CHAPTER XI


ONE IN VENGEANCE




	Jeremy hastened in the faint light of dawn through the dim, slowly wakening streets of 
Okrane.  The flush of having been a part, albeit a small part, of a victorious undertaking had 
steadily waned throughout the night.  The Fly Corps had celebrated with great fanfare their 
baptism of battle and Jeremy, together with Conrad, and that imp, no, that little girl, Maykin, had 
participated with the unbridled zeal of youth.  But after the excitement had died down, a sense 
of guilt, which had started like a minor allergy, augmented into a pest as the hours of dawn drew 
nearer. 

	Jeremy felt that the devotion and admiration he had nurtured for the Captain was steadily 
pushing the image of his Elder to an obscure corner.  Yet, he couldn't forget, when he was left an 
orphan, who protected, taught and cared for him all the long difficult years to young adulthood.  
True, he owed the Captain a lot, but equally true, he owed the Perceptor so much more.  

	Running up the steps of the green-tiled guest-house, still wearing the fatigues of the Fly 
Corps ground crew, Jeremy made up his mind to make good and do what was expected from a 
Cougar with respect to his Perceptor.  His dearest wish was to remain here, in Okrane, and 
continue his training as a member of the Corps, but he realized his duties lay first with his people, 
the Mountain Clan.  Jeremy was determined to make his wishes known to the Perceptor, but also 
to abide by whatever decisions the Perceptor thought necessary to make.  

	The Perceptor, after spending his first night in Okrane with the other travellers in the 
guest-house, had gone about exploring the city and renewing acquaintances, in his own words, 
since it appeared that once he had lived here for a short while.  He had sent word that Okrane's 
new atmosphere of freedom had proved so stimulating he would continue enjoying it, and had 
not returned for several days.  Jeremy, during that time, had also neglected to return to his 
lodgings, preferring the bustle and activity of the Fly Bay.  

	Jeremy burst into his suite in the guest-house but to his acute dismay found it vacant: the 
Perceptor had still not returned.  For moments he stood undecided, turning over in his mind this 
remarkable aspect of the Perceptor's behaviour.  A feeling of great unease took hold of him as he 
hurried out of his suite, down the light-yellow marble staircase to the concierge counter.  

	The concierge was not in a position to enlighten Jeremy further.  Yes, of course he would 
recognize the Perceptor at any time, but he had not observed this venerable personality with the 
crescent beard coming in, or going out again.  

	Jeremy found himself again on the streets, now swarming and abuzz with merchants and 
farmers driving into the city on their carts burdened with goods or members of family, riders 
attired in rich aquamarine suits trimmed with beryl beads and carefree strollers waving golden-
blue little flags.  An atmosphere of feverish anticipation was stirring in the air.  Like one who had 
lost his sense of purpose Jeremy wound his way through the merry crowd that were steadily 
filling the boulevards, stopping and questioning any passerby who might know the whereabouts 
of the Perceptor.  

	It was almost noontime when he, in his frenetic search, had wandered outside the city 
gates and had come upon a sweep of coppice along the north eastern verges of Okrane.  From the 
top of a low hill he could see the main road leading into the countryside.  Utterly worn out, he 
sat down on a bench, finally realizing that he had taken neither food nor drink during the past 
few hours.  The serenity of the trees and the gentle songs of birds quietened his anxiety and 
turbulence.  He purchased a cup of juice from a trader who passed by, and after a few moments 
of rest stood up and sauntered to the rim of the coppice from where he could see the city gates 
more clearly. 

* * *

	Morning awoke from the veil of night with sunshine and a sky sheeted in the deepest 
blue.  Immediately going in search of Eirini as soon as he had got off his bed Trajan found her 
strolling in the castle garden and perceived she looked worried.  For a while they sat together on 
the bank of the pond, where they had been reunited, and gazed at the white swans gliding along 
the surface of the water without even making ripples, serene and elegant.  

	"There is beauty in this world," Eirini sighed and snuggled close to his chest, her head on 
his shoulder. 

	"Then why is there so much anxiety in your heart, my fair love?"

	"I shouldn't be so foolish," she whispered, "but I'm so afraid everything can still go 
wrong.  I am so afraid of losing you again."  

	Trajan kissed her brow.  "The day is full of hope," he quietly said. "The treaty will be 
signed today.  The forces of the Dominion and Vespar will be combined to meet the Tar-Clad 
Armies of the Magni-Xandian Paramount.  There will be war on the shores of Aseur but I've seen 
the tenacity of the people here.  Once they were able to overthrow a repressive dictatorship and 
they will fight to prevent that dictatorship from running their lives again."  

	Eirini said nothing further, but just holding him close, feeling the caress of his fingers, 
until the time had arrived for Trajan to tend to his duties.  

	"Brighten up," he pressed a final kiss on her lips, "it is going to be a beautiful day." 

	'It is going to be a monster of a day', she thought, grumbling to herself, and inwardly 
fighting off that persistent tug of premonition.  She headed towards the chambers of Queen 
Fleuridi to accompany the young monarch to the Office of Decorum for the ceremonial signing 
of the Treaty.  

	At first, Trajan was displeased when he heard the pact would be signed, sealed and made 
binding in the Decorum in Central Okrane instead within the security and impregnability of the 
Royal Castle.  Dego spelled out to him that it was a matter of strict protocol that the closing of 
any covenant or accord between nations should be formalized before the open public, not behind 
closed walls.  

	The whole of the Regency had already been alerted to the threats fomenting within its 
borders and the menace approaching from without.  All militiamen had been put on standby and 
all exits and entrances to the Decorum placed under the strictest guard.  The ministers had even 
allowed a slight digression from protocol in that, before the actual signing, the delegates would 
not announce the preliminary presentations to the populace on the wide entrance staircase of the 
Decorum but rather on the balcony.  The front doors would be at all times guarded by a mixed 
contingent of Royal Guards and militiamen.  

	The Commissioner of the Militia had requested all layout and floor plans of the Decorum 
and ascertained all access points had been covered.  Additional troops had been dispatched for 
the defence of Merinburg, the Fly Corps put on Extreme Alert, the entire coastline sealed off and 
battalions had started marching again across Geosphere Rho to reinforce the barriers of the Zilch 
Zone.  

	The Governor General had acted with outstanding promptness and thoroughness, Trajan 
thought, folding his arms, leaning against one of the marble flower pillars that decorated the 
balustrade of the Decorum's staircase.  He would not be surprised if the Great Lord had been 
spending the entire night without sleep, pondering and plugging all conceivable holes in 
Vesparan defences.  He himself was allowed to seek the comforts of his bed only at the first 
streak of dawn.  Small wonder the whole of Vespar looked up and worshipped this forceful and 
enigmatic Personage of the Double Sun. 

	Trajan would have preferred spending the day with the Fly Corps, since he could not see 
any reason for him being here: the militia and the Royal Guard had everything under their 
control.  But the Governor General had requested his presence in the city during the whole 
ceremonial proceedings.  Requested?  No, Trajan reflected with a grimace, instructed, 
commanded him not to leave Okrane.  

	Small wonder too the whole of Phylee-Patre and Iucari-Tres had revered the Governor 
General as Lar Trevarthen.  Even now his palpable authority was still imprinted across all layers 
of Iucarian society of the Three Planets.  Trajan had not found the time to brief Leoynar on the 
actual relationship between him and the Governor General; he simply did not know how.  He still 
could not bring himself to believe the relationship was true, but why did he find it impossible to 
disobey the Governor General?  Why was he drawn to the magnetic influence of the Great Lord, 
drawn and being tamed like the others in succession, Valorin, Alden, Eugene.  Brothers?  And 
drawn also to the bowels of the Smaze where it had all begun.  

	Standing uninterestedly against the pillar still dressed in his fatigues, which had been 
cleaned and ironed, Trajan stirred little recognition in the crowd who was slowly gathering on the 
square facing the Decorum.  He looked and acted just as a member of the militia who were 
milling amongst the public in unusually large numbers.  Brightloft nearby with his glossy skin, 
flowing manes and powerful muscles attracted more interest.  The people's eyes were only 
affixed on the balcony where their Governor General, and also Regent, would appear around 
noontime with the Queen, all the ministers and Aseuran dignitaries to herald the signing of the 
historic treaty.  

	"Captain Ermiz?" a hesitant voice called his attention.  Slowly disengaging himself from 
these thoughts, Trajan's eyes focussed on Ralph who had earlier detected him standing on the 
stairs and was shoving through the crowd with his father, Martin Balwin, at his side.  

	Trajan came down the steps, greeting Ralph warmly who introduced his father.  Martin 
was at a loss to express his feelings except for a mere thank you.  After a short while of friendly 
chatting Ralph stated his real purpose for coming to him , the matter of Shagg whom he thought 
had been a friend.  

	"My father's memory is no longer what it was," Ralph said sorrowfully. "Ostracis has 
crushed most of it but it is our desire to inform you, Captain, especially you who've given me 
protection, that whatever Shagg is doing, it has nothing to do with us.  Once, hiding as a wanted 
man in a cave in the Great Divide, my father regarded him as a friend.  We were anxious to 
regard anyone, who was able to demonstrate a generosity with moral assistance and food, as a 
friend.  Going over past events, it has become clear to me that Shagg was only using us.  He has 
always been an agent of the Paramount; that was the reason why the Yellowdust Deputies were 
after him, the reason also why he managed to escape so easily when he was brought, together 
with my father, as a captive to Ostracis.

	"I have told the Paganist Brothers all there is to tell about Shagg.  They are still looking 
for him.  During our stay in Okrane we have become quite fond of the city and the unassuming 
warmth of its folk.  We will do everything to preserve it.  I've also told Brother Vaco one other 
thing which you ought to know."

	Ralph hesitated for a moment before he continued:  "On the second morning after our 
arrival from the village across the border, I saw Shagg loitering near our guest-house.  He seemed 
to be waiting for someone and not long afterwards he met that someone in whose company he 
went away: the Perceptor of the Mountain Clan." 

	"The Elder?" Trajan said, stunned.

	He was distracted by the arrival of Vaco and his company, breezing through the ranks of 
waiting folk and Vaco's insistent hand pulled him away up the steps.  

	"Trajan," Vaco panted through his beard, "we have enough reason to suspect the assassins 
are going to strike during the signing of the treaty!"  

* * *

	The sun was steadily climbing towards apex, as Jeremy stood on a sward under the eaves 
of the coppice, brooding and struggling with a growing suspicion that he had been had by his 
own Perceptor.  A conspiracy was obviously afoot, but how, and why?  

	The Elder had with ease taken over the reins of the Clan from the previous Perceptor 
because of his vast knowledge of forbidden things, Jeremy debated.  Forbidden to the majority 
of people, such as books, weapon techniques, instruments of survey, scientific data: all tools of 
knowledge which he had seen being freely marketed on the streets of Okrane.  The Elder had 
taught him some of this knowledge, but not all; his education was concentrated mainly on the 
virtues of discipline and absolute loyalty.  

	The strings of loyalty were still binding him to his Perceptor, but he was tormented by 
other choices: the loyalty to his new friends.  Resolutely Jeremy swung away from the edge of 
the coppice, walking towards the wide open road that stretched out with a straight arm from the 
northern gateway of the city along meadows onwards to the wilder woods of the borderland.  
The countryside looked quiet and bare of the daily lines of husbandmen and travellers; everyone 
being where they wanted to be today, in the city square before the Decorum, watching history 
unfold.  Everyone except a few lonely traders, who had other errands to run, everyone except--.

	Jeremy's heart seemed to miss a beat as his eyes looked upon a traveller on the road, 
closely hooded, walking away from the city.  He could not see the face but the erect stature, the 
square shoulders, the manner with which he pursued his course with hasty, but still arrogant, 
steps, identified the traveller in Jeremy's eyes with unmistaken clarity.

	Jeremy leapt down from a line of shrubberies and ran onto the road, catching up with the 
proud figure, pulling his arm, turning him around.  	The face looked the same except that the 
chin had lost its crescent of distinction; instead a brown moustache nearly hid the thin lips, and 
his silver hair had been darkened to a deep copper.  

	"Jeremy," the Perceptor said without a flicker of emotion.  

	"Perceptor," Jeremy addressed him with the same blankness.  "Are you leaving the city?"  

	"Yes, Jeremy," the Perceptor replied, suddenly appearing old, fatigued and robbed of his 
previous pride.   "Do not stop me, my boy, my end has come.  Always remember that I had the 
best for you in mind, although my intentions may have not been always honourable."  

	Jeremy clenched his jaws.  "Once more you are deserting our people."  

	With hunched shoulders the Perceptor stood on the road like a spectre of defeat.  "You 
do not understand, young Jeremy.  If I remained as Perceptor the mark of ignominy would taint 
your people.  That is right, Jeremy, they are your people now, your responsibility.  You are the 
new Perceptor!  And I must depart with my sense of honour still intact.  I do not wish to become 
a part of it."  

	"A part of what!" Jeremy shouted frantically.  "Tell me, Perceptor, or I swear desperation 
will move my hand against you!"

	The Perceptor answered in a subdued voice:  "I don't know exactly what is going to 
happen, but I am sure it will not be pleasant.  I am telling you this because in some way I am sure 
you will not give me away.  I have brought you up, Jeremy, like my own son.  I do not know 
whether you will still be able to hold me in high regard after I've told you my story but I can 
count on your loyalty.

	"When the old Paramountcy ruled Vespar, the then Governor General Carlomon had 
already set his eyes to expand his territory beyond all horizons.  The scattered Southern Belt of 
States with their prosperous harbour trade was one of his targets.  Many infiltrators were sent 
there to organize an underground network of subversion.  I was one of them, Jeremy, but not for 
long.  Carlomon has never been my type of ruler; his dictatorship was stifling the very essence of 
men's creativity, and freedom of expression is what this world needs.  Whatever you speak, 
howsoever you speak it, how you write it, how you picture it; equal appreciation of all talents!

	"Carlomon, with his ultra-Purist background, had little sympathy and tolerance for such 
frivolities.  His grandfather has taught him well to preserve Terra for the Purist creed, even to 
sacrifice peace and harmony to become Pure but being Pure does not necessarily mean being 
Powerful, and Power was the other Purist obsession.  Powerful as the Lords Laris, but maybe not 
as pure.  I am speaking in riddles but this is the way I see it.  Pure and powerful were the Lords 
Laris, and so the Purists strove to be, becoming pure and powerful as them, but not as wise and 
merciful.
      
      "Jeremy, power has also become one purpose of my life when I took charge of a clan who 
one day might take charge of their own territory, because I know who you really are: a human 
seed left behind by the Lords Laris, together with other Seeds scattered all over the globe.  I 
could gain power through you, because I have heard of a Legend that the Seedlings would at one 
time rise and take over the world.  So I forsook my old master and pursued my own dreams, a 
dream which burst as a bubble on the shores of Aseur, but my final defeat was in Okrane. 

	"In Okrane I was contacted by another infiltrator who knew me during my days in the 
Setting Continent and who probably disclosed the location of Grove Hollow to the Magni-
Xandians.  He threatened to denounce me to Vesparan authorities if I didn't supply him with the 
necessary weaponry to carry out his plan.  I had no choice, Jeremy, but to give him the firepower 
I have in my possession as Perceptor of Cougars.  And I cannot expose myself to the authorities 
either, because they would hang me as a Magni-Xandian spy!"  

	The blue eyes of the Perceptor stared at him with such a tormented plea Jeremy quickly 
looked away.  "But you must warn them," Jeremy murmured miserably, "you must warn the city 
militia of the danger."  

	"You will warn them, my boy," the Perceptor said, "tell them that Shagg has a cachet of 
long range rifles, enough bullets for an army and several grenades.  I do not know what he is 
planning, and when he is going to strike.  Tell them too he is the best marksman of them all.

	"Jeremy, you must let me go.  After I turn my back, I will cease to exist for you.  You 
owe this much to me for saving you from bounty hunters who would have sold you into slavery.  
One other thing, Captain Ermiz, your new mentor, is really Captain Schurell.  Although this may 
tell you nothing of significance, it is telling me a great deal.  It is also telling me to vanish from 
existence.  Go, and warn him, he may be in grave danger!" 

	The Perceptor swung round and faded away down the road, into the shimmering haze of 
noon hour heat.  Jeremy stared at his back, letting him go out of his life.  Spinning round, he 
plunged into the opposite direction, sped across the road, into the city with black hair flying and 
eyes wide with great fear.  

* * *

	"We broke into an abandoned house," Vaco told Trajan. "Witnesses have seen Shagg 
loitering about the night before.  We found traces of heavy weaponry, empty bullet and grenade 
cases.  The man is going on an all-out war.  Indications are he is going to use snipers."  

	"Do you know who his accomplices are?" Trajan asked.  	

      "No," Vaco answered, "although I've heard from the boy Ralph the accomplice he was 
meeting.  But the Elder has disappeared completely, without a single trace, maybe murdered, 
who knows."  

	Trajan gazed around the area of the square; trees bright with tinsels, spires with waving 
pennants, terraces crowded with spectators, and the multitude beneath the staircase of the 
Decorum.  "If he is using snipers to make the strike, they could be anywhere by now."  He was 
wrestling with a question.  "But the conference is inside.  How?"

	Trajan's expression grew very grim.  "The delegates are going to appear on the balcony 
before the signing."  He beckoned a nearby militiaman. "Where is your Commissioner?"  

	"He is inside the Office of Decorum.  The delegation has arrived and they are going up 
the stairway right now with Queen Fleuridi." 

	"Tell them not to go out into the balcony!" Trajan shouted to him.  "Now, immediately!"  
Turning to Vaco he asked: "What do you think Shagg has in mind?  Bombard the whole place 
with rockets and grenades, or just target individual heads of the delegation.  Do you have a 
range-scanner with you?"  

	"I only have a sort of binoculars which are not powerful enough.  Everything is possible, 
Trajan.  We should start combing the whole area."  

	"We don't have time for that!  All the manpower is concentrated around the Office, and 
the crowd of people over there complicates the whole situation.  We have to evacuate the whole 
square, and the Office."

	"Before the treaty is signed?" said Nagus who had also come up the steps.  "This is a very 
important occasion for Vespar.  This strike could also be a smokescreen to disrupt and delay the 
completion of the accord."  

	"The threat of the strike is very real!" Vaco said fiercely.  "You've seen what we have 
found in the old house.  The fellow means business, and he is obviously trained for it."

	Meanwhile the sudden agitation on the steps of the Decorum had not gone unnoticed to 
the multitude.  Militiamen started to form a human chain in front of the Office's gates.  The 
Commissioner rushed down the steps with a flustered face in the direction of Trajan's little 
group.  

	"The Governor General wants to know what the commotion is all about," he said with 
little gasps of breath. 

	Trajan suddenly found himself in an acute dilemma.  The signing must go on, come what 
may, but if the assassins were to attack during that time, the bloodshed would be horrendous and 
many members of the public would die.  On the other hand, the signing could still take place in 
the castle, not according to etiquette maybe, but still legal and binding nonetheless.  

	"Tell him to evacuate the Decorum with all the delegation, this is extremely urgent.  And 
tell your militia to evacuate the people from the square as well."  

	The Commissioners ran back up the stairs as fast as his short legs could carry him.  Trajan 
loosened the holster of his rephar, and started down the steps when the Governor General's stern 
voice, coming from the balcony, halted him. 

      "What is the meaning of this disruption, Captain!"

	'Grand Fool, why do you have to put yourself on the spot for all assassins to see?'  His 
heart contracted at the thought of what could happen.  My Lar, my father.

	He frantically climbed up the stairs again, waving his arm agitatedly.  "Get away from the 
balcony, Governor General!  There may be snipers around.  And the Office of Decorum may be 
attacked by grenades.  Take the delegates to a safer place inside."  

      "Come up, and report," the Governor General ordered. 

	Starting upwards with one foot already on a higher step, Trajan was once again distracted 
by a racket of shrill voices coming up from beneath the staircase where the crowd was being 
steadily pushed away from the square.  He slanted his head slightly over his shoulder, observing 
a youth with black flowing hair who was desperately trying to push through the barrier of 
militiamen.  

	"Captain!" the youth shouted, waving his hand. "Captain, you must let me through!"

	"That is Jeremy, let him through," Trajan said, turning sharply to go down the steps again. 

	No one heard the shot or had time to see where it came from, only that suddenly Trajan 
uttered a sharp cry and clutched his head.  Blood spurted through his fingers. 

	"NO!" Vaco and Nagus screamed in one voice. "Not you!" 

	He staggered down the steps as he heard the cry again issuing from several mouths in one 
voice:  "TRAJAN, NOT YOU!"

	The blow that hit him seared through his brain like a white-hot iron and everything 
became a blur of weaving shadows and wailing voices.  He could no more see, the blood was 
streaming into his eyes, blinding his vision.  He could not think, only hear the clamour of voices 
and the clapping of more shots that penetrated into his sensors like the roar of a windstorm 
rolling over the plains, and felt the wind was pushing him into an abyss, into a timeless void.  
Only the burning pain in his head kept him on the threshold of sentience.  And one other Voice 
calling from deep within himself.

	'I cannot go on'. Trajan fought against falling deeper into the swirls of unconsciousness.  
'It's me they want, and you, Starglory, both of us killed at one stroke.  But You cannot die.  You 
must live.  There stands my brother, Eugene-Vaco-Nagus, my brothers, Brother.  Protect them, 
Starglory, love Him, as I have come to love them, Him.  Hear my command, my wish.  You are 
their Custodian!'

	As he lay sideways on the steps, he struggled on one knee and stretched out one arm, his 
bloodied hand.  First a faint glow seemed to shimmer among the red stains on his fingers but it 
burgeoned forth with each moment into an aura of blazing light, pulsing, vibrating in brilliant 
blueness.  The light seemed to engulf the whole of the staircase in an ocean of radiant stars.  Then 
it began to move, solidifying, forging itself into a blade and without warning it streaked through 
the air, piercing both Vaco and Nagus in one instant.  

	The light enclosed them both like a beehive of glory, swirling with a force and a soul of 
its own.  They could no longer be seen except as writhing dark reflections upon surging waves of 
light.  Then the glory receded, slowly, measure by measure, minute by minute, second by second, 
and finally it disappeared and there, on the steps, stood only One Individual.

	"NAGUS IS EUGENE!" Eirini gasped as she stood by the front gate to where she had 
rushed down when the assassin had made the strike, and from where she had witnessed the 
extraordinary Reunion of the Two into One taking place.  "Eugene!" she called after him.  

	But the One Eugene, with pale, unbearded face, eyes glowing rusty on hazel, was rushing 
down the steps, to the corner where Trajan had fallen and was lying motionless, a hand clutched 
to his wound, blood streaming down his face. 

	With tears streaming down his Praecel face and with an almost imperceptible hue of 
blueness still lingering around him, Eugene bent over, his fingers stroking the blood-streaked 
face.   Trajan was still conscious but grimacing in pain, his voice faltering.  "Take the rephar, 
Eugene, and the silver poniard.  Lead our forces to victory."  

	"Trajan, brother, I love you and your love for me will steel me in my revenge.  I will take 
on Carlomon's hordes on my own."   With fingers stained red he raised the poniard high in the 
air and the blade caught the sunshine and screeched to the length of a rapier with a burst of silver 
fire. 

	"Beware Carlomon, vengeance is mine!  I will hunt you down wherever you are!"  

	And with a terrible shout of rage he leapt down the steps and jumped into Brightloft's 
saddle.  The mighty black beast reared with a piercing neigh, which only a horse deranged by 
fury could utter and thundered down the streets of Okrane.