasting machine in the shelter of the oxbow. How much longer would they be? He'd be glad to get away. "Can we take the ferry with us, Bulli?"

"Thou said to keep tug free, lest us had to fire on some horsemen. With yon ferry on front us'll be like a three legged dray hoss."

Markov pointed up the hill past the abandoned border post. "Look! There be horsemen now."

Sure enough, about a dozen cavalrymen came over the crest and started slowly down, as if watching for danger. Their lance pennants carried the Imperial Golden Orb design. Yohan clapped Markov on the arm. "Go and call the armed men to their posts. We may need to keep the ford clear until our men have set their explosive lines. Bulli, take us into the river closer to the ford. We may need to pick up those men from the bank."

"What 'bout th'splosion?"

Yohan stared at the horsemen and then at his two men on the bank stringing wires. He didn't know, but some bold action was called for. The first of the armed guards came up the companionway, toting the long rifles Gisel had procured for them. Two more men came up carrying ammunition for the swivel guns. "Load the portside gun," Yohan said. "We might fire a few shots to keep those cavalry at a distance."

The Blaster and his mate on the bank stopped their work and stared at the horsemen approaching. They jumped in the water and waded a few steps toward the tug to wave. Shit -- Yohan immediately thought the expletive Gisel used -- he was going to have to go ashore and keep them working. He couldn't leave until they blew the ford and prevented the cavalry from crossing.

He poked his head into the wheelhouse. "Bulli, take us over to the ford, right now. When I'm ashore take the tug a hundred fathoms downstream until we fire the charges. Then come back to get us from the oxbow."

Bulli waved in salute. With a clang of engineroom telegraph, the stern paddle began to slap at the water. Slowly, they backed out into the river current. Yohan rushed over to the men at the swivel gun. "Is it loaded yet?"

"Aye, Meister. Where do us shoot?"

Yohan grabbed the tiller and swung the gun toward the horsemen, now only a couple of hundred yards from the ford. "Fire now!"

The senior man lit the touch-hole and the powder train hissed. Bang! The tiller bucked in Yohan's hands and a great cloud of powder smoke billowed out. He leaned forward to peer through it. When the smoke cleared enough to see, the horsemen had stopped. "Load again!"

The men knocked out the wedge and lifted the breech chamber clear. The first man shoved a cannonball into the open bore and then slammed down a second chamber. The second man hammered home the wedge. "Ready."

The tug had swung slightly and now the paddle churned forward. Yohan squinted along the barrel to aim at the riders again. "Fire!" he shouted. The gun roared again, and again the tug swathed in powder smoke. When he could glimpse the riders again they had scattered and drawn sabers -- it didn't seem he had done them any damage. "Where are those rifles? Over here on the double."

The other two guards came across to the port side and Yohan pointed at the horsemen. "Fire at them. Bring them down!"

The tug gathered way and for a while seemed to be charging across the river toward the cavalry. The riflemen opened fire at the same time and one of the horsemen pitched from his saddle. The men at the gun reloaded it and fired. This time, from some distance to the side, Yohan saw the cannonball hit the ground short of the men and bounce up at them in a cloud of dust and grit. A man and horse fell. The rest turned and galloped away.

"Good work, men," Yohan said. "Reload the swivel gun and make ready in case they return. I'm going ashore." He belatedly remembered the firing instructions Gisel had given him. You never fire a cannon at anyone, you aim to hit the ground in front of them to add flying stones and debris to your shot. What an idiot -- his own shots had gone sailing past.

The tug slowed, just short of the hard rock reef of the ford. He hurried down the companionway and rushed to the bow. The Blaster and his mate were running toward the tug, expecting to be picked up. He jumped ashore, slipping from a rock to land face down in the shallow water. Scrambling to his feet, he held out his arms to stop the men running for the tug. "Stay here! Are the charges connected?"

"Near enough," the helper said, trying to dodge around him.

Yohan waved to Bulli to back the tug away. "We're not going until the blast is fired. They'll pick us up from the oxbow."

Turning the men around, he led them back to the reels of wire they'd left lying on the ground. They bent down, connecting the rest. Now all the separate charges in the holes drilled down into the rock were connected to the single firing line. Yohan stood, looking down at the line strung out along the ground toward the buildings beside the oxbow. They'd need shelter if rocks flew far from the blast.

The swivel gun on the tug roared out again. Then the rifles fired. Yohan swung on his heel to see the men on deck gesticulating across the river. Holy Flame! A whole regiment of cavalry had appeared, galloping toward the ford. He ran for the blasting machine beside the buildings.

The firing from the tug and reply shots from the cavalry rang out. Musket balls whizzed past his ears as he ran. The heavy footsteps of the Blaster and his mate came close behind. They dived for the machine. Yohan grabbed it up and slung the harness about his neck, the Blaster connected the wires. He heard loud splashing and stared around the corner of the building at the ford. The cavalry had started across!

"Just turn the crank!" the Blaster shouted. "Fast as you can."

Yohan grabbed the handle. The leading cavalry had made it across to the bank. He spun the crank as fast as he could.

Kerboom! The whole ford -- rocks and water -- erupted into the air. Horses and cavalrymen were tossed aside like bundles of rags. A piece of rock as big as a pumpkin struck the building beside his head. He ducked back as a rain of debris clattered down; crouching until the barrage stopped. He smelled the acrid smoke and earthy rock dust that boiled past in a cloud -- the noise still echoed in his ears. The Blaster's helper jumped to his feet and turned to run, but Yohan couldn't make his legs move.

The Blaster reached down to take his arm. "What be waitin' for?" he shouted. "Ye can't make it blast again!"

Yohan pulled the harness over his head and dropped the machine. "Run like hell! Make for the ferry."

As they ran, he heard galloping hooves behind them. A few cavalrymen had survived the blast after making it to his side of the river. Yohan stopped at the bank and swung around. He pulled out his revolver, thumbed back the hammer and aimed at the leading horseman. Four were bearing down on them, lances leveled. He fired and thumbed back the hammer. He fired again.

The closest man dropped his lance and pitched back over the horse's rump. The next man swerved aside as his companion hit the ground. Yohan fired as rapidly as he could at each of them. He had no idea if he'd hit any more, but the cavalrymen backed off and cantered away. His revolver was empty. No time to reload -- he jammed it back in its holster.

He turned toward the water. The Blaster's helper was dog-paddling his way across the water to the moored ferry. The Blaster stood watching helplessly. "I canna swim, lad!"

"Jump in and grab the mooring line," Yohan shouted. "Pull yourself hand over hand."

He took a quick look about and jumped into the water. Gisel had made him learn to swim, but he drank more water than a fish. He splashed across toward the ferry. Less than a hundred feet, but it seemed a mile. He gulped air and turned his head.

The horsemen returned to the water's edge in the oxbow. One pulled a pistol from a holster at the front of his saddle. He cocked it and leveled it at Yohan, tilting up the priming pan to ensure the powder lay against the touch-hole.

Yohan submerged as the report echoed across the mooring. The pistol ball hissed into the water beside him. He surfaced and struck out to the ferry as fast as he could go. The Blaster's mate hauled himself aboard and Yohan grabbed for the mooring line behind him. The Blaster arrived, hauling himself along the rope like a frantic monkey. They scrambled aboard; Yohan shouted, "There's a fire axe beside the ferryman's shelter."

The helper rushed for it and ran back. Yohan took it and brought it down on the port mooring rope. The rope parted. He ran across to the other side of the ferry and swung at the other mooring line. The ferry hardly moved. On the bank he saw the cavalryman sitting his horse, reloading his pistol.

Yohan pulled out his revolver and thumbed cartridges from his gunbelt. "Quick! Grab those sweeps and pole us into the current."

Behind them came the sound of rifle shots and a great splashing of water. Tug Four bore down on the drifting ferry. The horsemen on the bank fled from the tug's attack. Yohan and his companions caught the line tossed from the tug's bow and hauled it in.

Bulli Durfen emerged from the wheelhouse. "Us'll tow thee back'ards. Tie th'rope to the chain shackle."

Yohan leaned over the edge of the ferry ramp to see it. The swivel guns on the tug fired and a cannon on the east side of the river replied. The cannonball hit the side of the iron ferry with a great clang. He took the mooring line and threaded it through the shackle, pulling both loops back to the ramp. The three of them tied a knot and yanked it tight while cavalrymen on the east bank galloped back and forth firing their pistols. The tug would have to steam backwards and pull them, slow and not very controllable. He stood up as the tug reversed and pulled the rope taut. It held.

As they moved out into the current he noticed bodies floating all around them, drifting away from the swirl of water where the ford had been. Now the river poured rapidly through a hundred foot wide channel, like a huge bucket emptying. No enemy could cross that torrent.

Bulli shouted to Yohan from the tug. "That were good work, lad. I mus' have taught thee well when ye was my barge hand."

*****

Gisel watched the oncoming cavalry through her binoculars; she saw the Imperial lancers pull away from the mass of tribesmen and rejoin the dragoons, who were now following behind. The bastards! She could see what they were up to -- using the Skathians as a screen. The Skathians were not in this war, but if she didn't order her men to fire on them, the Imperial horsemen could reach her position unscathed.

She looked at the fight raging below -- there would be no help coming from that direction. Her men were fully engaged.

One of the artillery sergeants came to her. "Major! The guns are running out of ammunition. Does Captain Viens have a wagon ready to send us?"

"I'll find out."

She pulled out her communicator and called him. The wagon was harnessed and ready, but the drivers reluctant to chance themselves in the gap between the positions. The cavalry fight between Jans' squadron and the diminished body of cuirassiers still raged, and horsemen surged back and forth. On the hillside, the oncoming Skathians with the dragoons and lancers behind were a long rifle shot away. The Skathians coming at a fast canter.

Gisel rushed over to a group of her NCOs, telling the artilleryman to follow. "Sergeants! I want the rifles to fire into those Skathians. Fire by troop volley and keep your range settings adjusted. You must bring them down before they reach us. Gunners! Keep your fire on the Imperial troopers behind them -- both guns -- the bastards are trying to sneak up on us."

She could see the doubt on the riflemen's faces. "Keep up a steady and deliberate fire and the Skathians will never reach us. You've proved yourselves before -- I know you can do it again."

The artillery sergeant saluted. "And the ammunition, Major?"

She addressed the senior Lubitz sergeant. "Give me half a dozen of your best riders. I'll go down and fetch it."

Gisel mounted up and led the troopers out of the position. Only four, all the horses they had available, less than she'd asked for, but they'd be enough. She opened her communicator. "Captain Viens, send that wagon. I have an escort to meet it half way."

She led off and quickly urged her big gelding into a gallop. He answered with long powerful strides which soon opened a gap between her and the men following. She headed straight for a scattered fight that raged between her and the main position down the hill, pulling her carbine from its scabbard and cranking the lever with one hand.

Above and below her the sounds of fighting raged -- measured volleys and gunfire from the knoll, shouts and clashes of steel on steel from her main position.

Several cuirassiers drew away from the fight on the hillside to ride toward her. She leveled the carbine and fired. One of the cuirassiers pitched from the saddle, but the rest came on -- sabers upraised. Three of them -- could she handle that many? She swung the carbine by its lever action and felt the mechanism close on another chambered round. Turning in her saddle, she beckoned the men galloping behind her to swing wide around her. "Dodge around! Go get the wagon and bring it back."

She charged straight toward the enemy, leveling the carbine and holding her fire until the last minute. Not all three could attack her at once. Two men drew away, letting the man at the center canter up to her. He began his downward saber stroke. Gisel fired -- the heavy round lifting him from the saddle and dashing him to the ground. She swung her horse's head and shoved the carbine back into the scabbard. She drew her katana.

One enemy charged her from each side. She raised her sword against the closest and parried his saber stroke as he rode past. The other was right behind her, saber upraised.

From nearby a shot rang out. The cuirassier dropped his saber and fell forward against his mount's neck. Gisel twisted around to see who'd fired. Her orderly had followed her foray and now raised his carbine like a staff to ward off the stroke of the remaining horseman.

Gisel spurred forward to his aid.

Blood spurted like a fountain as the saber sliced into her orderly's arm. Gisel came up quickly from behind, but no target presented itself to her sword. The cuirass protected the man's back and the neck guard of his helmet covered the gap of shoulder and neck above it. She aimed the katana's point and used her impetus to drive it into his unprotected thigh. Her arm jarred as if she'd driven a spade into gravel. He cried out in pain and lurched in the saddle, but his right arm swung his saber around toward her.

Chapter Thirty-one

Gisel tried to draw her katana free from the cuirassier's thigh but their horses' movements prevented her from making a straight pull. The man screamed with pain and fell against her. She leaned to brace herself and his saber blade missed. His wrist thumped hard against her shoulder. She yanked at the katana again, slashing flesh and muscle as she pulled it out forward. He dropped his saber and grasped for her throat with his hand.

The horses backed away from each other. Gisel's sword came free. She slashed upwards at his arm, a weak blow but it was enough. He let go her throat and swayed in his saddle. She raised her blade, but he put spurs to his mount and escaped, spurting blood and reeling from side to side.

Gisel attempted to draw rein, but her hands were slippery with her enemy's blood. She wiped them on her mount's withers and managed to slow him enough to look about. The ammunition wagon bounced up the hill toward her, the four troopers ranged around it in escort. Her orderly rode hard toward a gap in the Lubitz Rifles' breastwork, hunched forward in the saddle over his wounded arm. She urged her mount over to meet the wagon and gestured her instructions. The carter understood, making a wide turn to stop against the breastwork. Gisel rode to the back of the wagon. "Ten men here, quickly. Unload the ammunition."

One of the fifteen-pounders fired and its loader came running. "That were last shell. Jus' in time, Major!"

Gisel finally had a chance to take in the situation. The Skathians were now four hundred metres away and beginning to draw their bows to fire in reply to the deadly rifle volleys. About a kilometer behind them another shell hit the ragged formation of Imperial Dragoons and Lancers. Firing had lessened down the hill, several groups of cuirassiers drew away from the wagon laager and turned tail. Those that remained joined the group fighting with Captain Jans' squadron, forcing them back.

A shower of arrows landed about the ammunition wagon. They sounded like a hundred woodpeckers as they embedded themselves in the wooden sides, narrowly missing Gisel. She instinctively ducked to lay against her gelding's neck, then drew out her carbine and thumbed cartridges into the magazine. Gunners handed shells out the back of the wagon and the riflemen jumped out carrying an ammo box. "Is there any more rifle ammo, Major?'

"I don't know. What's there?"

"We sees only two boxes."

"That must be it. No one else uses 8mm." Damn -- even at their present strength that was less than fifteen rounds per man.

The shouts of the Skathians came closer. More arrows flew around them, taking one of the ammunition carriers in the back as he lifted a box onto the breastwork. The guns both fired. Gisel guided her horse through the gap in the breastwork. She galloped to the guns. "Lower your elevation. Fire into the Skathians -- shrapnel at zero fuse!"

She dismounted and stood beside the shield of the nearest gun. If they were nervous about blowing up their own gun, she'd better stand with them. They swung the gun to bear and then ran it forward so the barrel almost lay atop the breastwork. The Number One slammed the breech shut. "Fire!"

The gun bucked. A huge ball of flame erupted from the muzzle and a cloud of powder smoke emerged from the detonating gunpowder in the shell. As three hundred musket balls spread out in a huge 'shotgun' blast into the oncoming horsemen, the billowing cloud of smoke hid the effect from Gisel's view. This was as bad as gunnery before the switch to smokeless powder. She dashed away upwind to see the effect as the second gun fired.

The Skathians still came on, though great holes had opened in their formation. Down the hill shouts and cheers rang out. The cuirassiers were drawing off, but were they in retreat or merely reforming their ranks? A fifteen-pounder fired -- the great cloud of powder smoke at the barrel told her it also fired shrapnel at zero delay. A swath of men and horses went down in a jumbled heap.

The Skathians veered aside to ride across the downhill side of the knoll. As they passed they loosed arrows rapidly into the position. Men ducked down to avoid being hit. Those that stood to fire back were hit by arrows. Gisel peered out through the gap in the breastwork she had ridden through, firing her carbine as rapidly as she could.

The Skathians swung to gallop up the hill behind her position. Her men ran from the front to the back to keep up a fire against them. The gunners hauled one of the fifteen-pounders around to aim up the hill. As the leading Skathians came into the line of sight it fired. The leaders were just ahead of the deadly shrapnel hail. They turned down the hill again, circling closer to the breastwork. Across on the hillside, the dragoons and lancers, no longer engaged by the artillery, had resumed their advance. They were only a few hundred yards away.

As the Skathians circled her position, one of the flanking guns from down the hill added its fire to the defence. The high explosive shell landed at the head of their attack. A swath of bodies and mangled horses littered the hillside. They began to ride up the hill again as the next volley of rifle fire took effect. This time they did not turn but continued riding, as hard as they could for the crest. The men broke out into a ragged cheer. "They're running! The Skathians are in retreat!"

Gisel stood to watch as the horsemen in the rear followed. Then she looked back at the Imperial cavalry. "Face front! Back to the breastwork -- here come the dragoons."

The Imperial dragoons dismounted a hundred yards from the breastwork and opened fire with their carbines. Some ran forward to take cover behind the bodies of fallen Skathian ponies. The lancers mingled with the main body, wielded their horse pistols and gathered courage to charge home. Even with steady attrition, they still outnumbered those in Gisel's position by four to one. The Lubitz riflemen ran back to their positions and reloaded. A duel of gunfire began. Down the hill, three fifteen-pounders bellowed, the cuirassiers turned away in full retreat. Gisel jumped onto the top of the breastwork and waved at Jans' cavalry, just beginning to sort themselves out from the desperate fight. Jans understood and shouted to his men to form line to take these attackers in flank.

The riflemen could fire ten times for each shot the dragoons could load, ram, and fire, but her men must conserve their ammunition. She had the uphill fifteen-pounder hauled around to face front again; the weary gunners almost unable to lift the trail. She had plenty of shrapnel and HE -- these guns could manage six rounds a minute. Time to see what they could do over open sights. As riflemen ran out of ammunition, Gisel had them run to the ammunition wagon to carry shells to the guns. The guns fired in rapid succession. Soon the hundred rounds in the wagon would be exhausted.

The Imperial forces couldn't stand the unequal duel. They realized the cuirassiers were in retreat, and saw Jans' squadron formed up to take them in flank. Scattered groups began to fall back. Some men mounted up to ride away and a general panic followed. Captain Jans' squadron cantered up the hill to catch an enemy in full flight. Gisel ran for her gelding and mounted. She drew her katana in the center of her position and waved it over her head. "We've done it, lads! You were too much for the bastards. Sergeants, see to your wounded and your sentry posts -- I'm going out to join Captain Jans."

She galloped out through the gap in the breastwork and swung her horse to ride after the rear of her cavalry squadron. They galloped after the retreating enemy for several hundred yards, cutting down stragglers with their sabers. At last Gisel drew alongside Jans. "These guys are beaten!" she shouted. "Sound the recall and let's see what strength we have left."

Jans saluted and stretched out a hand to his bugler. The man blew the notes of the recall as they reined in. The fight was over. They sat their horses on the hillside and surveyed the litter of bodies spread across the grass.

Jans sheathed his saber and turned to Gisel. "I don't think these Empire men will face us again. The Fifteenth army has no viable cavalry arm after today."

Gisel nodded, but then looked up to the top of the ridge. "You're right, but what does Prince Jeury want? Is he mad at losing so many of his young hotheads who joined in?"

She slowly rode back to take stock of her casualties. Time to decide whether to take her force into the hills and refuse any further combat. Her communicator vibrated against her side; it was Lord Ricart. "Where is your force, Gisel, have you met any of the Imperial cavalry? I'm calling to tell you to pull back and disengage."

"Too late."

"Surely not. Our situation here is much improved -- I want you to lead them back onto my force. We'll catch them in a trap, can you do it?"

"Met them. Held them. Sent them running with their tails between their legs. I'm just going to see the extent of our own casualties."

"What! You accepted battle? How many were there?"

"The greater part of a division. Had no choice, Prince Jeury and about twenty thousand Skathians are watching from every hilltop."

"By the Flame! You beat the Trigons and Jeury saw you? Have you tried to speak with him?"

She glanced down at the communicator and regretted she didn't have Ricart here to make him feel small. "Been busy. He did send a thousand of his wildmen to test our ammunition. Naserdin rode to speak with him yesterday and the bastards set on him."

"Damn and blast! I don't know what to advise. I'll send a force to support you -- I'm in control here."

She cast an eye across the grass, littered with bodies. "You've beaten Duke Solerar?"

"He's in full retreat to Makberg. Garriker and the Kachupins caught his right wing trying to cross the river -- smashed them. That was to your credit -- taking out the bridge."

"Who will you send?"

"I think General Garriker's cavalry -- I'll try to have him lead them. That will show Jeury that we are united here."

"Can they get here this afternoon?"

"Don't be foolish, Gisel. It'll be two days."

"Then they might only find our corpses. We haven't enough ammunition to hold off another assault."

*****

Zagdorf rode slowly up to the top of the ridge to speak with Prince Jeury. The cursed Iskanders had done it again -- how could he salvage any advantage from this fiasco? Who would the Prince blame for the loss of several hundred of his own horsemen; the Imperial cavalry who had lured them into battle or the Iskanders who had mauled them? He glanced about him as he rode, even here bodies bleeding on the grass showed the deadly effect of those guns. He would not have believed it possible had he not seen it himself.

If the Strategos had not been wounded by flying shrapnel at the start of the battle, they may have attacked to more effect, but he doubted it. Obviously the Empire's generals did not believe what they were told of Iskander's methods until they had suffered reverse from them. What could he have done better? Only given them no time to prepare their defense -- but even then those guns would have taken a deadly toll. The only course that made sense was to neutralise the Iskanders long enough to steal their secrets and rearm the armies. But how dare he tell that to the Emperor?

The Skathians were strung all along the ridgetop. In many places voices raised in lamentation as they mourned their fallen. He did not understand the Skathian language but many shouts and angry tirades sounded like a demand to take revenge. He looked down the hillside toward the Iskander positions, almost a league away. They seemed to be taking care of their dead and wounded also. How was their spirit? Was it possible the Wildcat had led this desperate defense? Surely a woman could not stand to witness so much death without giving way to some doubts or tender emotions. The officers must have kept a strong hand on their men's morale.

He made his way to the Prince's standard and saluted. "Well, my Lord. Did you learn what you wished?"

The Prince laid aside the telescope the Novrehan ambassador had given him. "They had the better of you. How many have you lost?"

"Our regiments have suffered fifty percent casualties -- dead and wounded. The Strategos was caught by an exploding shell and is under the surgeon's knife. It falls to me to lead them back to Novrehan."

"I believe half of my young men who charged them also lie dead. This wasp has a powerful sting."

"As I told you, Lord Prince. We must act together to root it out."

Jeury sneered. "Do you think I need the help of your drayhorse cavalry? I could wipe them out in a moment."

Zagdorf felt his anger rise. The words came out before he thought. "Then why don't you?"

Jeury's eyes took on a wild light. His hand found his sword hilt, but then he stopped and shook his head. "You will not use my anger to assuage your defeat. There is more I wish to learn. Will this Wildcat hold her position or try to retire?"

"You think it is her?"

"I know. I have the Skathian officer who was her second in command. He is an enemy of one of my brothers."

Chapter Thirty-two

Gisel rode up to the knoll with her officers to check on the dead and wounded. A party of Imperial cavalry approached under a white flag to request a truce in order to collect their wounded, moaning and crying out in pain everywhere. Gisel agreed, but stipulated they must be unarmed. She set a squadron of her cavalry to watch over them. No one had come from the Skathians on the ridge top, but their fallen were silent even though she could see movement among them. No doubt they held it shameful to acknowledge pain. She wondered about sending corpsmen to them with water, but didn't have enough to spare from her own casualties.

The senior sergeant of the Lubitzers met them at the gap in the breastwork. "We have twenty men in need of aid, Major."

Jans dismounted to walk inside. "And dead?"

"Only eight, sir. We were lucky."

Gisel nodded as she dismounted, indeed they were. Their casualty list was over a hundred, with another forty killed. Her desperate action would earn her no military honors -- it wasn't the way to handle light cavalry. With a powerful force threatening their destruction from the hilltop, it could soon become a tactical blunder. Only as a political action had the battle made sense. "Load the wounded on the empty ammunition wagon and send them down to the main position. We'll take care of them there. How much ammunition do you have?"

"After taking unused ammo from the dead and wounded we've about ten rounds each, Major. Not enough to fight again."

"I know. We should head for Blackrock Ford to find that other barge."

"Do we move out, Major?" Captain Viens asked.

Gisel turned to look up the hill, where the Skathians sat their horses and watched. The man up there held their lives in his hands -- she could issue no orders until she confronted him. "If they'll let us. I'll go up there to bargain. Here's what I want you to do. Load these two guns with HE and keep them trained on me."

"Trained on you?"

She took hold of her horse's reins and then twisted to face them. "You're all telling me these guys are killers -- it'd be fatal to let Skathians capture me. Well, if he's going to kill me, I'll take him as well. If I draw this sword and raise it over my head -- fire both guns."

"But . . ."

Captain Jans raised a hand. "Stay here, Major. If they attack once more, we'll fight them off with cold steel."

"I don't think we can do it." Gisel said. "If this is the end of the road -- I'm going to give my luck one more try. Captain Viens -- I don't see the guns being loaded."

"Right away."

"Keep them pointed at me -- can I trust you?"

His face wore an agonized expression. "Yes, Major."

She patted her gelding's neck and mounted up.

Jans stepped forward. "Can I shake your hand, Major?"

She shook her head. "Can't let them see anything suspicious. Try not to make training the guns too obvious."

She gave them the smartest salute she could manage, and they replied the same way. Then she urged her horse forward in a walk and started up the hill toward the Skathian standard. When she got closer to the Prince's retinue she increased to a canter -- being further from the guns it would now be easier for the gunlayers to keep trained on her. Ahead, she saw about a hundred horsemen had their bows drawn -- but no one made a move to stop her. She rode up to within ten yards of the standard and drew rein. One of these swarthy bastards had to be the prince, but they all looked alike to her.

"My name is Gisel Matah," she said in Greek. "Major in the Iskander Security Forces, and in command of this formation. Many know me as the Wildcat. Is there any man here who wants to take responsibility for the unprovoked attack on my position?"

Out from the centre of the cluster of horsemen trotted a rider on a grey pony, his only distinction being a cloak fastened by a large gold clasp. "Does the Wildcat want to make recompense for killing my men?" he said, one hand on the sword at his side. His jet-black hair hung in long greasy braids from underneath an iron helmet. His eyes were like a raven's -- shining, and flicking alertly about to take in everything in the scene around them. This was likely Prince Jeury -- not impressive but definitely interesting.

She turned her attention from him to the two who urged their mounts to follow him forward. One was an old man wearing a long wolf cape with its skull and bared teeth over his forehead -- the second was a surprise -- Commandante Zagdorf.

She gestured toward him. "I offer no recompense for men killed by the trickery of that Trigon bastard in your entourage. This conflict is the Emperor's doing -- take out your satisfaction on that man's hide."

"Ah, my dear Gisel," Zagdorf said, "you are no nearer to being or sounding like a lady than you ever were. Your language and manner toward such an illustrious prince as this is an impertinence that should see you tied between two horses and torn apart."

"What . . . you sorry son-of-a-bitch? Have you given up trying to catch me and take me to the Emperor for a reward?"

The Prince smiled broadly. "You two do know one another well -- I would be pleased to have you both dine at my campfire tonight. Your presence should make for interesting conversation."

Gisel's heart pounded -- this wasn't working out the way she'd intended. "I didn't come here on a social visit, my Lord Prince. It seems you have extended the war between ourselves and the Empire by allowing this Imperial force to attack my troops. You have committed an act of war by letting your own men join in -- sacrificing themselves in order to cover an assault by Zagdorf's soldiers. Or would have done, if I hadn't kept the dragoons under an artillery bombardment."

She paused long enough to watch the angry looks that shot between Zagdorf and the Prince, before fixing the Skathian with as fierce a stare as she could manage. "I think your own life should be offered in surety that you will answer these charges. Do you agree? If you promise to take all these ruffians back to Novrehan with you and offer a non-aggression agreement, I will take your word as a man of honor and not kill you at this very moment."

The men around her gaped, some snarling as they understood the drift of her words. A loud outcry started in the ranks of horsemen from those who were told of her threat by their companions. Many bows were drawn again and the arrows aimed at her. Gisel gripped her katana in readiness to drawing it.

The Prince raised a hand to hold his men back. "You will offer not to kill me?" His face grew a huge smile. "That is very magnanimous of you. How do you suppose you could harm me in the midst of my own men?"

Gisel drew her katana a more few inches. "If I raise this blade over my head, those two guns down there will fire at us. I ordered them to take aim on me. If you wish to live long enough for that dinner tonight I expect your vow to halt this combat and enter into a discussion of our grievances. For starters, I'd like to see you order these men to put away their arrows and ride some distance off."

The Prince urged his pony closer to her and drew rein again. He took out an Iskander telescope and trained it down the hill onto the guns. "You seem to tell the truth. Will they actually fire at your command?"

"I so ordered them."

He lowered the telescope. "You would doubtless die as well."

"Everyone tells me that displeasing the Prince is certain death. And I did not come up here to please you."

The Prince laughed. "You are as outrageous as I was told. Zagdorf -- your words did not do this wild creature justice." He turned back to her and his eyes suddenly became as cold as a snake's. "Do you imagine that killing me would end any threat to your men or to your Iskander people? My followers would avenge my death should I be killed, so your self sacrifice would do nothing."

Gisel did her utmost to keep her face impassive. "I took on this Imperial force for only one thing. To prove Iskander your equal. If this is the only way to settle it . . .."

"A sorry end. I have merely to nod to have my followers feed your survivors to the ravens. I can do that as quickly as you can raise your sword."

"It would be a coward's victory. Each man down there is worth a hundred of yours."

Jeury narrowed his eyes, but could not hold them against her accusation. "But what have they accomplished?" He smiled without humor. "What would killing us accomplish?"

"I would buy Iskander some time."

"Very little. I have twenty brothers, any of whom would relish riding here to complete the task that I fail."

"But you haven't yet failed, Lord Prince. Speak with me, and you may yet achieve the purpose for which you came."

"Do you suppose I negotiate with women? What do you know of my purpose?"

"That's for you to find out. Order your men to put away their weapons and wait for you lower down the hill -- make sure they take Zagdorf with them. We don't want him hearing our discussion."

The Prince's eyes hooded angrily. "Do not tell me what to do. No man speaks to me in that fashion."

Gisel drew her katana half way from its sheath. "No man, perhaps . . ."

"By the Sacred Wolves -- I believe you mean it. Put your blade away -- even the prince of the Skathians knows enough not to back a wildcat into a corner. I shall make you this oath." He drew his own sword, slowly, and placed the blade across his own chest. "For two days shall truce stand between us. You shall come with me to my camp tonight and we shall talk. How can you tell your gunners to point their cannon away?"

"Shake on it, and you shall see."

The Prince replaced his blade and held out his hand. Gisel took it and did her best to match the grip in his waxy fist. Then she pushed her katana home and took out her communicator. "Captain Viens," she said in the Common Tongue.

"Yes, Major."

"You can point your guns to a safe bearing. The Prince has given his word for a two day truce. No one leaves our positions but you can stand down as soon as the Imperial cavalry are called off as well."

The Prince's eyes bored into the device in her hand. Then he lifted the telescope to watch the guns. He'd probably not understood her words, but the turning away of the guns confirmed her order. "They complied."

"Of course. Did you suppose they wouldn't? Now get Zagdorf to go back to the Imperial camp to order them back to Novrehan. My men will remain ready to resume the action until they see them leave."

Prince Jeury gestured for his old chap in the wolf gear to come forward. They spoke rapidly together for several moments and then the man rode away to carry out his orders. Jeury sat silently until the others moved off -- all save a sweet faced young man who dismounted and took position beside his Lord's pony. Was this the Prince's lover? Jeury gestured toward her belt where she'd clipped her communicator. "Who else can you speak to?"

"My commanders, and to President Scopes. Everything I offer in return for your commitments can be confirmed at once."

"You suppose I wish to make commitments?"

"You don't imagine I believe you took an arduous three month journey here for pleasure. You came for a serious purpose -- let's get at it."

The sweet faced youth scowled at her but Jeury nodded thoughtfully. "I would perhaps speak with your high chief."

"President Scopes doesn't speak Greek, I'll translate for him."

"You have a President? When the Trigons came their leader was called Admiral."

Gisel struggled to keep her reactions off her face. Of course, the heir to the Trigon's greatest rival would know a great deal about them. How much would he tell? She must pretend to know more than the Iskanders had learned. "They were soldiers -- we are civilians. At least -- I was when I arrived."

The equivalent in this Greek was cosmopolitans, but Jeury seemed to get her drift. "Then you cannot rain fire from the skies as the Trigons once did?"

Yep, that confirmed her brother's suspicions, but what had happened to this air capability? She must play along some more. "We could equip our shuttle with bombs if we thought it necessary. We want to make friends here -- I don't think blasting them into oblivion from the skies is the way to do it."

"But with these cannon . . .?"

"You saw we were outnumbered. All Iskander forces are smaller than their tasks require -- we have no choice but to use gunfire to supplement our numbers."

Jeury nodded and his pony stepped skittishly sideways. "Let us dismount. I believe you are taller than me. I should like to see by how much."

Gisel eyed him warily as they swung from their saddles. "Why?"

He stared at her with an icy smile. "A custom of my people -- if a treaty must be cemented."

She felt her breath catch, knowing quite well what he meant. She swung out of the saddle, noticing the youth's expression was a mix of jealousy and contempt.

With his short, bandy legs, Jeury barely came up to her shoulder. Even at three yards distant he smelled like a barnyard . . . but then she doubted if she smelled much better. What was she prepared to do for Iskander? Not marry the little toad -- she'd have to turn him off that idea.

"Come, walk with me," he said. "I will speak with your President, and I would see this sky machine. Will it come at your command?"

Chapter Thirty-three

Gisel and Prince Jeury had barely begun to walk along the grassy ridge top when a large group of riders crested the rise. Almost all women, riding small ponies and leading several more -- all wives, mothers, sisters and daughters of those who had fallen to Iskander's fire.

"They wish to pick up their men's bodies," Jeury said.

"I can see that. But some are still alive -- if I had medical personnel to spare I'd offer to treat them."

"Do not trouble yourself. It is well understood that the wounded will never be able to ride and fight in battle again. Best they fall to their own blades."

Gisel stared. "We heal our soldiers -- it is a pact we make with them. In fact, I want to see if I can get these evacuated -- you said you wanted to see our air machine?"

"I need proof," Jeury said, his cold raven's eye on the slow moving cortege crossing the ridge.

Gisel pulled out her communicator. First she called Captain Jans on the field net. "The Skathians have women coming for their fallen. None are armed."

"Very well, Major. I'll let them pass."

With Prince Jeury's rapt attention, Gisel signed off and punched in President Scopes' private number on the keypad. He took a few seconds to answer it. "Major Matah, what do you have to report?"

"I'm standing on a ridge over our battlefield talking with Prince Jeury. He wants to see proof that we have an air machine -- as the Trigons have -- and I want a casualty evacuation flight for about a hundred wounded."

The communicator hummed softly and she could imagine Scopes' face as he absorbed three pieces of startling information at once. "I'm glad I don't have heart trouble, Gisel. Must you always throw these curves at me? The Empire has air capability? We've never had any evidence, are you sure?"

"Prince Jeury told me, but the machine hasn't been seen for many years."

"Damn, I hope it's out of action -- see if you can learn more. What's this about casualties?"

"I had to stand and fight against the Imperial cavalry division -- mostly to prove to the Prince that we were worth his attention."

"Prove . . .? You have beaten them off?"

"Yep, but I've lost a lot of men. Is the Intruder serviceable -- can you send it?"

"Give me a minute -- I'll check."

She raised her eyes to Jeury. "These air machines take a lot of work to keep flying. They are very complicated devices. I'm finding out if it can fly today."

"The Trigons ruled the battlefield with theirs for years," Jeury answered. "Then one day it went away and has never been seen since. Perhaps it became ill."

"Very likely, when was this?"

The Prince shrugged, a slight twist to his lip. He didn't answer.

"We use our shuttle. It's different than a starship -- but still a hog for attention."

The Prince stared keenly at her. "But you have one . . . star-ship?"

"Yes, we parked it way out there." She gestured upwards. "It listens to this communicator and sends my words on to our Control Center in Tarnland. Some of our people work up there, my brother for example. You could say the Iskander is our inviolable capital."

The President's voice came back on the communicator. "They can have the Intruder airborne in half an hour. What is your location?"

Gisel thumbed to the position page and then transmitted it by radio.

"Okay, got it. How many casualties do you have?"

"We have a hundred in round numbers. There are several hundred Imperial and Skathian wounded as well."

"Skathian?"

"Some of the Prince's men thought the fight seemed so exciting they had to join in."

"You fought the Skathians?" Scopes' voice sounded appalled. "What is the Prince's reaction?"

"He did mention something about recompense, but I put the blame on Zagdorf."

"What has Zagdorf to do with it?"

"Not entirely sure, but he's among the Prince's entourage. I think he's been egging him on."

"I believe I should fly there with the Intruder. These are very delicate negotiations -- I'm not sure your manner is appropriate, Gisel. You sound very terse -- in one of your abrasive moods."

She glared at the communicator. Well, shit! You don't suppose it's been fun out here? And you never want to trust the gal who does all the dirty work -- doubt if you'd do any better. "If you want my advice as your security officer, I'd say stay away. It's dangerous -- absolutely no guarantee the Prince won't let his men loose on us. Blood demands honor -- you know how it goes. Their own policy with wounded is to let them either die or commit hara-kiri. These are tough hombres."

"You're serious?"

"Dead serious. Captain Naserdin came to speak with the Prince yesterday and they attacked him and carried him away. I want to find out if he's dead. By the way -- send an ammo resupply with the Intruder. We need 8 and 10 mm . . . and send eight hundred rounds of fifteen-pounder."

"Good God, you're still under threat of attack? I'll send it, but I cannot authorize you to make any agreements on Iskander's behalf. The Skathian Empire is a bigger deal than Lubitz was last year. They could wipe out the whole countryside."

"Believe it. Listen, I'm here, I speak a language he understands -- you have no choice but to let me talk with him."

"Is Zagdorf still there? I don't want him to see the Intruder."

"I'm not sure the Prince will allow me to send him away. I expect he wants to test us, one against the other. He entertains Zagdorf and me at dinner tonight -- it promises to be interesting. I grant you I'll need to tread lightly between the two of them. All I can promise is to refer any commitments back to you -- okay?"

The communicator was silent for a whole minute. The Prince looked at it and then at her, but she merely shook her head. At last Scopes came back. "I must agree, but you have authority only to conduct discussions. Tell the Prince that I will come to meet him when an agreement can be signed."

"Check. I'd best get back to him -- looks like he's getting impatient."

"All right. Call me again as soon as you are able."

The communicator went dead. Prince Jeury fixed her with his shiny black eyes. "You speak to him as an equal -- no one does that to me . . . except perhaps, you. If you were not as brave as I saw today I would have you killed in a moment, but have a care. You say you did not come up here to please me, but you must do so before I will let you return."

*****

Zagdorf returned from the division's night encampment on a lathered horse, after conveying Prince Jeury's orders to return to Novrehan. The Wildcat was too tricky by half -- he didn't want her talking to the Prince too long without being there to hear whatshesaid.

In camp, he had found the Strategos conscious and resting after the surgeons had treated him, so he would see the orders carried out. The news of his failure and retreat to Novrehan would hardly assist his recovery; the look on the man's face was almost compensation for his own hard ride to deliver the message. Zagdorf had given his own aides a message to be sent to the Emperor by the electric telegraph -- a request for the authority to stave off the worst possibility of all. The chance of an alliance between Iskander and the Skathian prince.

He caught up to the Prince and the Wildcat as they were starting down the hill at the head of an escort of some of the most senior tribal leaders. It wasn't until they were met by a group of the Iskander cavalry that he learned what was to happen. Then he was appalled.

The Wildcat and the cavalry captain halted their horses facing one another and saluted. "You have men here who are familiar with the Intruder, Captain Jans?" she said.

"I and a dozen of my men have flown on a special mission, Major. I have about twenty more who were on an air resupply exercise."

"Good -- the Intruder is coming in very soon. An ammunition resupply and then they'll be flying our wounded back to Tarnland for treatment. I'm going to bring it in on that flat ground closer to the river."

Zagdorf saw the direction she pointed. Air resupply! Then the Iskanders did have a machine capable of flight -- but why did they not use it to destroy their enemies as the Trigons had done in the days when the star-cruiser could fly? It made no sense. But the thought of having the Prince see it made his stomach churn -- he would immediately want more of their knowledge. It would be the Skathians' opportunity to conclude the war between the empires to their own satisfaction. This was far more dangerous than having Jeury enforce the buffer-state neutrality of Novrehan -- this could mean the end of the Trigon Empire.

His mind whirled as they rode down to the flat meadow fringing the river. While the Wildcat rode to inspect the ground he struggled to order the arguments he must present to the Prince. When she dismounted to test the surface, he followed Jans to join her. She grinned toward him. "I doubt you're old enough to have seen yours flying, but this is just the tender to our spaceship. Ours is hidden -- as is yours."

How did she know? The Prince must have talked to her while he was gone. Zagdorf didn't answer -- her knowing this was a disaster already.

"President Scopes doesn't want you to see our space plane, but I don't see how it can do any harm. You've known a lot about us ever since you were at Bergrund, haven't you?"

He kept his face expressionless. She was guessing.

"Marten Zulik," she said. "You know, if the Emperor would make peace with us, you'd make an ideal ambassador."

He glanced away. By Gehenna! She was as cunning a snake as the Prince, but she was not going to outwit him again. "I doubt his Imperial Highness would accept your recommendation."

The Wildcat laughed. "Perhaps he'd send us Solerar, but I doubt he'd do any better than you as a diplomat. Ironic that we're both here together trying to persuade the Prince not to make war on our people. You know, it could work better if we cooperated. I could even be persuaded not to kill you."

"I think your threat is stale. But do you think we could find a common ground that the Prince would not see through? You are a fool."

She laughed. "My alternative is to place ourselves at his service. Surely you see that?"

The little bitch was a shrewd one. She was not likely to miss any of the ramifications of this situation. The Prince held too much power, with an army of one hundred thousand and sure succession in his hands. How could he stonewall her and the Prince both? It would be several days before he would learn how much authority the Emperor would allow him. By that time the die would be cast.

"Captain Jans," she said. "Take Zagdorf away with you and watch him closely -- don't turn your back. I mean to land the Intruder here, so see the horses are hobbled and have their heads turned away at a safe distance -- you know the routine."

"Yes, Major. I'll see to it."

Zagdorf's mind raced as he followed Jans across the grass. If the Imperial armies could overwhelm the Iskanders and seize control of their warlike assets before the Skathians could act, he would advocate taking the gamble. After today, it was clear that the Empire could only defeat the Iskanders with overwhelming numbers. Would the Emperor believe him -- would he agree to such great expense? Even if he did, it would take all next year to assemble such a force.

What skillful diplomacy could neutralise the Skathians while the Imperial force gathered? Jeury obviously wanted to control Iskander himself -- now he had seen them. Somehow he must be prevented from intervention -- and the only way to stop him was through the Iskanders themselves. Certainly the Wildcat was already wary of the Skathian threat to Iskander's independence. They must be kept from any common interest.

To have the time to prepare a stronger move, this war between the Empire and Iskander must be ended. But it was more than his life was worth to bring such news to the Emperor. Perhaps he could maneuver Jeury into issuing such a proclamation. After a truce, it would be a race between Skathia and the Trigons to see who could acquire most of Iskander's deadly secrets. He had no doubt that during such a uneasy peace as he envisaged, his own spy network in the Iskander's factories would become the Empire's most powerful asset. And the name Zagdorf would inevitably be raised high in honor.

With his uncertainty easing, he watched with interest as the Iskanders prepared to receive their machine. The Prince rode over to join him with some of his retinue. "What are they doing, Commandante?"

"I believe this machine will frighten horses. This Captain Jans will lead us to a safe place in a moment."

"And the Wildcat?"

"I do not know. She said it would land where she sits her horse."

Captain Jans came riding back. "If you would accompany me to the far side of our wagon laager, my Lord . . . Commandante. The Major says the aircraft is a few minutes away."

Zagdorf almost missed seeing the aircraft when it appeared -- he only looked up when the Prince did. It swept across the sky, perhaps a thousand feet in the air, almost without a sound and then turned in the distance. The Wildcat rode slowly back towards them. Jans spoke, "She's just made sure the crew saw the ground she's picked out."

Zagdorf translated for the Prince again as the machine completed its turn and approached once more. This time he could hear it, it almost hurt his ears -- no wonder people remembered the name sky thunder. The closer it came the louder the roar, until it stopped a few hundred feet above the place the Wildcat had indicated. Then the aircraft descended slowly, the noise loud enough to vibrate in one's belly; dirt and debris flying up as if in a tornado. Zagdorf's horse began to prance in fear, and he leaned forward to calm it. Several more of Iskander's animals shied and tried to escape their hobbles. When he was able to watch again the noise was dying away, and the machine stood on the ground.

The Wildcat pulled her mount's reins free from the wheel of a nearby wagon and led it to them. "I'll have you stay here until our ammunition is unloaded," she said in Scholar's Greek, "but when we start loading our wounded you may come to watch. Just you, my Lord Prince . . . and Zagdorf."

"I will have my escort," the Prince said.

"You'll have better than that," she answered. "You'll have me . . . and Iskander cavalry."

"You do your best to anger me," the Prince said. "You have no further need to seize my attention -- I am prepared to grant you as much as I did your lackey Naserdin."

"You set your men upon Naserdin."

The Prince stared at her stonily. "That is what I mean."

*****

The Prince gave his pony its head and let it follow the Wildcat's gelding.Goodhe had no larger escort to see him let a mere woman lead him around. He decided to converse with the Trigon to make it seem he was too involved to care about her actions. "Is this machine as large as the Trigon's?"

For a moment it seemed as if Zagdorf would not answer. He only spoke after the Wildcat turned her head and said, "I doubt it."

"No, Lord Prince. This is as a flea to a dog. My ancestors lived and journeyed in our machine for many years."

The Prince shrugged, it mattered little to him if the thing would no longer leave the ground. The machine they approached towered over their heads like the spire and high balcony of a temple. It had two wings like a bird's, although they did not seem to fold against its back. He looked up at the nearest as they skirted around it -- perhaps one could touch the metal if one stood on the back of a tall horse. He felt hot air from a great black cavern at the base of the wing, and turned his head to see inside. His horse snickered and shook its head at the smell it gave off. He might have expected to see some foul creature staring out at him, but all he saw was a great wheel standing motionless in the darkness.

"That's the port engine, Lord Prince," the Wildcat said. "It has more power than all the horses in your army together. It takes a great deal to break free of the earth's pull."

"Pull . . . what do you mean?"

"The pull that keeps our feet on the ground. Great speed is needed to overcome it. Were we to build some machine like this for your own use, you could go from one end of the Great Khan's domains to the other in an hour."

"But you could not build one," Zagdorf said quickly.

"Not today." She shrugged. "Give us time to increase the training and understanding of our people and we could in the future. Our knowledge can make a serf as well off as a Prince -- and a Prince richer than even he has ever believed possible."

"Nonsense!" Zagdorf said. "He would have nothing -- save with Iskander's leave."

The Prince made his face impassive. They reached the opening in the thing's belly where the soldiers were carrying wounded men on narrow beds up a ramp. Here they drew rein and looked inside at rows of these beds set one above the other and stretching back into the bowels of the machine.

"We could take you and a hundred men of your entourage home from here, Lord Prince. If you should be required to return quickly to be at your father's side, just give me the word. This machine is kept busy, but Iskander could include the heir to Skathia in its schedule."

"You would be beholden to them," Zagdorf said.

"I can see that, Commandante. Do you suppose I am a child, dazzled by their shining baubles?" He watched two men carry a wounded man past them, one leg a mass of blood. "You wish to save this one? He will never walk again. Never ride a horse to war."

The Wildcat's eyes were on the men as they carried the bloodied soldier up the ramp. "He will live, and walk again on an artificial leg. Perhaps he will not be a cavalryman again, but he has experience enough to train young men who will. He could work at a bench in Iskander's factories, or become a trader to carry our goods to distant lands. He can still sit on the bench of a wagon and count coin."

Jeury put a hand to his sword, the one they had taken from the Iskander trader. "You would have them carry swords such as this to my underlings? You seek to destroy my authority." He drew the blade and held it under her nose.

"Yes, I thought it was Iskander make, but didn't want to ask. Did you buy this one?"

"No. My army found some wretch trying to carry it into the Horse Plains. All such sneaking creatures will share his fate."

The Wildcat met his eyes with an angry stare. "Don't doubt that we could set loose more such wretches than even your large army could ever find and stop. But if we come to an understanding between Skathia and Iskander we can control what is sold there. I don't doubt you'd like a hundred thousand swords like it for your army."

Curse the little witch, she saw his weakness. With his men armed by Iskander he could lead Skathian armies to conquer the world. "And cannon that can send a bursting shell through the night into an enemy's camp?"

She turned laughing eyes on Zagdorf. "Did we keep you awake last night? You've only seen a tenth part of what we could do."

The Prince watched Zagdorf turn away in rage. Perhaps his words had held some truth -- these people needed to be controlled before they made both empires dance to their tune. But if he ensured it was his control, he could have his will and keep Skathia secure as well. The only difficulty was that the Trigons were closer to the Iskanders and he would need a fleet of ships to reach across the Inland Sea. He must find a way to block the Empire's access to them.

He watched the Wildcat as she conferred with her men. Truly, the daughter of he who mated fire and water had the power of great omens in her. He would never let her suspect it, but he must look to her . . . to the gods who spoke through her . . . before he decided how to end this clash of empires.

He had come west believing he had merely to trade an insignificant buffer state for one his father coveted. The intention to investigate these foreigners had been a convenient excuse to move the borders into a conformation more to the Great Khan's liking. But he could not give up the Horse Plains -- it was the bridge between Tashkand and the Iskanders. If he wanted to obtain their weapons, he must secure his access to them. His father would be angry if he turned the mission he'd been given on its head -- but surely he could show him cause. Riding home with a brace of those cannon, would make the old man reconsider.

Chapter Thirty-four

Gisel rode beside the Prince as they entered the Skathian encampment, Zagdorf on his other side. They had ridden much farther than she'd expected; until the sun had set. The array of squat dark tents, like a field of black cheeses, stretched away into the distant gloom of dusk. The air reeked with the smoke of thousands of fires, an acrid stink that told her they were used to burning dung on their treeless plains. The narrow spaces between the tents throbbed with the voices and movement of a great throng of warriors, women, and children. Meat roasted over open fires, people tore huge chunks with their teeth, and dogs fought over the scraps. At the edge of the dwellings were horse lines where the Skathians tied their wiry ponies, beside the corrals of wooden hurdles that hemmed in their flocks and herds. This was an army that brought its whole nation along with it.

She might think this barnyard army quaint, but the way Zagdorf and the Imperial forces jumped to please the Prince told her it was nothing to laugh at. Her troops had driven off a few thousand of them, but she could well believe there were a hundred thousand in this valley. Iskander didn't possess enough artillery to make a dent in such a force. There were twenty royal princes, did they all have armies as strong? She felt awed at the task before her.

The Prince rode into the center of the camp and drew rein before a larger tent while his standard bearer leapt from his mount to stab the royal standard into the ground beside it. The tent flap opened and a dozen women rushed out with multicolored rugs of crimson, blue and gold to lay a path to the opening. The Prince waited until the women had laid the rugs and scurried out of sight before he dismounted. He turned to them. "You may dismount on my carpet, Major Wildcat . . . you too Commandante. Your orderlies will wait here with my Gaffir -- he will tell them what is expected."

She had no orderly since her man had been wounded, so she'd brought Lieutenant Bowns on the possibility he might learn something of Skathia at the meeting. Could be, the border with Skathia might become an active service posting -- possibilities of promotion for a sharp young man. If either of them lived long enough. Gisel sought Bowns' eye. "You are to stay with the Gaffir -- the old chap with the wolf suit. They'll let you know what's expected."

Bowns nodded, his eyes darting around at the encampment and the thousands of warriors. He didn't attempt to salute.

Prince Jeury stood at the tent flap as Gisel dismounted. Zagdorf stood aside to let her go first but she stopped before entering. "I have an aide in this camp. I would like to speak with my Captain Naserdin before I'm seated."

The Prince's raven eyes tried to drill straight through her. "Naserdin is in chains."

That meant he was still alive. "Then he can be unchained."

Prince Jeury regarded her for a moment. "Why do you want him?"

"I know nothing of Skathian protocol. What is an aide for, if not to assist his commander?"

"And to make sure the commander does not miss any advantage?" the Prince said with a cold smile. "If I indulge you once more, it shall be the last. Would you rather have Naserdin, or some consideration when we discuss Iskander's fate?"

She took a deep breath. The bastard. Iskander or Naserdin. "I have asked for a man who could have lost his life serving me. Iskander's honor gives me no choice. Free Naserdin."

She saw the expression on Zagdorf's face but couldn't completely decipher it. Scorn, but something more -- he was a commander of men too. Would he honor loyalty to one's men above politics?

"I will send him to you later," the Prince said. He beckoned his Gaffir and spoke with him while Gisel and Zagdorf went inside.

The interior gloom was lifted only near a dozen smoky lamps set on tripods. The air reeked of burning oil and stale sweat -- jeeze, was she expected to eat in here? More carpets covered the floor, the same colours as those that'd been spread outside, but these had intricate patterns that blended into shifting designs in the flickering light. On the carpets were piles of cushions, a large one opposite the door and a smaller ranged on either side. Zagdorf walked past her to one of the smaller cushion seats and sat down. Gisel took the other -- sinking into the pile felt like falling into a cloth covered straw stack. Maybe they pulled the stuffing out of them when forage was scarce. Better not say that -- try to be respectful.

The Prince entered, crossed to his taller pile and seated himself. He raised his hands to clap once. Three young women entered with dishes. Were they wives? Probably too old to be daughters, though Jeury must be about thirty. These girls were in their late teens, covered in dark colored woolen kaftans, and as the one serving her leaned closer -- their eyes made up with kohl and their lips heavily painted with some substance just as dark. Goth handmaidens for chrissake?

The contents of the bowl set before her seemed as forbidding. It was a mess of milled grain with round meatlike lumps. Several eyes peered up at her through the sauce -- hope to hell they're only sheep's eyes. She watched Zagdorf to see how he tackled it. Another woman entered bearing a wineskin and three gold goblets. She poured one for the Prince and then one for Zagdorf -- well, that told her the pecking order in Skathian society.

As the woman reached her Gisel could see she was somewhat older than the others, her face lined and dried by the sun and her dark make-up applied with a more deft hand -- or else she'd wiped some off. She held the goblet in one hand and poured with the wineskin in the other. As she did so, her eyes sought Gisel's -- curiosity or perhaps a tinge of compassion? Gisel couldn't quite tell before the woman lowered her head to hand over the goblet.

"A toast to good conversation," the Prince said, raising his goblet.

"Toast," Zagdorf repeated.

"Mud in your eye," Gisel said in English.

The Prince regarded her a moment before tilting his goblet and draining it. Gisel drained hers -- with enough of this she might be able to eat the eyes.

"It is not customary for the guest to change the ruler's toast," Zagdorf said.

Gisel shrugged. "I wasn't. It was a response from home."

The woman stepped forward from the shadows to refill the goblets. The Prince lowered his eyes to his bowl, dipping his right hand into it and lifting a portion of the mixture to his mouth.

Gisel did the same. She chewed gingerly -- well, at least it tasted better than it looked.

"Your . . . aide . . . told me that you were instructed to speak with me," Jeury said. "What do your leaders expect?"

This was it. Scopes had said that she must refer everything back to him, but he didn't understand. Whatever the Prince decided this evening would be cast in stone. She didn't doubt the Prince regarded her words the same way. "To be left in peace. To deal with all men and all nations with honor. To benefit our friends . . . that do for a start?"

"Those who disturb the peace of others cannot expect to be left in peace," Zagdorf said.

"Whose peace did we disturb?" Gisel snapped back.

"Your masters sent a ship to trespass into waters proclaimed off limits by my Emperor. They viciously attacked our warship sent to warn them away."

Shit -- that was two years ago. What about this situation? "Your warship opened fire first. We just defended ourselves."

"Lies," Zagdorf said. "It was a treacherous attack."

Gisel raised a hand, pointing greasy, dripping fingers toward him. "So much do you know. I was there -- second lieutenant of the marine detachment."

The Prince laughed. "She has you there, Zagdorf. Tell us what really happened -- I have never seen the ocean but find stories of its wild storms most entertaining."

"Perhaps some other time, my Lord. We have more pressing matters of today to speak of."

"Then perhaps you wish to offer recompense to the Prince for your men's firing on his warriors," Zagdorf said. "That was an act of war."

"That was an act of self-defense -- as you well know. Your cavalry's action to provoke the Prince's followers into charging was no accident. It was obvious that their pulling away to use them as a screen was the result of a plan . . . of orders that you and your Strategos had given them."

The Prince paused from his eating to stare at Zagdorf. "Yes, Commandante -- how do you account for that?"

Zagdorf spread his hands. "She makes a chance happening on the battlefield into a deliberate plan? How can I answer such fantastic suggestions?"

"Your men drift about all over the field without instruction?' Gisel said. "No wonder they were so soundly trounced."

Zagdorf sat up and raised a fist. "They were murdered! Those weapons your evil artisans have brought forth are a menace to all decent society. No nation is safe as long as Iskander has the means to upset established order and overturn its customs."

"What evil artisans do you speak of?" Gisel blazed. "You know damned well my father runs our Bergrund works."

The Prince leaned forward. "Yes, your father! Naserdin told me that. You must speak of him."

"Better that you agree to come to Bergrund to speak with him yourself and see our factories. I can call our aircraft here to take you."

Jeury set his goblet down beside him, regarding her from the corners of his eyes. "Do you suppose the Prince of the Skathians is fool enough to allow himself to be carried off?"

Gisel could see he was torn between a desire to do just that, and a desperate need to retain control and keep within his established customs. No doubt if he could bring his army he'd love to come to Bergrund. "A great pity, my Lord Prince. You could answer all your questions and concerns for yourself. Winter is coming close, and your journey back to Tashkand will bring much hardship on your people. I merely seek to satisfy your rights as a ruler in the swiftest and most satisfactory way."

Zagdorf turned to the Prince. "You hear what a cunning tongue she has. She would beguile a dragon."

Gisel laughed. "That's hardly a complimentary way to refer to our host -- though he is said to be as wise and as deadly as one."

The Prince shook his head as if dismissing the repartee. "What guarantees can Iskander offer to keep the peace and avoid stirring more trouble in these border lands? As long as you have a force here that could strike swiftly into the Horse Plains I must keep part of my household forces here to check them."

"Ask Zagdorf. We're only in action here to defend ourselves from Imperial armies. We have enough to do with the war in Tarnland. Novrehan is a buffer state -- neither of you are supposed to have armies here. What are you going to do about that? Every day your armies move here you risk your nations going to war again."

Prince Jeury looked from her to Zagdorf. "It is necessary that the Imperial army returns from where it came. If it remains in Novrehan to campaign against Iskander the fighting will destroy peace throughout the whole region."

"No, my Lord Prince!" Zagdorf protested. "Give your leave for it to move and we will end the afflictions of these upstart Iskanders without further inconvenience to yourself."

The Prince regarded him coldly. "Except that I and my army must remain through the winter to ensure Novrehan and other buffer states are not . . . accidentally absorbed into the Trigon Empire in the process. That is how you have gained control over other states."

Gisel raised her goblet. "If you need to remain to watch the Trigons, Iskander will do what we can to provide supplies for you. We can fly food and forage from Tashkand or any other place in the world that has surplus to sell."

"You would give the food and forage?"

Gisel grinned and shook her head. "You buy them and we'll transport them for free. Where's Naserdin? He could be your supply officer."

"You say you have but one air machine that requires great effort to keep airworthy -- should I risk my entire household on your capability? Or your honor, too. For you could claim inability to maintain the supply at any time -- unless you supply me with hostages."

"We don't deal in hostages," Gisel said.

"That is your misfortune, I do not deal without them."

Voices sounded outside the tent flap and Gisel saw movement in the firelight as the Gaffir entered. Prince Jeury raised a hand to point at the floor before the entrance. The flap billowed inwards as a man was thrown down inside -- it was Naserdin. Another warrior with drawn sword entered to stand over him. Even in the dim light Gisel could see the crusted blood from a gash on Naserdin's head, one eye was closed and as he fell forward, his torn shirt revealed lash marks across his back. She knew immediately that his fate would be chosen to intimidate her in the discussions.

The Gaffir bowed and left. Zagdorf regarded her sideways with his lips drawn into a sneer. The Prince never deigned to look at his prisoner -- merely continued eating. Gisel decided to gamble an ace -- perhaps an ace that might not exist. She made a guess.

"You do realize, my Lord Prince?" she said. "If you ever hope to see Iskander guns supporting Skathian cavalry -- this is the only man who knows enough of both armies to command them."

The Prince stopped eating. "What makes you suppose I would wish to see that?"

"You surely noticed the new guns the Imperial forces used against me today. They have a need for much improvement yet, but when they are perfected they will sweep your cavalry from the field as surely as ours did."

"Nonsense," Zagdorf said, glowering at her.

"Is it?" the Prince said. "I did see the new guns. They were not captured Iskander weapons?"

Gisel shook her head. "The Empire soldiers have never captured any. These are developments of their own -- I do not doubt the first of many they are producing to fight Iskander."

"You have brought the Emperor's wrath down upon yourselves," Zagdorf said.

The Prince turned to scowl at him. "But they are contrary to our convention. Our armies must remain equal and the buffer states inviolate in order to maintain the peace treaty between us. The Empire has now committed two violations."

Zagdorf swept his hands wide, knocking over his wine goblet. "Without any intent of aggression toward you. One more example of the threat these Iskanders present to the peace of both our realms, Lord Prince. We seek only to counter these devils with like arms. His Imperial Highness will certainly seek to remove these innovations from our armies and restore normalcy as soon as they are suppressed."

"Oh sure," Gisel said. "And he's sure to send back the gold and silver he's stolen from the peoples of the Kosmoneos, and disband the armies he's formed with the money. Did he say that, or did you just think this one up, Zagdorf?"

The Prince's eyes narrowed as he stared at Zagdorf. "Resolution of this matter must be reached before we can agree what to do about the Iskanders. What has the Emperor said to you?"

Zagdorf sat silent as the woman leaned over him to refill his wine goblet. When she returned to the shadows he sat calmly, as composed as if he were in his own fortress. "We should move these discussions to Novrehan, my Lord Prince. I can receive direct instructions from the Emperor and we shall be able to proceed with certainty. Our treaties can be reaffirmed and both Empires can decide together how to deal with the Iskanders."

Gisel took out her communicator. "I can receive the words of my President here -- as we speak. I can speak the truth without the need to pretend authority I do not have. Do not let Zagdorf use his own difficulties to pull the wool over your eyes, Lord Prince. The Emperor will keep hold of any advantage his people gain -- as they held the advantage of their Sky Thunder over your ancestors. You can bet they'd like to see if Iskander technicians could make it fly again."

She watched Zagdorf as she said this, straining to see clearly in the gloom and flickering lamplight. He blinked -- by damn, he blinked! Score one for an inspired guess. The Prince looked as if one of the eyes in the food had stuck in his gullet.

Gisel pressed her advantage further. "Don't rely upon Imperial promises to set aside their new weapons, my Lord. If you find Iskander's offer of weapons acceptable, you need not risk their treachery. Let Captain Naserdin tell you."

Jeury waved a hand toward the man standing over Naserdin, who bowed low -- almost doubled over -- to approach the Prince with the sword. He turned the blade to present the hilt to the Prince -- who accepted it. Naserdin rose to his knees and crawled forward, his injured arm pressed to his chest, and bowing his head to the carpets with each forward lurch. When he reached the Prince's feet he remained motionless as the Prince set the blade on his shoulder -- edge against his neck. It was clearly Naserdin's own sword.

They spoke rapidly, back and forth, in their own language. The Prince set the sword down between them and held out his hand. Rings set with diamonds and rubies glinted in the light as Naserdin reached to kiss them. The Prince gestured for him to go back. Naserdin stood, bowing and returned to the place he had been thrown down. This time he seated himself cross-legged.

Gisel watched, seeing the pain glinting in the man's eyes. "He is restored?"

The Prince smiled coldly at her. "Yes. He is my man now."

"So much for your cunning!" Zagdorf gloated at Gisel. "The Prince is too wise a man for you to drive a wedge between lord and underling -- or between the two powerful empires of Skathia and the Trigons. We have merely to reaffirm the conditions of the treaties which have governed the peace for nearly two hundred years. You Iskanders are the one force which has disrupted it -- between us we shall decide how to quench your troublemaking."

Chapter Thirty-five

Gisel stared around the interior of the gloomy tent. The last thing she needed was for the two men to find common cause against her and Iskander. She was certain she knew what Zagdorf's goal had been for the past two years -- to grab some Iskander people who might be able to get their starship operating again. You could bet the poor devils would get no medals for it. How could she make the Prince see that? But what if he did, and just didn't understand the peril? She couldn't get a feel for the way his mind worked.

"You pretend you only need to reaffirm the treaties between the two empires," she said to Zagdorf, "but who has broken the conditions? The Empire. I'm sure the Prince sees that he must reassert his people's authority with you Trigons. Trying to put the blame on Iskander just doesn't wash."

Naserdin turned his head to her for the first time and spoke in Scholar's Greek. "You said that Skathia could enjoy Iskander's arts without being changed by them. How?"

Hmm. Did she want Zagdorf to hear this? She probably had no choice. "Societies change all the time. I'm sure the Prince will make changes that his father would not, but the most important thing is not to make them too quickly, or to lose essential values in the process."

The Prince looked up from his bowl and took a drink from his goblet. "Then your words were not true?"

"There is a way to attain most of what you desire."

"And what do I desire?"

"To use Iskander's abilities against your enemies -- which is also what Zagdorf wants. You need Skathia to remain unchanged while you achieve this. I rather think Zagdorf doesn't much care about change -- as long as he comes out on top."

The Prince laughed at Zagdorf's scowl.

Gisel felt encouraged. "If the influence of your people upon Iskander is as strong as its influence on you, a balance will be struck. Iskander is very few in numbers; in fifty years most who came here will be dead. Those who remain will be a small number of direct descendants and a larger number of Gaians who have joined us. If a large proportion are from Skathia and hold its values dear, then Iskander will become more like Skathia."

"You see her trick?" Zagdorf shouted, almost jumping to his feet. "Make Iskander stronger now in the hope that eventually -- when you and I are both dead -- it might cease to threaten the power of both our empires."

*****

Crown Prince Jeury turned his gaze from the wench to the Emperor's man. For the first time he regretted having the dinner set so that one of them sat on each side -- it would be instructive to watch their interactions together. The day had been inauspicious already; a woman throwing blood into the faces of the Gods of War. An omen to bow down to, or to erase violently?

The Emperor's man no doubt pursued a strategy -- to place the Iskanders beneath the will of stronger states. Of course he expected the Empire's will would prevail. The Wildcat was hard to read, but if he'd been watching her face he might have seen how seriously she took the threat. He could well believe that Iskander's men, if they were the equal in skill to her, were able to hold their own against the Trigons. But was that outcome in Skathia's best interest?

He turned his attention to the Mangone and inclined his head to give him permission to speak.

"The Iskanders have the power to change all peoples," Naserdin said. "This is why Zagdorf's Emperor is at such pains to bring two armies against the few thousand who fight on this coast. It may become necessary for their strength to be held in check, but that strength in the meantime may be Skathia's to use."

Jeury felt distaste at the man's confident words; he eyed him narrowly. "How would you serve me?"

"In any way you wish, my Lord. If you want Iskander guns to serve your army, I will select and see the gunners trained. If you wish to use the power of steam, I will take your young men chosen to become artisans to Bergrund and see them shown the secrets. I have spoken with one of the Iskanders who says the Horse Plains could become the breadbasket of Skathia. I would work with him to see your people will never starve again. I would do all these things in the hope that you would one day see fit to restore my family name to honor."

Jeury sat back on his cushions and scowled. He switched to their own language. "You seek to persuade me? You have been too long a servant of the Iskanders -- you have learned their way with words. If you wish to serve me you must take up a challenge that I set you."

Naserdin returned his stare -- like a foreigner instead of a Skathian. He answered in Greek. "Any challenge that pleases you, Lord Prince."

Anger surged in his veins -- he recognised at once what the influence of the Iskanders might do to his people -- teach more of them the insolence this Mangone had learned. Jeury sat forward to raise the sword at his feet. "Take this."

As Jeury held out the sword, his attention fixed on the two, Naserdin and the Wildcat. Did he see silent messages flash between them? Perhaps he imagined the rapport, but the wench visibly tensed. A stillness gripped the occupants of the tent.

He had set the arrow, perforce he must see it fly. Jeury spoke slowly and deliberately, again in his own language. "If you wish to prove yourself worthy of your prince's trust -- that you are not a gelded servant of this woman. Take up the sword and strike off her head. Do it at the instant I give the command."

Naserdin grasped the sword in his left hand and it flashed golden in the light of the lamps as he raised it into the shadowed peak of the tent. Jeury saw equal possibilities -- kill the wench or let her live. He wasted no time, this moment must last no longer. The Gods would know what decision to send into his mouth.

But the moment passed before his very eyes. The wench grabbed for a pistol hidden under her jacket. Jeury was astounded to see the black cavern of its muzzle pointed straight into his face.

The wench spoke to Naserdin. "Strike at me, and your prince dies."

Naserdin's sword wavered.

Jeury steeled himself to sit impassively although his body felt the thrill of danger -- his life depended upon both their actions. He suppressed the urge to draw sword himself. His eyes flicked from one to the other. A deathly silence fell; nobody moved. He needed no word from the Gods to tell him that his command would result in two deaths. She had confounded him again -- his expectation had been to see either her or Naserdin a corpse upon his floor.

Naserdin slowly lowered the blade. "I cannot risk harm to you, my Prince. She has won."

"Not so. You both have won." Jeury stared straight down Gisel's pistol barrel. "Your woman's wits have saved you once more," he said in Scholar's Greek. "You have turned the test against me; I can do no more than accept the words he speaks."

The omens were against him again -- daughter of the man who mates fire and water. Even so, he would not let her win everything. "But you have twice threatened the Crown Prince with death. Such a crime deserves punishment."

The Wildcat lowered her pistol. "On the contrary -- remember that both times I have spared you."

Naserdin's expression showed dismay at her impertinence, and a black kernal of anger writhed in Jeury's breast to be released. Never had he been treated in such a manner, but he knew only one way to subdue her.

He scowled, but then laughed loudly. "I believe you have the spirit of a warrior fit to serve a Skathian Khan. What do you say to my intention to marry you?"

The Wildcat spun her pistol by its trigger guard in preparation for holstering it. "I think your punishment too severe, Lord Prince."

"What? You dare refuse me?" Surprise and anger vied with one another in his breast.

"I am all but wed to another, and in any case -- I am no princess from a royal house, worthy of your troth."

"That is a decision I alone can make." He steeled himself to calm -- this was another duel. One that he meant to win.

The Wildcat smiled, but he sensed her concern behind it. "You would take a woman to your couch who has twice threatened to kill you? Best not sleep, then."

Jeury tensed. "You still threaten me? Do not think you would carry that pistol as my wife."

She slid the pistol into its shoulder holster. "I have been trained to kill without a weapon. I believe you know of such arts from the east."

"But your own death would be equally certain." By the Gods! She would rather die than back down. "You had best consider pleading for quarter."

"If I thought your Lordship understood the meaning of mercy, I would admit the temptation."

Jeury laughed, such sharp wits, such daring. Best steel his pride and befriend this little witch -- she could prove his valuable ally in the unseen future. "Then let us name quarter as a truce, instead. We will speak more on this, in private."

Zagdorf threw down his goblet. "The wench deserves the punishment of us both. Such talk of marriage sounds too much as if she will escape the Emperor's wrath. Think carefully on this, Lord Prince -- she cannot possibly please you -- and her offspring could become deadlier than adders."

Jeury turned his head to him. "Am I to believe the Trigons would fear for my empire?"

Gisel laughed. "No. You see the Trigons would not want Iskander's words whispered into your ears."

Zagdorf stared, his mouth working furiously, but he didn't answer her.

Naserdin let his sword fall to the floor."I pledged my service to ensure you obtained every advantage the Iskanders can give, Lord. But I cannot believe the Wildcat would sit meekly in your harem. You would bring deadly turmoil into your household."

"I thank you for your concern. I shall consider my intentions more fully."

Naserdin bowed his head. "It would be best -- if Skathia is to be unchanged."

The Wildcat took up her goblet. "All very well, but we have a long road to reach the point you consider."

"And what road is that?"

"The friction between the empires. The desire of both to gain the arts of Iskander -- and deny them to the other. And there is also the freedom and very existence of almost a dozen nations; the lives of their inhabitants."

Zagdorf sneered. "What do their concerns mean to us?"

"A great deal. They are Iskander's buffer against both of you."

Jeury saw the anger in the Empire soldier's bearing. The Trigons dare not allow the lesser powers to gain status -- had the Wildcat's words shown him the key? "What do you suggest?" he asked her.

"That you call the leaders of all these nations to meet at once. That each is allowed to speak, and to listen to the issues others bring forth. At the end of this great meeting the empires will bind themselves not to go to war over Iskander's abilities. The fruits of peace will be shared equally."

Zagdorf raised both fists against her. "Never!"

Jeury sat silent as he delved into her words. He had no interest in hearing petty rulers speak, but he saw the value in gathering them to hear his own will. It would do no harm to meet them all and divine their abilities. Moreover, it seemed to be the move the Empire dreaded most.

The Wildcat sat watching his silence. "It is the best outcome for you, Lord Prince. The best at this time."

"Perhaps the best for you. Do you presume to judge my interests?"

*****

Gisel took a draught from her goblet to ease the dry feeling in her mouth. This answer could win or lose everything. "As I understand your intention, Prince, you seek to impress your noble father with some of our field artillery. A couple of guns in demonstration could convince the Great Khan of the wisdom of your decisions here, but Skathians need never change their ways to take them to war. Iskander gunners can serve you, as mercenaries."

Zagdorf shook his head, but Jeury ignored him.

"And all the other arts Naserdin speaks of?"

"They need effect only the locations where the machines are used. The rest of the land will be untouched by change -- at your wish." With luck, she was the only one who understood for how short a time this would remain true. She needed to cauterize the words with another mask. "I believe the Trigons have a similar policy -- and Iskander seeks to make changes only where their vital interests are at stake."

"I like that. What do you say, Commandante? It would seem you do not enjoy your dinner."

The young women emerged from the shadows at the rear of the tent to take away the bowls and set fresh ones. Gisel had barely touched hers. The new dish seemed straightforward, a haunch of some roasted meat -- perhaps she wouldn't ask what kind.

"These inventions may seem attractive," Zagdorf said. "But accepting any of them means giving Iskander control over our empires. The Emperor will be satisfied with nothing less than complete control over the Iskanders."

"But Skathia cannot agree to any Trigon authority in Iskander."

Gisel's breath caught, but she strove to appear unconcerned. She needed to see that extended to no authority of either.

Zagdorf shrugged. "In that case, the established rulers of our two empires must cooperate. They can agree between them what Iskander is allowed to make. They must also decide where they may and may not be used. "

"An impossible task," Gisel said. As long as the Bergrund complex remained free of outside interference, the distribution of its products would serve Iskander's purpose. "You forget what can be done with greed and ambition."

"Yes, the greed and ambition of your allies," Zagdorf said. "What have you promised the Felgers? What about the Autarch of Tarnland? He has given you Iskanders almost a free hand to act in his country. What does he hope to receive in return? You take pains to say how small Iskander is -- to lessen our fear of threat -- but if the Autarch regains the whole of the nation which existed formerly, he could put an army of one hundred thousand in the field. Armed with Iskander weapons."

Gisel glanced down to cut off a hunk of meat with her belt knife. A problem Iskander's people worried over too. While the Autarch depended on Iskander knowledge to free his nation from its overlords, he'd been a generous friend. What would happen when he defeated Whonmark and could concentrate his attention on the next increase in his power? Would he work to control Iskander and its mines and factories? It was one reason she and her father were supporting the radicals -- they could weaken him from within.

Jeury looked at her. "What do you say to that?"

"Iskander needs strong friends to safeguard not just its own integrity, but to ensure its knowledge is not used to destroy society in more destructive wars. We can refer back to a history of mistakes that we don't wish to see repeated here. What does Trigon history say?"

Zagdorf shook his head.

The Prince gestured toward her. "But Iskander has the power to fly -- it has the inviolate capital you spoke of. You can easily slip away from Tarnland if the Autarch presents a threat."

"Indeed. Should anyone move to take control of us, we could move to other places in the world -- we have other bases. We could sabotage our mines and factories in Tarnland -- and the Autarch's aggression would have gained him nothing."

Zagdorf sneered. "We can conquer the Autarch."

"Better not to have to. We are here in this tent because the peace treaty between Skathia and the Trigons is in danger of breaking down. You gentlemen need to solve that problem. If your renewed agreement stipulates that neither of you may take control of Iskander and its resources, you will go a long way to prevent more deadly wars from breaking out in the future."

"But that does not allow us to have any control over Iskander," the Prince said.

Gisel leaned forward. "We began our developments to improve the lot of all Gaia's people, not just ourselves. No one nation, nor pair of empires, should have control over that. Let everyone decide what advantage to accept from Iskander.

"With your concurrence, Iskander can send word to every ruler in the world, and set up a council which will allow all their nations to share in guiding the future. Not just Iskander's future, but of every other nation that might wish change. All participants would have an equal say -- Iskander, too -- in matters that concern them.

"If deadly new weapons are to be kept from upsetting the balance of power, or old ones restored -- the Trigon's sky thunder for example -- then every nation must act in concert to control them. Do not doubt for one moment that weapons can be created which could destroy every civilization on Gaia. We have foresworn to create them, but one day the sons of those alive today will understand the art. If all men are warned, and armed with a council, which has the power to prevent such wars, they can prevent a great suffering and danger. Iskander wants to use its knowledge to build, not destroy."

Zagdorf clenched his fists. "More of her weasel words, Lord Prince. Have you not heard enough?"

Jeury stared a moment at the carpet at his feet, as if making a decision. "But the danger of your Sky Thunder returning must be put to rest. These people who can mate fire and water have a destiny beyond any in my nation's experience. I see advantage in holding the larger meeting that the Wildcat suggests. And I have no trouble with inviting many rulers to speak. I must listen to these new omens, before I know my own course. But I will not stand idly by while the Empire gains power over Iskander. The war you Trigons wage against them must end. I have decided."

Zagdorf regarded the Prince with an indecipherable expression, his hands spread out at his sides.

Chapter Thirty-six

A month after the great conference began, Markov stood at the rear edge of the wooden barge dock at Novrehan. As night began to fall,a Partnership tug splashed its way to a mooring beside them. He pulled the brim of his hat lower to hide his face. He wasn't alone, another tug lay at its mooring just upstream, and the engineman of the craft, none other than Nagat, who he'd last seen two months ago heading down the road to Lubitz, stood beside him.

"You're sure Torgus is aboard?" Markov said.

Nagat hunched down into his army greatcoat against a winter wind, fur cap pulled down about his ears. "This is Tug Two -- he be leadin' hand aboard."

Markov put a hand though the fastening of his winter cloak to touch the revolver in his waistband. "I wish the Major would hurry up and get here. I have no authority to arrest the man -- and if we shoot him, these Novrehan militia will try to hang us."

They both glanced down the dock toward Novrehan's river guards with their conical helmets and halberds. Markov was keenly aware he and Nagat needed to complete this task without giving their identities to any officials.

Nagat put a hand to his forehead as he nodded. "I thinks my fate'll be no better if the Wildcat does get here an' sees me. I'm going back to my tug."

"Not until you've confirmed the identity of the man."

"The Wildcat can do that."

"If she comes. She could be too busy to get away. I tell you, better you stay and make peace with her -- you have nothing to fear. You have done Iskander good service since you went to Lubitz."

"Easy fer you to say. She were takin a lot o' responsibility with lettin' me go when Iskander's bosses ordered me hung."

"She has a lot more authority today. She holds a great deal of responsibility for the success of this big meeting -- they say she is the only one the Skathian prince will listen to."

"Maybe I would chance meself with her -- if'n you had already put in a good word fer me. If she do come, you tell her what I found out in Lubitz."

"Dorna's eavesdropping? Torgus gave that Black Dog fellow a letter to send to the Baron?"

"That's what she say. He wanted the feller to pass the letter to some Empire agent, 'cause he couldna trust Skurry, the Felger factor, not to give it to Meister Felger. That be the item ye wanted to learn?"

Markov nodded, watching the paddlewheel of the tug slow to a stop. The craft drifted slowly toward the dock. "More or less. The Major wants to know if Torgus takes orders from the Baron or from the Empire. Seems like a bit of both."

"He's the kind o' feller who thinks enough of hisself to try an' be a big dealer. Throws 'is weight about. The tug crews all hates 'im."

"We'll see how big he is when the Major gets him."

A great rush of smoke and steam escaped the tug and the paddlewheel began to churn in reverse, bringing the broad stubby bow close enough for a deckhand to throw a line across to the men waiting on the dock. A young fellow caught it, ran to a bollard, and took three turns around it, bracing one foot against the bollard as the line tightened. The tug slowed on the river current and the stern drifted in, toward the dock. Another deckhand threw a line from the stern. The man on the dock missed and it fell into the water.

"Curse you fellow!" Came a shout from the tug. A broad shouldered man emerged from the deckhouse and leaned on the bulwark. "If ye can't catch a rope better'n that ye'd best get off dock before I comes ashore to thrash ye."

"That's Torgus," Nagat said.

The tug's stern thumped against the dock and the deckhand flung the heavy mooring rope this time. A youth on the dock caught it and dropped the braided loop over a bollard.

Markov became aware of the clatter of horses hooves on the cobbled street leading to the dock. He turned away as the men completed the mooring operation. Four horsemen appeared around the end house in the street -- dressed in Iskander uniforms.

Nagat tensed like a fox at bay.

"Ease yourself," Markov said. "The Major isn't with them. But don't leave -- me and you has things to talk about tonight."

While Nagat drew back out of sight against a stack of hemp bales, Markov walked out into the street toward the cavalrymen. "Is Major Matah coming?"

The horsemen reined in and the leader, an old soldier with a row of stripes on his arm leaned down. "No, she sent us. I'm Sergeant Major Cubbins -- I takes you to be Petros."

Markov tensed, a good job no one else was close enough to hear him identified by his code name. "That I am. The tug is just tying up -- you're just in time."

Sgt Major Cubbins dismounted and ordered his men to do the same. He looked Markov up and down -- and then at Nagat, peering around the bales. "You fellers lead us then, if yer knows him. Two men unlimber yer carbines and come with me. Herris, stay and hold the horses."

Markov pulled up the collar of his cloak against the wind. "The man you want is over on the tug's deck. Broad shouldered and with a short beard."

They were not the only ones concerned with the tug arrival. The Novrehan militiamen shouldered their halberds and marched down the dock; a movement aboard showed one of the Partnership's security guards taking up his post at the gangway with a shouldered rifle.

Markov walked with the soldiers as they clumped across the dock in their heavy riding boots. The tug now rested against the sturdy timbers; the dock hands finished securing a gangplank against its side. Markov set a foot on the bottom of it.

"Where in Gehenna do you fellers think yer goin'?" came Torgus's challenge from the tug's stern.

Sgt Major Cubbins threw back his shoulders. "We're comin' aboard -- by the order of Major Matah."

"On what business?"

"Iskander business. Stand back."

Cubbins pushed Markov forward and they climbed the gangplank. The troopers followed behind, their carbines ready in their hands. When Markov arrived on the deck he took out the warrant the Wildcat had given him and showed it to the guard. "Our papers, from Major Matah."

The soldier was a low-level recruit in Iskander Security, but he must recognise the soldiers' uniforms. The man peered at the Iskander crest, likely the only thing he understood. "What's it say?"

"An arrest warrant," Markov said, burying his chin in his cloak to hide more of his face from Torgus. He kept his withered hand inside his cloak. "Fetch your corporal if you doubt my word."

The corporal arrived at the gangway about the same time as Torgus. They both stared at the document.

Torgus placed his hands on his hips. "This could be a forgery. You have no business here. I'll not let you have the run of this vessel without a direct order from Meister Felger."

Sgt Major Cubbins stomped up to him and put his face into his. "I'm acting under the authority of Iskander Control."

Markov stepped close to his shoulder. "And you know Meister Felger is in Lubitz. The Wildcat is in charge of Partnership security, and these men are from her honor guard detachment."

Torgus peered at him. "And who are you?"

"Never mind who I am -- you're the seaman Torgus and this warrant is for your arrest. We have reason to believe you murdered the technician Durden aboard the Swift. Take your man, Sergeant Major."

Torgus jumped back, a knife in his hand. "Come an' get me."

Markov drew his pistol but held it inside his cloak. He heard the soldiers crank the levers of their carbines behind him. "Stand, or be shot!"

"So that's it?" Torgus ran for the tug's side.

Before he could leap over the bulwark into the river, one of the tug's crewmen threw a belaying pin that caught him in the back of the head. Torgus fell in a crumpled heap against the bulwark. The soldiers darted forward and hauled him to his feet, hanging as limp as a rag doll in their hands.

Sgt Major Cubbins strode to him. "I'm arresting you under Iskander authority for the murder aboard the Swift, and for suspected spying." He turned to his soldiers. "Take him away."

When the excitement of the arrest died away and the soldiers rode off with their prisoner, Markov led Nagat to his lodging in Coal Merchant Street. When he'd lit the candle in his attic room and they seated themselves at his small table, he tucked his hands into his pockets against the room's chill. "You plan on staying with the Partnership's tugs?"

"I would if'n the Wildcat would let me. I might think about what you says of her, but I don't want to come under her orders -- I'd rather be a Brotherhood man."

"And what would you say if I told you she was a Brotherhood woman. Saving Kullen at Lubitz wasn't an Iskander duty -- she wants him free to spread the word."

"Yer certain?"

"Would I say it, else? I've been watching for a year, and finally figured out why sometimes my orders from Control are different from hers. Iskander wants to use the Brotherhood, but she wants to see it grow."

Nagat squinted at him. "I don't say I disbelieves ye, but I'd need to see that fer mesel'. Why would her?"

"I don't pretend to know her mind, but I swear it's true. She got me to pack Kullen off to the the coalmines at Walvrik -- and see he had money and supplies enough to take him through the winter."

"She wants fer him to be a miner?"

"Of course not. She wants him to talk to the miners about the Rights of Man. She had me tell him about starting a Miner's Benefit Society -- a union, if truth were told."

"That'll get he a hemp necktie. Mine owners don't like that."

"Maybe, but she has told him to be more careful. I think she wants to stir things up -- then she'll come in with the Partnership and buy out any owners who can't stand the the trouble and the losses in production.

"Is that the truth? That don't sound like Brotherhood way."

"Maybe not, but she says she knows how to work with the miners, and make the increased tonnages Iskander wants as well. The owners that have the mines now will never be able to meet their demands -- miners or Iskander. If her Partnership controls the mines we might see the start of a real Worker's Brotherhood."

Chapter Thirty-seven

The Thalian Star hove-to outside the harbour of Genua, and the crew lowered a longboat to tow them to their mooring. Baron Anton Felger walked to the forward rail for a welcome look at land. The city sprawled for half a league along the waterfront, with a few outlying buildings encroaching onto the flanks of the mountains that hemmed it against the sea. In the harbor he could see the forest of masts and yards of ships that carried the cargoes of the most important seaport in the Empire.

Forty-eight days at sea on a terrible winter voyage; at times blown along like a scrap of paper on a gale of wind; at times hurtled back by contrary storms over the tedious miles they'd just made; at still other times taking shelter in some rain-drenched embayment while onshore winds threatened to tear loose the ship's anchor from the ground. For many years he'd refused to travel by sea after the leaves had fallen from the trees, but he couldn't disregard a summons from the Emperor.

The cargo in the vessel's hold would ransom him from penalty, as long as the workmen his nephew sent with it were good at their craft. He turned toward the Imperial frigate, anchoring in the fairway. The vessel had interrogated them two days before and already sent flag signals to the lookout station to announce their identity. Who would meet them ashore?

"This be our journey's end, yer Honor?"

The Baron glanced at the lad beside him, a bright young fellow, one of the workmen. Murrin, his name was. He'd taken great interest in the care of the cargo, and made himself agreeable to his superiors, even under the worst conditions when others were groaning in the scuppers. He should go far. "Yes, lad -- our destination. By nightfall we shall learn what workshop is to be the home of our cargo. I hope it shall not be too distant."

"They says thou has a summons to th' Emperor, Sir. Such a gre't honour."

The Baron laughed despite himself. "Aye, but tis an honour few would wish."

The lad's eyes widened. "Isn't it certain that his Ex'lence will reward thee for this enjin?"

"That's my hope, lad. But my first concern is that the officials who greet us ashore shall be men who understand the value of steam power."

"They needs but see it."

"Ah, I wish I had your confidence. You are one of a favoured few who knows what steam might do."

"I were give to un'erstand it shall be our fortunes. Steam shall lift up poor folk out of want -- and great men like thyself might rule affairs that gods would shirk."

"By the Flame! Someone has spoken of lofty things to you. Was it my nephew, or perhaps his young woman? I was told they selected you for the task you have."

The lad's face momentarily wore a wide-eyed expression, but it quickly changed to a vacant peasant look. Something in the words had scared him. "Meister Yohan told us how 'portant our work was to be."

"And you met his lady, the Wildcat?"

The lad turned his head away before he spoke. "Her disbelieved me the night poor Durden were killed. I feared her should lay the blame on me."

"Ah yes." That was a bad business. He needed to know what had happened to Torgus since, but couldn't ask his nephew. As long as the Wildcat didn't unmask the arrangements he'd made to keep some Felger insight into the Partnership's affairs. The last time he'd spoken to Yohan the fighting had just ended and some conference was called in Novrehan. What had transpired? He was anxious for Yohan to pass the news to him.

Murren watched in respectful silence until the Baron sighed. "Seemso Meister Petkre and Technician Wolfram hast not the same care for Durden's murder, yer Honor."

"What makes you say that?"

"They hast not questioned me as closely."

"It is not their duty, lad. We assigned the Wildcat to assure the safety of our affairs. No doubt she was angry the man had been killed under her nose."

The lad seemed perplexed at the words. After a few moments he looked up. "May I ask, yer Honor?"

"Ask what?"

"Who do'st care for our safety here in th'Empire?"

Who indeed? All depended upon the officials waiting in Genua, and on the Emperor's reaction to the failure of his armies in the Lubitz hinterland. "We shall know in a day or two, lad. Until that time you must regard Lieutenant Cyrian as our guardian."

"But bain't he the Emperor's man, Sir?"

"That he is, but you are here to serve the Emperor."

"Rather I should serve you, yer Honor."

"Good lad. Let's hope the Felgers activities will be well regarded, and the duty we do for the Emperor brings rewards. Now be off with you, I need to think upon some matters."

The Baron stared out across the harbour as the lad hurried away. The rowers in the longboat towed the Thalian Star past the mole as he stood in silent deliberation. Torgus had been posted aboard the Swift to watch out for Iskander as well as Imperial agents. He'd been confident that Torgus had discovered Durden to be a traitor or a troublemaker, but that didn't explain the Wildcat's concern. Was it likely Torgus had unmasked a spy that the Wildcat had missed? No. More likely her concern stemmed from the loss of a man of her own, an Iskander spy. But if she'd subverted a Felger man to her purposes she likely knew of the steam engine plot. Had she known all the time?

He glanced quickly around to make sure no-one was close by before taking the Iskander communication device from inside his waistcoat. He pressed the buttons to summon Yohan Felger, but the device buzzed for some minutes without an answer. Was the lad that busy? He'd not had an answer for many days. He could always call the other number. The risk of painful disclosures might avoid worse ones ashore in Genua.

She answered the ring immediately. "Major Matah."

"Good health to you, Gisel. It's Anton Felger."

"How pleasant to hear your voice, Uncle. How is your voyage?"

"Just ending, thank the Immortal Flame. We are entering Genua harbour. But was I a fool not to realise you knew where I was going all along?"

He heard her laugh.

"When did you learn of our illicit enterprise, my dear?"

She chuckled. "Quite early, Uncle. Your agent was very good, but he needed my help."

The Baron shook his head ruefully. "I'll ask nothing more, lest I hear some words I may not like."

"I have some -- and you shall hear them. Like it or not."

"You are angry."

"And have every right to be. You try that again and I'll trade you a corpse for a corpse. Do you want your man Torgus back?"

"He is alive?"

"Yes, but I'd like to hang him. If I had some of the witnesses I need to testify he would have been, but Yohan spirited my best evidence away with you."

"Ah, the boy did well then, but I cannot believe he acted against you."

"Perhaps not deliberately. You place him in the same position again and you'll feel my anger."

The Baron frowned but then moderated his thought quickly. "I will do my best for you in future."

"Good. Is that why you called -- to apologise?"

"In truth . . . I did not, but I'm glad you have responded to my actions with such magnanimity. I need to know what is being decided at the conference."

"And Torgus? I can send him under guard with the Wasbian delegates when they return?"

"If you would. Such loyal men are hard to find. But the conference, is it ended?"

"Not yet. There is a closed meeting of the principals this afternoon. It seems that Prince Jeury will get his way and have a ceasefire called in the Tarnland war."

"Indeed? Has he become an Iskander ally?"

"Not in the least. I'd guess he fears the Empire is closer to Iskander secrets than he is. Whatever peace transpires, it cannot last. I suspect both empires will attempt to penetrate our operations with people of their own -- very likely the next fighting will involve the two. In the meantime, they'll struggle to gain more Iskander technology to use against the other."

The Baron raised his head to scan the scudding clouds. He smiled. Surely that would mean his steam engine's value, and his own safety, had been multiplied by the conference. "And will we supply them with new weapons?"

"Not if I get my way. The war will be grievous enough if they use their own armaments."

"But think of the business."

"That's the difference between us, Uncle. You are intent only on the profit, while I safeguard Iskander's mission to raise whole societies."

"And that is why you helped my man acquire the steam engine?"

"Iskander's objective was to change the Empire's policy of preventing technological developments. I believe we've attained that."

"But what if they should outdo Iskander with your own knowledge?"

"We hope to see them try, we have two hundred years on them. Don't fret -- the Partnership can outbuild them for the foreseeable future. You'll make plenty of sales in that time."

"I hope so, but as soon as I'm able I will speak to your President Scopes. I'm sure there are weapons he will consider selling."

"Your prerogative, but I won't help you. Is there anything else? I have a security matter to attend to."

"Nothing else, thank you. I will do my best to convince you my business practices are honorable, Gisel. You are not yet a Gaian, but one day you will see with our eyes."

When the connection closed he watched the completion of Thalian Star's entry into the Genua haven. An official pinnace came out and led them to the inner, northeast, dockside where they moored alongside a guarded jetty. He watched a party of dignitaries emerge from a porticoed military building and hastened below to prepare to meet them.

Dressed in his best velvet and wearing the gold chain that signified his position as Meister-burgher of Argsberg, Upper Wasbia's capital city, he took his place at the front of the ship's party on the quarterdeck. BanGetz, his bodyguard, and Han Petkre flanked him, while his workmen lined up behind. Lieutenant Cyrian and his Imperial marines were drawn up as an honour guard.

The first of the official party ascended the gang plank to set foot on the deck, a censer-bearing priest in dark red robes. Oh no -- pray the Imperial priesthood has no control over the business! The next man up caused him both relief and considerable concern -- he would recognise Drago Zagdorf anywhere. Yohan had related details of his activities in Novrehan -- what did his presence here signify? Lt. Cyrian brought his men to attention and saluted.

Zagdorf acknowledged the marines and then sought the Baron's eye. His slight nod and ironic smile suggested they had much to discuss after the official greeting was done. The sooner the better.

At last a gold caped and bejewelled Arch-Patriarch was assisted up the gangplank by a bevy of acolytes. A Sermoner followed his party to the deck and then stood forward to speak.

"By his official right and the beneficence of our noble Emperor Zarl, the Arch-Patriarch Gosset, takes possession of this ship and all aboard in the name of the Immortal Flame. He has consented to hold a purification ceremony to ease the torment of your immortal souls and to destroy the effusions of evil known to be aboard."

The red-garbed priest with the censer stepped forward and began to waft the holy smoke about the company. Lieutenant Cyrian ordered his men to march six paces back to give the holy men space to array their celebrants. Zagdorf followed Cyrian and then took up a position beside the Baron. "As soon as they are done here, have your technicians take the priests to the machinery in the hold."

"Yes, Commandante."

A group of musicians stepped off the gangplank and began to sound a sacred antiphon on their tabors and flutes. Above the thin wailing of the music, the Arch-Patriarch launched into a hoarse-voiced chant.

"Gosset is to hold your inquisition," Zagdorf said in a low voice, "but I believe your penalty will be slight -- if the steam engine works well."

"I am ready to satisfy his Imperial Highness -- my intentions are to serve his best interests."

Zagdorf's answering smile was more of a smirk. "I believe your ability to serve his future needs will serve you better."

"Indeed?" That sounded as if Gisel's suppositions were correct. As long as Zagdorf didn't guess he had received information from the Novrehan conference, he might be able to use his recent knowledge to fashion a bargaining tool. But what authority did Gosset have as his inquisitor? His treatment may afford a clue. "Am I to have a private residence assigned for my convenience in Genua? I can have my cousin, Ellas, head of our local branch, make the arrangements."

Zagdorf shook his head, "You and your people are to have secure quarters in a corner of the Imperial armories here. Your engine and its secrets are not to become common knowledge."

"We will be under guard? Is that your responsibility?"

"I will oversee the security, but my task is to see the Empire's needs fulfilled. Your workshop is behind the same walls."

The Baron's breath caught. "That will make our task very difficult. We may well need access to additional materials only available from the Felger operations and other workshops about the city."

"Then you must inform the guard commander of your needs. He will obtain them."

"But he will not have the knowldge for such a task. The delays . . . the mistakes! I must insist than my head technician be given the necessary freedom."

"That will not be possible, he is tainted in the Arch-Patriarch's eyes."

"Someone knowledgeable must be given the freedom to travel in the city. Perhaps one of my other men may be trusted for the task."

Zagdorf regarded him coldly. "All your men are suspect, were they not trained by the Iskanders?"

"Of course, but such restrictions will cripple any attempt to bring their knowledge for the Empire's benefit."

Zagdorf frowned. "I understand you. This is not to my liking either. Perhaps some boy might be accorded the trust. Do you have one such?"

"An apprentice. I think he is capable to carry out such duty."

*****

Yohan stood on the bridge of Tug Four as it came to rest against the river jetty below the Novrehan castle. A light dusting of snow on the steep warehouse roofs told him that winter had reached Novrehan before him. The tug's crewmen hurled mooring ropes to workers on the dock as the barge it pushed -- a new, finer accommodation barge built to carry passengers on the river -- bumped against the timbers. A large crowd had gathered to greet them. He waved to Gisel, standing on the dock amid a group of dignitaries. She replied with a quick salute, looking dark and efficient in Iskander winter dress uniform of black wool; the silver of her insignia and the sash of her rapier a contrasting splash of colour. She'd been here a month, involved in conferences with aristocrats and chancellors, soldiers and tribal leaders -- it would be good to hold her in his arms again.

Yohan had kept up to date with the progress of negotiations in Novrehan through Iskander's posted bulletins. Fighting on this side of the Inland Sea had ended several weeks ago; Lubitz and Leki were joined by road again. An Imperial army still remained in Makberg, but only in defensive positions. The army of a united Lubitz held that frontier, as well as the one with Novrehan. A truce held in Tarnland -- perhaps it would last the winter. Most of Iskander's cavalry and garrison from Leki were returning to reinforce the home armies.

The Partnership had begun providing winter supplies for the tribes Prince Jeury must leave on guard in the Horse Plains. The Fifteenth Army, under the Strategos, had already left Novrehan, its troops marching back the way they'd come. No one believed in a total peace, but it was, at least, a respite from the war that started five years ago.

He'd seen Gisel once since the cease fire began -- when she went through Blackrock with the official party en route to Novrehan. He had only a few minutes alone with her. He'd heard the official report of her fight with the Imperial cavalry division and didn't know whether to admire her courage or berate her foolhardiness. As it turned out he had time for neither, she'd spent the time thanking him for blowing the ford -- keeping the rest of the division off her ass. Her words, of course -- when was he going to clean up her language?

He nodded to Bulli Durfen. "I'll leave you to take care of the tug, Master, while I see to settling the official passengers in the accommodation barge."

"Right you be."

Yohan moved toward the companionway but before he could set a foot to descend, his communicator buzzed. "Yohan Felger."

"It's Skurry, Meister Felger. There are cargoes of forage and grain on the river docks, enough for three barges. Shall I order them loaded?"

Those must be supplies for the Skathians. "I fancy it's too late, Skurry. The river will freeze soon."

"Yes, Meister, but Naserdin, the Skathian's supply officer, is most insistent."

No doubt he was, with forty tribes wintering in the Horse Plains. Yohan shrugged, he did have an obligation to supply everything he could, and perhaps there was just time to get them to Novrehan before the river froze. "If the loading is not delayed. Put all our crews on the supervision and hire as many stevedores as you need."

"Very well, Meister."

It could mean tugs and barges would be stranded in Novrehan for the winter, but it would serve as a pretext to station some Partnership guards there as well. Gisel had spoken of establishing a presence in the city. "Did the barge-load of coal from Genrow reach Lubitz yet?"

"Yes, Meister, do you want it unloaded?"

"Not immediately. It can stay on the barge over winter, if need be."

"Very well, Meister. That's all I have to ask you."

"Good. I'll be in Lubitz by tomorrow noon, if the dignitaries are ready to go." He signed off, hurried down the companionway and across the deck; disembarking and almost running to get ahead of the official passengers following Gisel to the jetty. Everyone stopped beside the accommodation barge, near the foot of the gangway the workmen hurried to set up. He eased his way to the front and turned to face them. "The partnership welcomes you aboard, Gentlemen. Our steward will show you to your cabins and a light luncheon will be served in the saloon while your servants bring luggage aboard. We depart as soon as loading is complete, this afternoon."

"Is there ice on the river?" a dignified gentleman asked.

"We saw some on our way from Lubitz, but not so thick that we could not easily break it. We will be in Lubitz tomorrow morning -- I assure you we are well ahead of freeze-up."

Gisel came to stand beside him, taking his hand. He squeezed her fingers and smiled, but had no time to speak as the passengers moved toward the gangway. He regarded her face as she watched the dignitaries ascend -- did she seem paler than usual? Could be all the time spent in meeting halls. The steward at the head of the ramp saluted him. Good, the man knew what to do, he could stand here a minute with her. "Are you coming on this trip, sweetheart?"

"If you've room. The Margrave has decided to travel by river, although the rest of his entourage are leaving by road."

"I don't see the Margrave."

"He's having a last minute conversation with the Archduke of Novrehan."

Yohan frowned."I hope the two neighbours have no disagreements."

"No. The opposite -- they have arrangements to put in place to make the most of the peace."

"It's definite, then?"

She nodded. "Prince Jeury of Skathia won't allow the buffer states' neutrality to be violated. No more armies in Novrehan, and Lubitz may not be attacked again by the Empire. There will be a cease fire in Tarnland during the winter, and the two enemies will discuss the issues. I don't have much hopes there -- too many people have losses to recover. I expect to see fighting again before the end of the summer."

"That means Iskander is going to be at war again? What about our trade?"

"Iskander will make its wares available through the Partnership, to any nation which pledges non-aggression and opens relations with us."

"The Skathians as well?"

"No favoritism -- everybody has the same access. Even the Skathians, although the troop of field guns Jeury wants will remain under its Iskander gunners. Nobody expects the Emperor to accept that gracefully, but he must make sure he stays out of a war against Skathia. He'll need to find a new pretext to fight us again."

"The peace will hold?"

"For a year or two, I expect. That's why the Margrave is persuading the Archduke to facilitate cross-border travel here. It won't be easy to change the practices of a hundred years, but he promised me the opening discussion wouldn't delay our departure."

"I told the steward to hold one cabin for important passengers, so I have room for him. You will join me on the tug? It's somewhat rougher than the barge."

"It won't be rough with you beside me. I'll try not to snore."

He grinned and squeezed her hand again as the last gentlemen passed them. When the passengers cleared the gangway the Artificer Markov appeared at the head ready to descend, but when he saw Gisel, he started to turn away.

Gisel looked up. "You may as well come on down my friend, I'd heard about you."

The man came down the gangway, his eyes on Gisel as if she were a snake about to strike. "This is Tug Four's engineman," Yohan said. "You know him?"

"Oh sure, we're old friends. So, Nagat -- I thought you promised to behave yourself. You haven't sunk any of our tugs, yet?"

Yohan shook his head, perplexed. "This man's name is Markov. He knows his craft well and was of great assistance to me in that trouble at the ford."

Gisel chuckled at the man's hangdog expression. "You made a mess of picking a name." She turned to Yohan. "This man was trained at Bergrund but got himself into trouble. I know he's a good hand. That's why I kept him from a hemp necktie."

"He's one of your Iskander agents?" Yohan demanded. By the Flame, she had spies everywhere.

"Not exactly, but if he promises to keep me informed, I think we'll be friends. What do you say, Nagat?"

"I'd be mighty pleased to work with thee again, lass. You has all'ays treated me fair."

"That's settled then, I'll talk to you tonight."

Yohan shook his head. Markov, or Nagat, if that was his real name, walked away. He slowed to turn his head and say something more. "The heat boiler be workin' fine, Meister Yohan. An' the cook have good heat in his stove. I'll be in tug's engineroom if thou needs me."

"Thank you, Markov." He looked at Gisel. "What is this all about?"

"He took the rap for some sabotage in Bergrund. I got him released and sent him to Whonmark -- if he was going to get involved in unrest I figured it was fine to do it in an enemy's backyard."

"He's a troublemaker? I'll have to let him go."

"No you won't. Iskander can use him as a courier on the river. I'll make sure he causes the Felgers no grief. I'd liked to have sent him to Savoia with your engine. "

Yohan shook his head at her as they ascended the gangway. "He's some kind of peasants' and workers' advocate? He'd get himself executed there."

"Justice for the working man. You can't deny they deserve it."

"Whoa! I'm not going to argue with you, Dearest." They reached the barge's deck and he stepped over to the companionway to the upper deck where the cabins were situated. "Come up while I make sure the passengers are settled."

She followed him slowly up the companionway and stopped at the top to lean on the railing.

He stared at her, suddenly concerned. She definitely looked pale, but he'd never known her admit to being unwell. "What is it, Gisel? Are you ill?"

She grinned at him. "Not ill. I'm actually very, very well. But I tire easily. Having trouble keeping food down, too."

He took her hand. "Then what's wrong?"

"I'd better tell you, hadn't I?"

"Of course! Don't worry me like this, Gisel."

"We'd better accept the Margrave's offer to marry us in Lubitz."

"I don't understand -- what does that have to do with . . .? You agreed to go to Lingdon. I must see my father -- I want to receive his blessing."

"I know you do, but we don't have time."

"Iskander wants to send you off somewhere else! Curse them! I'll not let you go!"

"It's not Iskander. I'm pregnant."

He stared at her.

"Having a baby -- you know. You were there -- remember that night . . . we fought about my taking the cavalry posting? We made up a bit too hard."

He gasped and reached out, putting his arms around her very carefully. They kissed, gently at first and then passionately until they heard a step on the companionway. "You're certain? When did you find out?"

"I'll get a thorough exam when we get back to Tarnland. Doctor Hather is our obstetrician; she'll probably laugh to catch me at last. Are you pleased?"

They stepped back to allow a manservant carrying a portmanteau past. "I'm stunned. I feel like shouting out the news, but I'd best be quiet. How long . . . when will . . .?"

She chuckled and brushed a hand on his cheek. "Beginning of June, I'd guess. With a wedding in November we'll call our first child premature -- you know, the second child takes nine months but the first can be less."

He didn't join in her gaiety. A marriage -- a child. Nothing to laugh about. "We must get a bigger house -- room for a nursery. I'll hire a children's nurse and a governess. Where?"

She laughed at him. "Hold on -- we don't have that much rush. It'll have to be in Skrona -- you'll be finishing here as soon as the river freezes. I'm posted back to Skrona as military governor, so we'll be living in the official mansion. I'll have subordinates to do the rough work. Skrona is going to be the most important port in the Inland Sea when the railroad from Bergrund is completed in the Spring. It'll be a magnet for the whole world's spies and smugglers."

"But no espionage for you. No horse riding, no fighting, no dangerous sneaking around in the night?"

"No, Yohan. I'll be the spymaster behind the scenes. And I'll have to stay home and be a woman. Until the child is born. Longer - for as long as Iskander lets me."

"But not forever?"

"You know that's not possible. But we'll visit your father when we can take his grandchild. Maybe then he'll believe I can be a proper wife."

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