CHAPTER III


RAIN OVER FAREYAD


	Needle-fine rain had plagued the Tower of Fareyad for weeks and an umbrella of fog and 
humidity hung low over the sable-marbled Tower and over the pastures sprawling beneath its 
shadows.  The drizzle seemed not to know how to stop and as the days wore on, the mist that 
curled around the turrets of Fareyad grew and thickened and stretched long creamy tentacles 
over the bleakness of the fields and into the brownish haze of the far horizons.  The sun peered 
and dripped like a burst pustule through the thin veil of precipitation.  

	With a thud Lisaloran closed the window.  The day had not even advanced to noon and 
already the chill and gloom of dusk was seeping into the recreation salon.  A dozen lamps had 
been lit and burning wood crackled in the hearth.  More cheerful weather had been forecasted in 
the days to come but even if it were proven true, such predictions inspired her with little 
gladness.  Developments in Magnificent Xandia were predicting more gloom and doom despite 
changes in the weather for the better.  

	Spreading her cold fingers before the fire Lisaloran wished she could see again the 
heartening image of two glorious stars, instead of the glowering of one sun, and the beckoning 
brilliance of Evening Star at night in place of the insipid, shifty visages of a moon.  These 
manifestations of homesickness would continue haunting her until her dying day for Lisaloran 
knew, in whichever way her fate would be turning, she could never again return home.  This 
Sphere full of horrors and dangers was her new habitat and the Tower of Fareyad a place which 
she would rule with or without Carlomon's consent.  

	She had learned in the misty hours of dawn that the sign for an all-out offensive against 
Vespar had been given.  The initial news coming from the new front was that the onslaught had 
started with a fearful display of missile fire; this was subsequently followed by less encouraging 
tidings that the Vesparan forces had successfully repelled the first stage of the invasion.  The 
Magni-Xandian fleet was now in the course of regrouping on the Atlantic Main.  	If Lisaloran 
had her own way she would have stopped the war from escalating once all frontiers across the 
Setting Continent had been consolidated.  It soon became clear however this war was instigated 
not only out of a desire of conquering one's neighbours and robbing them of their riches, but also 
of exacting revenge.  Through the workings of the IsoMén Equation Carlomon came to Iucari-
Tres and saw a world that whetted his appetite.  He, and she, brought disaster to Myaron but his 
compulsion to conquer Iucari-Tres proved disastrous to him too, for whilst his eyes were set on 
Iucari-Tres, his own Paramountcy was disintegrating behind his back.  He had not forgiven the 
Sovereignty of Vespar for his swift defeat.  

	'He is repeating his mistakes and once more is unable to stop himself in time', Lisaloran 
bitterly thought.  His obsession to possess Iucari-Tres had made him blind to the threat of 
insurrection within Vespar; now his obsession to retrieve Vespar by force and bloodshed made 
him blind to the threat of another insurrection within Magni-Xandia.  

	Rumours and reports of disturbing nature had filtered through the walls of the Tower that 
pockets of rebellion had cropped up in several vassal paramountcies and subsequently put down 
with much cruelty.  Unrest was rearing its ugly head amongst the populace of even the most 
fortified of cities; even here at the Tower of Fareyad the marble walls had been vandalized by 
slogans calling for open revolt.  If Lisaloran had her own way, she would put a stop to all this 
needless bloodshed.  

	When towards the end of the afternoon Carlomon appeared in the salon, Lisaloran could 
not suppress a remark filled with biting irony:  "How fares the war, my husband?  All is well on 
the Eastern Front?"  

	Throwing his gloves and a folded sheet of paper on the mantelpiece, Carlomon replied 
without a hint of his true feelings:  "We are consolidating our forces on the Main and reinforcing 
with more troops from Penari.  Meanwhile the Glider Contingent has penetrated deeply into 
Geosphere D'Or and inflicted heavy casualties.  In my opinion, Lisaloran, the war is going in the 
right direction."  

	Glancing askance at his implacable severity, Lisaloran said with frustration building in her 
voice: "How much longer will it last?  Are you not aware the war is heavily draining out our 
resources?  The people want peace, they want to turn away from all this violence, they want to 
rebuild." 

	"Lisaloran," Carlomon said with the cool iron of his voice and gazed at her with eyes 
drooping with lack of sleep.  "If we do not strike while the iron is hot, victory will never be ours.  
We had to make the assault as quickly as possible before Vespar joins the Dominion in an 
alliance, but the treaty has not been signed and Vespar is standing alone.  Alone, it has no chance 
against me."

	"Me!" Lisaloran repeated furiously. "Thus, my husband, this is nothing but a crusade of 
personal vengeance.  You were booted out of Vespar through your own obsession and negligence 
and for this the Vesparan people are to be visited upon by the wrath of your punishment.  Do you 
not see that the same discontent with a rigid rule is fomenting right here, under your nose."  

	"I know," Carlomon said, smiling without humour, "but I am here now, not far away at 
the other end of an Equation. And here will the people know me as their ruler.  I have no 
intention of arguing with you endlessly, and pointlessly.  I am going to retire for a few hours of 
rest.  My aide will awaken me if anything should come up."  

	As he made a movement towards the door, Lisaloran detained him with a sharp voice:  
"Just a minute, Carlomon. You have never found it necessary to tell me what exactly happened 
to Leoynar in the dungeons.  Was he killed or not?"

	Carlomon lapsed in moments of grim silence, then he twisted his thin lips into a grimace 
and his eyes smouldered with the fire of hidden passions.  "It is pointless also to hide this further 
from you, Lisaloran.  I don't want a nagging wife at my side during this critical time.  He was 
not killed."  

	"And where is he now?" 

	"Safe, so far as I know, and as long as the war is not entering Okrane."  

	Hoarsely Lisaloran went on:  "I do not believe you did this for his sake; it bears all the 
marks of a notorious Carlomon artifice.  What did you expect to gain by it?" 

	"A good many things."  Carlomon whisked away the folded sheet of paper from the 
mantel shelf and handed it over to Lisaloran.  "Read and you will know what I've gained by it."  

	Unfolding the sheet Lisaloran raced her eyes over the contents of the single-page report, 
at first with reluctance, subsequently with mounting disbelief and finally with dismay.  She 
refolded the paper with deliberately slow movements and tore it into little pieces as she spoke. 
"First Glynmoran, now Trajan.  When will it end, Carlomon?  The Captain was shot but not 
killed, only seriously wounded, says the first line of the report.  Then it elaborates the signing of 
the treaty was postponed, all armed and security forces of Okrane put on extreme alert, and a 
widespread manhunt undertaken to round up all conspirators.  The militiamen were knocking at 
his door when your agent sent this final message.  Well done, Carlomon, for this near perfect 
scheme to assassinate the Captain, but he still lives!"

	"There is always a flaw in the most perfect of schemes and the Captain may have died by 
now of his wound."

	Lisaloran closed her eyes and for a moment she stood before the fire in the hearth like a 
white tree and the flames seemed to writhe around her knees like bushfire.  "Dead or not," she 
said, "did you derive any joy from your deed?"

	"You are mistaken, Lisaloran.  Trajan Schurell had to be eliminated.  He was the biggest 
obstacle standing in our path to glory.  You have witnessed personally what he can do.  Do you 
want to feel his destructive force on you instead?  Getting him out of the way has nothing to do 
with personal vengeance, but everything with politics.  Be grateful, Lisaloran, because now that I 
have got rid of him, the war will be short."  

	"The war is only beginning," Lisaloran said, scattering the shreds of paper into the air and 
as the fragments descended on the carpet like jagged teeth extractions, she departed from the 
salon.  

	Left on his own, Carlomon pulled up a chair and settled down before the fire.  Outside, 
the pestering drizzle had persisted throughout the day but finally trickled to a halt as the sky 
darkened into dusk.  The hoped for wind had not come and the fog tightened its grip on Fareyad 
with bars and sheets of greyness, packing around the tower walls and over the surrounding lands.  

	Dusk fell into night and Carlomon had remained in the salon.  Urgent messages were 
despatched to him there.  For a couple of hours he allowed his eyes to shut although he did not 
permit himself to drift into sleep.  His mind kept turning over the recent events and the 
repercussions.  

	He had taught Vesparans a lesson.  Another thorn in his flesh which had sometimes kept 
him awake at night and needed a lesson too was the Governor General, this flaming personage of 
the Double Sun who had pursued him over the sandy face of Geosphere D'Or and finally chased 
him out of Okrane.  

	Carlomon was furious and stunned when the news reached him that his troops that had 
been entrenched in the Smaze had been routed.  This strike was accomplished with such skill and 
completeness that he had serious doubts it was of pure Vesparan design.  His agents had 
confirmed his suspicion.  The Vesparan strike force was led by a comparatively new and young 
captain to whom the Governor General had taken a great liking.  Learning this, his plan of 
elimination had acquired a new sense of urgency.  Even without using the Lightforce, Trajan 
Schurell as commander was a formidable force in his own right.  The Captain and the Governor 
General were two of an awesome kind who was capable of wreaking a humiliating defeat on his 
forces of invasion.  

	But now the bond was crippled.  The Governor General was left without a treaty and 
without the battle skills of his Captain: a good session of punishment that was.

	Thinking of Lisaloran, some regret pricked his conscience and threw a momentary 
shadow over his self-congratulatory mood.  Were all these killings necessary?  Lisaloran was 
capable of great ruthlessness herself, but under the strain of prolonged hostility and violence she 
was beginning to show cracks in her armour of pitilessness.  She had sought to persuade him to 
end the war quickly.  

	Carlomon felt he was not ready yet.  His grandfather Carlvan would have patted him on 
the back with bursting pride for what he had been able to achieve in such a short time on the 
Setting Continent.  The old man had never gone so far as bringing a whole continent to its knees.  
Carlvan, whose son was killed in the raid on Lumentor, who inspired young Carlomon with his 
hatred for the Lords Laris who had denied to share their Light Powers with his family; who had 
taught the necessity to obliterate the principles of mercy and tolerance for the sake of gaining 
power through pure hatred. 	 

"Still, Carlvan," Carlomon said loudly into the wan emptiness of the salon, "I did not do it for 
you or out of belief in your Terra-Purist creed.  I was only the acting representative of a breed of 
people your creed has helped to bring about.  So I was suckled like so many others of my time on 
the milk of intolerance and so I must fulfil the promises of my life."  

	Grimly smiling into the fire Carlomon felt consoled he was not standing alone in this 
enterprise; he could not have accomplished so far without the moral assistance of a whole 
generation of politicians and elite scientists reared on power madness and hatred.  Even as the 
tides seemed to be turning, these sentiments were still very strong in the Setting Continent, in 
Aseur, even in Vespar, and elsewhere.  There would always be a side of corruption and frailty to 
everything that was good and strong: the likes of Byrulls, Lisalorans and Julyan Ermizes.  And 
unfortunately, he was brought up and educated to take and support that side.  

	The thought of Phylee-Patre, Iucari-Tres, transiently wrung his heart in bitter anger.  His 
defeat there was compounded by his subsequent defeat back on earth.  A thriving new world to 
conquer and corrupt, to turn the haven of angels into pits of hell.  But Iucari-Tres would have to 
wait.  Terra, purified in blood, was his immediate problem.  

	The evening had crawled into the depths of midnight when new tidings of the front 
reached his ear:  his glider forces who had struck against the enemy with such success earlier in 
the day had been driven back towards the coast.  	Carlomon jumped up from his seat and his 
aide-de-camp quailed in fright seeing the towering wrath of the Paramount.  "How could this 
have happened?" he demanded in a terrible voice.  

	Uneasily the aide-de-camp replied:  "The first reports are saying that when the Vesparan 
troops in Geosphere D'Or were in full retreat they were halted and redeployed by a new 
commander on a black horse and under his leadership the troops made a countercharge."  

	"Have you received any indication as to who he might be?  The Vesparan Governor 
General?" 

	"Impossible, Paramount.  The Governor General is reported to be still in Okrane.  No one 
is able to identify this new commander because he is harnessed in some sort of light-giving 
protective suit."  

	Without any further comment Carlomon dismissed his aide-de-camp and afterwards 
retreated from the salon.  Entering his chambers in the Tower he found Lisaloran sitting in the 
night shadows of her room; the fire in the hearth was the only source of illumination.  Briskly he 
told her he was leaving Fareyad the following morning since his presence in Penari had become 
one of prime importance.  It was imperative to be on the scene to boost morale and to coordinate 
the final stages of the invasion.  

	"I would welcome your coming with me, Lisaloran."

	"I am no longer interested in your little wars," she replied dully. "You can leave without 
me." 

	"Can I count on you not to stab me in the back during my absence in Penari?"  

	"What a horrid mind you have!" Lisaloran retorted.  "You have learned nothing of the 
honour of Iucarians, although I have, finally and too late.  I have agreed to be your Lady Consort 
and so I shall remain until death. You know where to find me if you should survive the war.   I 
am staying in Fareyad."  

	With sombre, brooding eyes Carlomon studied her marble profile, half shaded by the 
darkness of her room and half lit by the glow of the fire, looking like the face of a statue catching 
the last rays of the setting sun while waiting for the night to come and cover it.  He left her room 
without expressing words of farewell.  

* * *

	In the morning a wind blew from the northeastern corner and freed Fareyad from the 
phantom reign of the fog.  A cavalry unit started to ride as the sun broke through scattered 
vessels of grey clouds.  Carlomon himself drove in a Rumbler as his unit pushed across the newly 
conquered territory of the Southern Belt towards the southeastern tip of Penari.  Fareyad was 
still struggling between mist and sunshine when they plunged into the fangweed ocean of the 
Hungry Plains where the glare of the day was fierce and the air of the night dusty and dry.  They 
made swifter speed when they came upon the ancient freeway.  

	Smoking skeletons of towns and homesteads, burnt-out carcasses of wagons and trails of 
rubble wreathing through the fallow weed were all that remained from the Eight-Week War.  
Their passage would sometimes disturb a few carrion birds that were still feeding on scores of 
unburied dead and sent them noisily flapping and screeching into the sky.  For those who fell 
here the Hungry Plains was their permanent burial place.  The blades and roots of the fangweed, 
and the parched soil, seemed to have even absorbed the stench of death and the wind was only 
carrying along its breath the stinging dust of the Plains. 

	Halfway through the Plains Carlomon stood on the roof of the Rumbler and swept the 
lands he had conquered with his binoculars.  The Mountains of Great Divide loomed misty grey-
blue on the far western rim.  Still farther beyond, Carlomon knew, and hidden by the snow-
tipped crowns of the Great Divide, lay the Western Boundaries of the Smaze.  And farther and 
deeper still, in its very centre, the ruins of once magnificent Lumentor might still lie, but no one 
had dared to penetrate so far within the Smaze.  Along the southwestern stretch of the Barrier 
Smaze the Durus-shield nets, which his late trusted assistant Niklaedus had designed with such 
ingenuity, might still be in place and continue to snare the Unliving, but Carlomon was more 
concerned with the Living.  A Durus-shield frequency network designed along the same 
principles was now remote-controlling the pincers inside the helmets of his soldiers, coercing 
them to go into the Smaze or anywhere else he wanted them to go.  

	He somewhat regretted having to resort to such brute force but contemplated mankind 
had not yet developed to the state of homogeneous subservience when they would appreciate 
and obey without asking questions the wisdom of rigid discipline and absolute dictatorship.  

	Carlomon's drive across the Hungry Plains to Penari was an uneventful journey through 
an area scarred innumerable times by old and new traumatic events.  The inhabitants of the 
Southern Belt had all but left and taken refuge in the less hostile strips of land along the 
coastline, except for a smattering of homesteaders here and there who fearfully withdrew within 
the straw-thatched walls of their hovels as the column passed by.  

	Penari was reached on a brilliant morning when sunlight was mirrored in the ripples of the 
Atlantic Main in shimmers of green and platinum.  In Penari itself the erstwhile lackadaisical and 
colourful bustle of citizens, hirelings and travellers had been suppressed and replaced by the 
harsh, tar-shaded uniforms of the Magni-Xandian occupation forces.  A temporary ceasing of 
hostilities had been declared awaiting the Paramount's arrival and taking himself without delay 
to the Five Green Steeples headquarters of the Penarian Syndic Carlomon was briefed by his 
officers and Penarian counterparts of the current stalemate.  

	Merinburg's defences continued to hold firm against his fleet coming from the sea, and 
his Glider Contingent was dug in along the entire northern coast of Geosphere D'Or and trying 
desperately to hold their ground against the advancing counteroffensive.  	Carlomon ordered for 
the dispatch of more reinforcements to D'Or.  He then traced with an imperative finger the areas 
on the map where he would open a new front of assault.

	"What will be our chances if we once again try to attack the D'Orrian forces from the 
back," he said, "and send another detachment of gliders via a detour into the Smaze and deploy 
them in the Zilch Zone?" 

	One of the attending officers vaguely objected.  "The gliders will have a hard time 
finding their bearings in the Smaze and a suitable spot to land."  

	Another put forward:  "In zero visibility it is also very hard to determine where solid land 
starts and where it drops off into vacuum.  If the gliders should fall into a vacuum, no power on 
earth would be able to retrieve them.  It happened to one of our infantry platoons when we were 
trying to establish a secret base in the Smaze.  One minute there was hard ground and another 
minute nothing but voids. We lost a great many men in that way."  

	"And yet an earlier D'Orrian strike force was completely successful in passing through 
the Smaze," Carlomon said grimly, "and destroying our base."

	"They were guided by a corps of a new Unit of Flycraft," an officer put in.  "Paramount, 
you've asked us before to find out how many flycraft the Vesparans have at their disposal.  So 
far only six have been seen in the air, but there could be several more."  

	"Where are those craft stationed?"  

	"On the outskirts of Okrane." 

	"This is one of the main problems we have to tackle," Carlomon said.  "What is the 
shortest way into Okrane?"  

	"From the coast obviously but the entire shoreline of Vespar has been heavily fortified." 

	"What about the coastal defences of the Dominion?" Carlomon enquired, studying the 
map beneath him with intense and pondering eyes.  

	A senior officer replied: "The Dominion does not consider itself to be at war, Paramount.  
It is true a general alert has been sounded but its borders, and its coasts, are still open." 

	"Let us leave this issue for the moment," Carlomon said. "What information have you 
been able to obtain regarding this new commander leading the D'Orrian forces?"  

	The gathered officers stared at each other with uncertainty and timorously blinked their 
eyes but no one volunteered to present the Paramount with answers.  At this time the Penarian 
Syndic took the floor with a confident sweep of his affluent robes of purple and red batiste.  

	"Allow me, Paramount," he broke in, bowing his head with a sly smile smeared on his 
painted lips.  "A D'Orrian merchant with whom I have been constantly in close contact presented 
me with an amazing story which is currently sweeping across Vespar.  Personally the merchant 
was not present in Okrane when the spectacle took place on the steps of the Decorum Office but 
several eyewitnesses, who have seen it all happened, have since then been making ripples all over 
the surface of Geosphere D'Or with this account.

	"At the same time as the assassin's bullet hit the young captain, and he was collapsing on 
the stairs, a stupendous thing happened to him, or maybe he let it happen.  There was a bluish 
radiance coming from his body, Paramount, like his soul!  But so powerful as though the whole 
staircase of the Decorum and the square was drenched by a rain of light.  The brilliance was like a 
shield of Life and Light and it embraced two individuals who stood in the proximity, and for 
moments it seemed the two were being devoured by the shield.  Then the glowing shield started 
to sink into oblivion like the rays of a setting sun and when it had vanished, as if into thin air, 
there stood only One instead of Two on the steps.

	"The One was filled with such rage that he screamed vengeance and vowed to hunt down 
the assassin and all his accomplices.  In a single night nearly all Magni-Xandian agents were 
felled by his hand.  Rumours so say that he crossed over to Geosphere D'Or on his great black 
horse with the silver blaze when the gliders were harvesting huge successes from their initial 
strike, and halted the rout of the D'Orrian forces.  No one really knows the true identity of this 
One, except perhaps the young captain, but he has rallied all of Geosphere D'Or, civilians and 
soldiers alike, as one indomitable force to counter strike!"  

	When the Syndic finished his story he bowed with a servile smile and further said:  "That 
is what the merchant told me but he could be lying of course."  No other of the assembly dared 
to utter a word as they waited for the Paramount to speak. 

	"How is the young captain?  Where is he now?"

	The Syndic replied in his suave voice:  "The latest news is that he is still alive, but only 
barely and is being cared for in the Royal Castle of Okrane."  

	Carlomon raised his head and looked at the assembly who hovered uncertainly in a half 
circle around the table.  His coal-black eyes swept over each of them with a cutting and scorching 
look.  "Not one word of what you have heard will leave this room!  You know the ultimate 
punishment for disobedience.  Make sure also, Syndic, that the merchant who has furnished you 
with this story, does not go tattletaling all across town.  Cut his tongue out, if need be."  

	"I will make sure of it, Paramount," the Syndic assured with a deep bow.  

	"I call a recess to this meeting," Carlomon said, "You may all leave but be back within an 
hour."  

	The Syndic was the first to swagger out of the room, followed by the officers who filed 
through the door and exchanged comments in whispers.  Left on his own Carlomon paced 
around the meeting hall with arms folded across his chest.  

	The rise of a formidable commander causing disarray to the glider detachment, and to his 
strategy of gaining a foothold in Geosphere D'Or, mattered little in the present circumstances; 
what mattered most was that Starglory still existed and was wreaking havoc on his troops.  
Trajan still lived too and, Carlomon realized with poignant clarity, the Captain needed to stay 
alive.  He held the key to victory, or defeat.  

	Walking to the table he consulted the layout of various positions on the chart, taking 
mental notes of possibilities and contemplating the tactics and strategy that was needed to 
accomplish the next push through Vesparan defences.  When his officers returned with the 
Syndic trailing them, his mind was crystal clear as to how the next stage of the invasion should 
progress. 

	"By no means can we allow the forces in Geosphere d'Or to come to the aid of those in 
Vespar.  Hence, our army will stay there entrenched to keep the D'Orrians busy.  Meanwhile, we 
will postpone our march into Merinburg, but the city will be kept under siege of continuous 
shelling.  Instead of advancing from the south my plan is to breach the Dominion's southern 
coast to clinch the northern borders of Vespar.  At the same time, a detachment of gliders will 
undertake a suicide mission to destroy the Fly Unit and take the capital.  We are going to cut off 
the dragon's head.  Is everything clear to all of you?"

	Striving to keep their faces blank, the Penarian Syndic and the officers stated their 
understanding and concurrence with Carlomon's plan. 

	"Very well," said the Paramount, "while the new offensive is being carried out, I will 
prepare a little speech."