CHAPTER VIII FRIENDS AND FOES Leoynar plummeted into thrashing waters that for terrifying moments seemed to suck him deeper into icy depths. The river, hidden under the ground and unvisited by creatures for long ages, then disgorged him and Leoynar, gasping and numb, was tugged along by the torrent and borne away on the surge of powerful waves. The river roared around him and lashed him with its cold fury but its grip held him afloat and he was able to breathe. After a long time, which seemed to persist into eternity, he felt that the river was weakening its pull. The furious rapids fell away into ripples and at last his feet touched bottom and with a gentle wash, the river heaved him ashore. Everywhere around him was seamless deep night. He slithered forward on his stomach and felt hard sand and shingle scraping against his face and palms. At length his fingers touched the edge of a slabstone boundary. He got up on his knees and crawled further and further to whatever end he would find, not thinking of danger, only thirsting for warmth and sanctuary. Suddenly every fibre of his body stiffened in alarm: he heard sounds not far from him, voices. He was unable to understand; the voices were speaking in a language he had never encountered before. The throbbing of the river had temporarily deafened his seventh sense and all that he could learn from the whispering, squealing and grunting was dread, great dread kindling his own. But intermingling with those alien sounds were other voices too, echoes of homegrown speech with which he could identify. The low moans and coughs were Iucarian, Phylee-Patrean, and they interpreted abominable suffering. Leoynar scrambled to his feet with pounding heart. He knew not whether the people who shared with him the dark watery chambers of the cave were friendly but he knew all too sure some of them needed help. As he was struggling with himself what course to take, a voice piped through the darkness. "Who is there? Please say who is there?" Leoynar crouched low and very still; the voice seemed familiar. "I have come from above," came his muffled answer. "From above!" the voice exclaimed in astonishment and other voices chimed in, speaking all at once in a jumble. "Who are you?" "Are you a prisoner too?" "Are you one of us?" "Are you free to move?" the first voice enquired. "Yes, I certainly am, but—" "Make light and free us! They tied us up and we cannot move. Please make haste and free us! If you keep moving yourself to the left there is a torch hanging on the wall, flint and tinder. But hurry please, before the guards come back!" The terrified voices pushed Leoynar to do as he was told. He found the torch and lighted it. Holding the bright flame high above his head his eyes viewed a spectacle, which took his breath away. He stood on the lip of a deep alcove hewn out from the rock and a multitude of people stared at him with a mixture of fear and expectation. They were all trussed up in cages like animals of the lowliest sort. He was appalled to the extent he could not bring himself to speak. At last he found his voice, unsteady and stammering, "How—how in the name of the HeliÆ did you come down here?" "Uncle Leoynar!" Maea called out from one the iron cages, " Uncle Leoynar!" Leoynar moved over to her cage at the far back of the alcove and gazed at Maea, her fine face scarred by an ugly weal running across her left cheek. "Who did this to you, Maea?" Leoynar growled while his eyes fell upon the ones, numbering four in total, who were sharing her narrow confinement and whose voices he had earlier heard speaking in an unknown tongue. Strange beings who appeared to be sturdy and mature but whose measurements in body and limb seemed only to come to one-half of a Iucarian in full-life cycle. Drawing up to their full height their heads would only reach to his chest like a child who had not yet reached its first maturity. "What are they?" he asked in wonder. "They are people, like us," Maea answered, her head leaning against a shoulder of one whose wrinkled face was covered by such a curly and snowy facefleece Leoynar could not help wondering how such a small creature can grow so much hair on his face. "They have come from some forsaken world Byrull has discovered and who were brought here, like us, as prisoners. People who seem far more compassionate that our Councillor. They were trying to free me when the guards came upon us, and they were locked up with me to await their punishment." Leoynar gazed at the heavy padlocks of the cages and helplessly shook his head. "How can I break them? I must hurry. Quick, Maea, tell me what else I can find here to help you. Tools, weapons?" A muffled voice rasped out from the dark side of the alcove, the voice who had first spoken out. "Before you do anything else, please come over here and loosen these ropes. I don't think I can bear it any longer." Leoynar swung his torch in the direction of the voice and a dozen paces away, close to the edge of the water, he found Ricar Myar, who was fettered and stretched against a sloping rock with the tips of his toes barely touching the ground. Sweat gleamed like grease on his half-naked body and red, ugly weals of whiplashes criss-crossed his pale skin and scarred his fragile membranes. Leoynar stuck his torch in a crack and tugged, clawed at the ropes holding Ricar's wrists together. He grimaced and panted. "I need a knife. Hold on, bear a little longer. I find something to free you, a sharp rock." Ricar muttered between clenched teeth. "Leoynar, watch out. The guards are coming!" Leoynar whirled round to dash towards the haven of the riverbanks when a troop of six guards burst into the prisoners' encampment with weapons drawn. "You there!" barked one of them, "put your hands up!" Two of them approached, searched and roughly pushed him around, tearing at his wet clothes. Their harsh and weather-beaten faces betokened their cruel and pitiless nature and Leoynar expected the worst. One of them fondled a bullwhip, which coiled like a leathery tendril along his arm. "The orders are to search for two," the first one said, "where is the other one?" Leoynar stood and gazed silently at his captors. He had forgotten Trajan. Anxious thoughts zigzagged across his mind. Is he all right? If he is, why hasn't he turned up? Has he been washed ashore further away, unable to render a helping hand? "It seems he needs a little persuasion," one of guards suggested, grinning. "Persuasion he shall get," the first one rasped, laughing low. "Bind him and bring in the hot chains. Make it steaming hot." Moans of horror chorussed from the cage where the little people were held. They understood far better than their ignorant fellow captives the implications of the threat. "Shut up, dwarfs!" a guard ordered. "Prepare yourself for a spectacle which you will not easily forget. The same treatment is in store for your leader for daring to set free our ladybird here." "SYNCHRONIZED SWEEP, COMMANDERS!" The guard jumped round as the deep, hard voice suddenly trumpeted through the alcove. All eyes, captors' and captives' alike, swished to where the command had pealed through the air. In the undulating glow of the torches a row of dripping spectres rose from the edge of the rivershore. Four beams of silver fire synchronized to strike four of the guards in the chest. The fifth uttered a blasphemy and levelled his weapon. A fifth beam cut through the darkness from a left angle, hitting him squarely in midriff and throwing him against the wall. Stung into action Leoynar threw himself at the sixth guard and grappled for his terrible whip. Momentarily stunned by the first assault the guards recovered themselves and were rallying. "Not enough power, commanders," Trajan's voice ordered. "Maximum shock now. Spread out and synchronize." Another storm of blazing crossfire flooded the alcove with the brilliance of a hot Sunder day. Water dripped from the walls, hissing and spluttering in the intense radiation heat. The battle was over in a few minutes. When the smoke had cleared up and darkness settled in once more, Lieutenant Royan, who had given the first command, approached the pair of combatants still wrestle-locked on the floor. With one leisurely blow, the butt of his rephar floored the guard who had his fingers cheerfully entwined around Leoynar's throat. Kicking the senseless body aside, the Lieutenant pulled Leoynar to his feet. Trajan, who had already cut Ricar loose from his fearful rack, walked to the centre of the alcove and surveyed the group of commanders intensely. "All in one piece, mates?" "Couldn't be better, Captain." "Good, release the prisoners and," he pointed to the heap of fallen guards, "have them examined." Royan came nearer and noticed the haggard look on his Captain's face. "Are you all right, Captain?" "I am fine. Get on with your job, Lieutenant." The two Praecels once freed from their bonds and confinement embraced their saviours and wept with happy tears. Royan asked with a sly grin: "Is the youngslady all right, Sergeant Terglyn?" Terglyn blushed as he gawked at Maea who smiled at him through her tears. Ricar threw his arms around Leoynar, gasping: "Never have I been so glad to see you. Thank you, thank you!" "Thank our commanders," Leoynar said gravely, "without their courage we would all have come to a terrible end. Trajan?" They all turned to Trajan who stood observing the little stranger with the huge amount of facefleece. The eyes on the full-grown face watched the Captain in respectful awe. Trajan put his rephar away and lightly touched the little one on his head. "And who might you be?" Coming closer, Maea said: "He is the leader of a race of little people. D'Orrians they call themselves. They have come from a world far beyond ours and though undersized as they are, they have the courage of our commanders and more honour and dignity than some of us." Trajan smiled. "I know, and while they have been here, they have learned to speak our tongue. We can communicate verbally. Isn't that so, venerable Kolmarin?" Beaming with delight the D'Orrian opened his mouth and spoke in a strange chirping voice: "Captain." "Captain," Corporal Jarimond interrupted, "we have completed the examination." "What have you found, Corporal?" "Captain, they are not Iucarian, not one of them." "Commanders," Trajan ordered quietly, "from now on set the amplifier of your rephar to kill. No quarter this time." "What are we going to do now?" Leoynar asked. "Where do we go from here." "There is little we can do now," Trajan said, "We cannot possibly take a whole fortress with only a stealth group. My prime concern is you, how to get all of you out. But for the time being, Kolmarin will lead us to his hide-away where we can take a short rest. If you are ready, I will ask him to lead the way." The D'Orrian frowned, shook his head and pointed to the heavy weapons lying scattered over the ground. "If I understand him right," Royan remarked, "he wants to take those things with him." Trajan nodded, for a second squeezing his eyes. His right hand clasped his left elbow as if he was suddenly overcome by fatigue, and Royan gave him another worried look. "All right, might as well. If they know how to use those weapons." A radiant smile broke out on the D'Orrian's wrinkled face and in a high-pitched voice he called the attention of his group. In the curious light patter of their tongue they started talking to each other and then breaking away in feverish excitement began gathering all armoury they could carry with them. His back loaded with the weight of the arms, Kolmarin beckoned with his hand to the Iucarians to follow him. They took all torches with them and the steel door of their prison grated shut behind their backs, closing a horrifying chapter in their lives, never before encountered in the modern history of peaceable Iucari-Tres. * * * The small group moved along with soft and hurried steps through long and winding conduits. The head D'Orrian appeared never to lose his sense of direction, hurrying forward without a moment's hesitation or pause. At an intersection he suddenly stopped and fearfully pointed to a distant end where a light was burning. "Guards..." he wavered. "Steady now." Royan cautioned with a hand. "Lead on, Kolmarin." The leader of the D'Orrians gesticulated fervently to his little friends and continued on his way. The others followed closely behind their nimble forerunners and the party pushed ahead until they came upon a low tunnel of which the entrance was partly obscured by fallen plaster and rotting wood. With expeditious hands the D'Orrians cleared the thoroughway and motioned them to enter. They had to bend almost double to pass the dank and dark tunnel. Water-bells hung from the ceiling, elongating in slow motion and plopped into viscous, stagnant pools. Moss oozing with slime matted the walls. The air was rife with the odour of wet rot and decay. Presently they arrived at another cross-section of tunnels where the stuffiness did not wholly improve but where it was more comfortably dry. The floor was unevenly paved with chunks of flagstones and led to a flight of wooden steps. The creaky staircase brought them into a dingy room, furnished with bric-a-brac and sparsely lighted by a pair of candles. Another group of D'Orrians occupied the room and they all stiffened in alarm upon their entrance but their eyes fell upon their leader and laughter spread on their faces as they crowded around him with gladness and relief. Kolmarin turned to his Iucarian friends and spread his arms in welcome. "Please enter and make yourself comfortable. You will be safe here. Food and drink have been prepared and I will be greatly honoured if you would share our meagre supper with us." "I have to sit down," Ricar implored and made for the nearest chair. Royan glanced over his shoulder anxiously and waited for his Captain who had fallen behind at the very end of their line. Trajan was the last one coming into the room and the deathly pallor of his face made Royan jump forward with outstretched arms but before he could catch his Captain, Trajan collapsed on the floor. "Captain!" The other commanders rushed to the Lieutenant as Royan lifted the Captain and supported him on the curve of his arm. "I thought he didn't look too well." He tugged fiercely at his tawny locks. "Osran, medi-kit! Terglyn, open his jacket. Hairy Scruts! What is this? What have they done to him?" Sergeant Vreár gasped, clasping a hand to her mouth. "There is so much blood!" "Search his pockets, find his stim-booster sac!" "Lieutenant," Terglyn said, "he has already injected himself with two ampoules. We can't give him more." Royan cursed loudly. As if sensing his Lieutenant's distress, Trajan opened his eyes and said, "I will be alright, Eskar, don't fret. Let me sleep for a while and I'll be fine. Don't try to extract the slug, Osran. It's a barbed lockjaw slug and hooked into my flesh. Without a de-barb scalpel you'll do more harm than good." "Captain," Commander Osran said, "I will disinfect and freeze the wound and then spray a skin-patch over it." "Let's do that for lack of a better measure," Royan said. "Terglyn and Jarimond, secure all exits and don't even let a rat in." Kolmarin had knelt down at Trajan's side and lain a fatherly hand on his forehead. "He is soaking wet and is feeling the chill. We should take off all his wet gear." "Put him where it is warm," Leoynar broke in anxiously, "and we need a blanket." Kolmarin snapped his fingers and at once several of the younger D'Orrians scrambled to spread blankets and pillows near a crooked stove that stood against a wall. They tossed some more chunks of coal into the fire. Trajan winced and grunted under the treatment but his eyes remained close and he said nothing more. He promptly fell asleep when Commander Osran deftly completed his patch-up job. "Will he be all right?" Royan whispered. "He has lost an awful lot of blood and he seems to be in dreadful pain." "The calming agent in the skin patch will numb the pain, I hope, sufficiently, for the time being, Lieutenant," Osran said, peeling off his steri-gloves, "but that slug is a vile thing. The sooner we get it out, the better." "I have seen your method," Kolmarin said, "using a kind of power beam, clean and quick. Our method is to let the enemy die a little at a time." He sighed gravely. "Your Captain is young, he is strong, but it is a nasty wound. The bullet is too deeply lodged, but at least it has not broken a bone and the wound has stopped bleeding and he is resting comfortably now." "Bullet?" Royan mused, "For your information, Kolmarin, this bullet doesn't come from your world but from ours. In the age of Third Radix nomads on Calitre used lockjaw slugs to hunt the giant sand lizards on the steppes. You are right that it was designed to kill prey a little at a time but these slug guns had been outlawed for several epochs." Kolmarin stroked his facefleece ponderingly, "That indeed tells a whole different story and who in fact has been supplying all the ammunition. Come Lieutenant, for the moment, there is nothing more we can do. Let's have a bite of food." Royan complied and Kolmarin brought him to the table where the others had already taken morsels of food and were now scattered across the room in little groups trying to catch some sleep. After his meal, Royan returned to the Captain's side and sat by him, checking his vital signs. The vitals indicated that the Captain was fast asleep. Royan briefly clasped Trajan's shoulder. "Sleep, my friend, sleep your fill. For the rest of us there will be no rest." If only—. Scruts. Royan patted his still damp inner pockets and pried out a small bottle of liquor that he had swiped from Dr. Reball's cupboard. He sniffed and took a sip. "You have good taste, my dear Doctor. Smacking good brew." Taking a hearty swig, he left the room to join the other commanders on watch in the outside corridor. * * * Trajan found he had to labour through clouds of miasmas, which seemed to have picked his brain clean of every shred of cognizance. Scattering the fume banks one after the other he fought to re-establish contact with reality. There was no pain except a dull throbbing at his left shoulder. Opening his eyes, he saw a room, which looked unfamiliar but pleasantly warm and dry, despite the grimy walls and the cracks in the wooden floor. Turning his head he saw people huddled in rough blankets sleeping on the floor, and remembered. He relived the face-to-face confrontation with a phalanx of Hern Byrull's guards, the sudden mental thrust when he shattered the lights, the moment of agony when the slug, that would otherwise have hit Leoynar, struck and set its nasty teeth into his left shoulder. Remembered he had received something else, something telling him to live and which was holding him in what could be described as endearment. "You are doing things to me I don't particularly like," Trajan said softly, "but you like your new home and I cannot just banish you without a reason, without first finding out what it means to both of us." Banish? Who was he deceiving? Himself? Starglory was now part of him, a nerve, an artery, a wire, a spark in his mind. With his sound right arm he pushed himself upright against the pillows and his movements were heard by the D'Orrian, Kolmarin, who hastily approached and squatted down beside him. "Captain Schurell. How are you feeling?" "Pretty well all things considered." Kolmarin stayed him with a restraining hand. "No, don't make another move. You are not well, and you have not eaten. Lie still and I will get you a bowl of soup." Trajan leant back and closed his eyes as he had to struggle against a bout of dizziness. Kolmarin returned to him in no time with a plate of steaming broth. "Here, let me put some more cushions against your back. I wish I could put some more meat in your broth but we are desperately short of stock." He sat down on the floor, crossing his stubby legs and watched Trajan spooning up his soup with studious fascination in his round and shrewd eyes. "What wondrous beings you are," he mused, "with your crystal clear pupils, coloured sclera and the extraordinary skin on your back; like an old forbidden legend which used to be whispered around. Like Lords Laris or angels fallen from grace but gaining so much more in science and technology as you evolved into a rich civilization." "Our anatomical differences, however slight, serve to identify ourselves against intruders like you. Where do you come from, Kolmarin?" Kolmarin's face lengthened in graveness. "I understand that as captain of the security forces of your world you would certainly regard us as intruders, even if we were brought here against our will. At first, I didn't even realize there is a whole different world beyond this underground fortress with its network of catacombs, didn't even know that there were wonderful people like you dwelling above. The very few of you whom I encountered were not moved by our plight, and by and by I formed an opinion that your race is no better than ours, a kindred spirit of Terra-Purism, until they brought your friends in as prisoners. I learnt then that the blame lies entirely with us, not with you. Your friends were mistreated most horrendously because it would please the Tar Phalanx nothing better than putting beings resembling the Fallen Angels to the torture. They had more horrible things in store for your little lady, that's why I took the risk of attempting to rescue her." "Kolmarin, I really cannot thank you enough. You and the guards, do you come from the same world?" "Captain, it is I who should be grateful. You saved my little friends and me from a most terrible fate. In answer to your question, yes, we, the guards and nearly everyone else here are from Geosphere D'Or, a place maybe not as wondrous as yours, but as equally dear to us. Now that I have told you about our origin, do you still look upon me with distrust?" "I don't doubt you, Kolmarin. I know your people have been mistreated but the guards and others who came with you are about to launch an invasion into my world, not on a grand and glaring scale through space but through an Equation from under the ground. Have you met Councillor Byrull? Do you know who he is and how he has plotted against his own people?" "Byrull? Yes, I know him but your Councillor is not important." Trajan scowled. "He isn't important but he sure laughs like one important being. Have you heard him laugh?" Kolmarin chuckled. "He does have a kind of nasty laugh, but let me tell you that your Councillor only laughs when he is nervous." "He has plenty of reasons to be nervous about. If he is laughing in my face again, I'll wring his neck!" Kolmarin's face softened in a fatherly smile. "No, Councillor Byrull doesn't call the shots under the ground but naturally before his people he has to pretend otherwise. The truth is that he and his partners in crime are nothing more than puppets on a string, at the control of Governor General Carlomon, the grand puppeteer." After a few moments of pondering silence, Trajan asked, "What does the Governor General want with Iucari-Tres. Are we a threat to him?" "In a way. He covets the fruits of your flourishing civilization, the technology and power, which will strengthen his Paramountcy. As master of another, more advanced, world, he will easily become the supreme master of his own world. To conquer and corrupt is the Governor General's mission." "Thank you, Kolmarin," said Trajan, "for sharing this knowledge with me so frankly, and I will be equally straightforward with you. Now that this conspiracy and the enemy stronghold under the ground have been exposed, we have a duty to crush it. Momentarily, my commanders and I are in the extreme minority, and there is a possibility that none of us will come out alive. Do you see this optic strip implanted beneath my right collar bone?" "That insignia in the form of an eye?" "It serves as a communication device, among other things, but more importantly as a transmitter monitoring life signs. When our life signs are no longer on screen, the Command will know what to do. They will bombard and seal up the place. This impregnable fortress will become your tomb. Tell me honestly, Kolmarin, what is your dearest wish." "Dear Captain, I—we want to go home." "You could stay and integrate within our society." "What a tempting offer! But alas this is no time for wishful fantasies. Our people back home need us desperately but I am very much afraid that we are going to be stranded here forever." "Is the machine not working properly?" "The gateway machine they built is doing things to people. It is no longer safe to cross the bridge without becoming something else, especially for the labourers who have to make the trip several times. A whole clan of Plains people has already been decimated in this manner and when it appears that certain D'Orrian homunculi seem to survive the radiation better than anyone else we were press-ganged as labourers by the hundreds. The machine has become malignant and foul as the ones who commandeered it." "Who designed the machine?" Trajan asked with a deep frown. Kolmarin looked puzzled: "I don't know. Governor General Carlomon must have control of scientific expertise, generally prohibited except for his elite class of scientists. They built the other End of the gateway while your scientists constructed the one End here." Trajan took a deep breath: "We have to act! Where are my clothes?" Kolmarin got to his feet hurriedly. "We took your shirt and jacket away to wash off the blood stains, but it should be dry by now." He whistled and beckoned and at once a youngish, balding D'Orrian came up with warm and stove dried, albeit crinkled, clothing over his arms. Kolmarin fussed like a worried uncle. "Let me help you, careful now with that shoulder. Your commander did a neat job with that patch and the strap." "Captain!" Royan came breezing in, "thank the Lars, you are all right! Let me do this. Kolmarin, I want to do this. I won't hurt him, I will be gentle as a lady. Here are your boots, nice and dry, let me put them on for you." "It is all right, Kolmarin," Trajan said resignedly, "the Lieutenant will take good care of me. Go and wake up the others. We have to start finding a way out, as fast as we can." The quiet room stirred with the grunts and snorts of people roused far too soon from a sleep, which was none too restful, but had at best offered them a few precious hours of respite from the harsh reality of imprisonment and torture. It was a moment of harvesting strength but, above all, a moment of reunion. Leoynar was delighted to see Trajan, though still pale and drawn, but strong enough to stand up and walk about unaided and took him apart to introduce him to his hitherto unknown adopted cousin, Maea. Trajan studied them all gravely. Leoynar, Ricar, Maea; there were only the scars on their skins as reminders of their frightful experience, but in time they would overcome it, if chance permitted them to escape. His sense of duty to take them back to safety was weighing heavily upon him. The next group discussion Trajan undertook was with his commanders and Kolmarin, with whom he inspected the arsenal of weapons they had taken from the guards. Other D'Orrians passed around cheese and crackers while they exchanged views and deliberated the perils of the bastion. A light patter of feet came from afar and approached the door of their room in brisk speed, and the commanders whipped out their rephars. "Hold," said Kolmarin, "those are probably my scouts." Still the commanders spread out warily and when the door opened five D'Orrians filed into the room. One of them, a compact young D'Orrian with a mass of muscles, sleek, black hair and bright sloe eyes marched to his leader and whispered his report. Kolmarin immediately turned to Trajan and took him to a corner where they conversed together in hushed tones. The others waited in silent suspense. After a few minutes of apparently intense discussion, Trajan motioned to his people and commanders to gather together. "We have to leave immediately. The scouts have reported a hunt is under way for the fugitives. The guards will leave no stone unturned. This place is no longer safe, but if my hunch is right and we are in an area beneath the courtyard of the old castle, then our way to home is very near." Nothing more needed to be said to snap the little group, Iucarians and D'Orrians alike, into feverish action of collecting what few belongings they had. The commanders took some of the heavy weaponry. Most of the D'Orrians had already departed and dispersed into unknown regions of the catacombs. The muscular scout only remained to guide them out of their temporary hide-away and into a tunnel where at the end there was a crack in the wall, large enough for them to crawl through single file. At the other side of the wall there was a narrow passageway with a ceiling so low that only the D'Orrians were able to walk upright and the others were forced to bend their backs all the way through. "Proceed carefully," Trajan warned, "our little friends have removed some of the debris blocking the way but the bricks on the wall are none too secure, they may come loose at any minute." Following the light of the torches of their D'Orrian guides, the party crept along without speaking in the stale and humid air. Whenever someone had the audacity of raising his head and bumping into the roof, an immediate shower of powdery sand and dust would rain down on the group generating a fit of coughing, sneezing, and cursing. Countless times they had to stumble across mouldy wood-shards and splintered stone-work that lay strewn across the rugged slabstones. Coming to a bend the passageway broadened and at last the ceiling grew to a comfortable height. A faint stench had trickled into the air, sharper than the prevalent odour of decay, a sour-sweet vileness contaminating the breath they drew as they slowly marched on. A dim light hovered in front of them and finally reaching it, they came upon a crossroad where a greenish glow, coming as if from nowhere, performed a macabre dance upon the dripping walls. The group halted their advance, breathing heavily with their hands covering their noses. The walls and the floor in this part were smooth, as smooth as glass buffed innumerable times. The D'Orrian guides huddled together transfixed with sudden horror. Their Iucarian counterparts fared no better as they gagged and struggled for breath and imagined the dancing light housed a presence. Trajan rushed swiftly forward and thumbing on his stylet torch he held it high above his head. He could only see the green glimmering and the glimmering paused as if to watch them. He lowered the stylet and groped in the darkness, savagely seizing a hand that happened to be Kolmarin's. The D'Orrian leader squealed out in fright, and in pain, as Trajan's grip was none too gentle. The pain broke the mesmerizing hold of the green luminance. Trajan called out aloud to his companions: "Take each other's hands, hold on together and follow me. Whatever happens, do not let go. Do not think and keep running!" With his right hand holding the torch, he led the group, fleeing away from the eerie green and running into the safety of the dark. Trajan stopped when he came upon an arched gridiron that marked the terminal of the passageway. Royan rapidly stepped forward to take control, for his Captain looked ghastly. He ordered the commanders to blitz their rephars on the grating. It toppled over with a heavy clang and Vreár climbed through the opening. She called through: "I am in some sort of old dungeon but the door is bolted." "Proceed?" Royan questioned Trajan. "Yes." Royan signalled to Sergeant Terglyn to follow him and they both crawled through the gaping hole. A spray of flashes scintillated through the opening, there sounded another loud clang, and presently Royan's head reappeared. "Hurry now, the noise may have alerted the guards." They let the two D'Orrians scale through first and then the others. Trajan and Jarimond were the last to enter the cell where acrid rephar smoke still hung around in curls. Royan already stood beyond the wrecked dungeon door in the adjoining corridor and Trajan taking his rephar in his hand, assumed command once more. "Commanders, rephars on eliminate." Royan went ahead of the group thudding through the corridor and into a hall. At the bottom of a high escalator two tar clothed patrolling Phalanx were spotted and two direct blasts swiftly eliminated them. Reaching the top of the escalator they encountered a few more who were too much surprised by the commanders storming upon them to offer effective resistance. They were subdued after a short and furious battle. The survivors fled from the scene and left behind their fallen comrades. The stairs brought them to another hall, stretching away in immense length and height, where they could faintly hear the clatter of rainfall against the distant roof. "Ah," Ricar sighed, "how was I to know how sweet the sound of rain would come to my ears." "Look out! Behind you!" Maea shouted, pointing to the escalator. Sergeant Terglyn, who had from the corner of one eye already noticed part of a head moving up, made a quick half-turn of his body, aimed and blasted his rephar. Without so much as uttering a cry the guard fell backwards down the escalator in continuous loops until he crashed to the floor below. "That was an excellent shot!" Ricar cried, feeling that sight at least was enough avengement for the blisters on his skin. "Move on!" Trajan urged. "They will be sending in more troops." The drumming of rain high above guided the group as they hastened away from the hall to a rapidly disintegrating spiral staircase leading to a sprawling yard, cluttered by mounds of crushed masonry, jagged pillars and a desolate amorphism of ancient ruin. Traversing that almost insurmountable stretch of fallen glory, they finally reached the frontal uppermost structures of the castle where residues of the recent battle still lay scattered about. The fury of the rain pounded through the recently installed stingfield. Trajan put a hand on Kolmarin's shoulder and bent down. "Listen, Kolmarin, do you hear the rain, the sound of freedom? What is your wish?" "Captain, I want to be with my people, I want to go home." "Very well. Vreár, Terglyn, Osran, Jarimond, proceed to the main gate. The storm is still blowing, but the Force and the Command are not far away. Maea, Leoynar, Ricar, follow the commanders, they will bring you to safety. Go now. Lieutenant, a word with you." "Captain, we cannot waste any more time!" Trajan clasped his Lieutenant's muscular shoulder and looked into his black on light-hazel eyes. "Eskar, it is me they want. If they have me, they will let you go, all of you." "What do you mean?" Royan whispered, his lips turning pale. "You have seen what happened in the guest hall of the palace. The something that is now in me, the something they want. They want it for its remarkable power but I think, above all, to stabilize the bridge of radiation. I have to seek out that bridge and destroy it but before doing so I have a promise to fulfil to our D'Orrian friends. I have to bring them home before I close the gateway which means that I have to stay and you will have to make the report to the Command." "This is madness!" "Leoynar, what are you still doing here? You have to go." "Trajan!" Leoynar shouted furiously, "we cannot leave you behind as bait for a horde of insane power-hungry conspirators. I will never let you do this. I am not going without you." "You must, Leoynar," Trajan insisted, "especially you, for you will be my weakness. Leave now, please. Adilar and his rescuers are very close. They will take you back to Myarvil." "Captain, at least let me stay with you!" "Lieutenant, haven't we wasted enough time?" "Captain," Royan pleaded in a trembling voice, "you know as well as I there is an unspoken code of honour in the Command never to abandon your fellow officers. Don't let me do this, don't let me spoil my sense of honour. Terglyn will report to the Command in my place." "All right," Trajan heaved a sigh, "part of me says I will need you, Eskar, but it is not easy to give in. I want you all safe, you're all so precious to me. Terglyn, take my uncle with you and report to the Command that I will try to close the gateway. If I do not succeed, you have seen enough of the situation here to brief them what they should do. On your way, commander!" Leoynar embraced his nephew passionately. "Please be careful, Trajan. I shall be waiting for you, I shall." Swallowing hard to keep his self-control, Terglyn solemnly saluted his commanding officers and turned on his heels, leading Leoynar away into the mist and the beating rain. A hush settled in the hall when they were finally alone, the four of them, and Trajan spoke to Kolmarin: "Show us where the headquarters are. Before I can lead you back to your world, I have to find the answers to many questions and the answers, I hope, lie in the headquarters of your captors." "Brave young Captain," the D'Orrian leader responded in ringing tones, "the destiny of my people lies in your hands, but must you confront the evil masters and put yourself in deadly peril?" "There is no other way, worthy Kolmarin. I will not do battle but try to bargain with them. I have something they want very badly, and through negotiations I may be able to do more." Kolmarin nodded despondently. "Captain, I know this sentry platform has a secret trap-door in a hollow wall. Through it, we can easily reach the lower levels of the headquarters. Look, Tadeus, who usually knows all hiding places inside out has come upon it already." The stout little Tadeus was the first who lowered himself down the long companion ladder. Trajan brought up the rear on his Lieutenant's insistence. They descended to a lower deck that appeared deserted at first glance, and disturbingly calm. Kolmarin brought the party across a landing to a massive steel door. Trajan slowly pushed the door open and he observed an empty room. He turned and put his hand on Kolmarin's head. "Can you hear what I am telling you? Don't be afraid of what I am doing to your mind. I am not going to probe into your private consciousness, only establishing a link between you and me so that you can hear me when I want you to. Go back to your people and stay with them until I give you the sign." Kolmarin briefly pressed Trajan's hand. "My people will always be near if you need them. Because of our size and our numbers, which have never been really accounted for, we will be in places where we cannot be seen." With these words he and his young scout slowly swung round and melted into the shadows of hidden recesses, leaving Trajan and Royan on their own. The two commanders entered the room and closed the door behind them. A wide console with a monitor frame occupied the floor as the centrepiece of activity. His whole body aching with exhaustion Trajan heaved himself into the broad swivel chair facing the monitor while Royan stretched himself out on an adjacent couch. "That's good, Eskar, take your time to relax. The next round of fireworks won't start unless I say so." Trajan absentmindedly drummed his finger on the panel frame of the monitor. A blinking orange stub indicated that the console was in operation. Instinctively he waved his hand over the coloured keys and the transparent screen before him opaqued and pulsed to liveliness. At first, nothing of importance transpired on the screen, mainly news reports of the natural disturbances that had occurred. He went on to wave his hand over other keys and suddenly brought into view a scene that commenced with Proctor Willouri declaring the Treasury Council meeting open. The screen captured his wholehearted attention until it went blank. He leant back thoughtfully and rubbed his left shoulder. A commotion of hurried steps and flurried voices sounded from beyond the door. "Don't move, Eskar," Trajan warned sharply. "Stay out of sight. I don't want my lieutenant to get a slug too." He faced the door with chin resting on his hand. "Enter, my evil brethren."