CHAPTER VII


GUIDANCE OF PEREGRINATORS




	The Fly Bay glimmered like a pewter pond beneath the stars, partly obscured by the eaves 
of a dense wood, at the foot of an escarpment where along the surge of its crown the night sky 
was belted with a glowing band of crimson and orange.  Beneath the western brows of the hills 
the flames of battle were burning night and day, and were drawing nearer by the hour.  The wind 
swept the echoes of explosions over the hush of the valley with a breath disturbingly warm and 
humid at this season of the year.  Along with it came the smoke and reek of combat which hung 
and wreathed about the trees, and quelled the green of the leaves and the fragrance of the bark. 

	A deep darkness had settled in for about an hour as Eirini sat before the station, 
monitoring Zippercraft returning from the battle scene.  All the crew had nearly spent their 
strength; they had lost several craft and personnel which had increased the burden upon the 
others.  Leoynar strode through the door with slow steps and a haggard face, with his radio unit 
still hooked to his ears and Eirini put down her headphones. 

	"Is everything all right?" he enquired and the lines of fatigue on his face resembled the 
deep trenches on the battlefield.  "Have we lost anyone?"

	"Not on this last sortie," Eirini answered, "but Deyron's craft is coming in last and he 
seems to be having some trouble with the landing gear."

	They both rushed through the door of the monitor cabin as the whine of the approaching 
craft floated down from the upper atmosphere.  It speared through the clouds with a plume of 
thick smoke.  Immediately the emergency aid unit spread out on the tarmac, anxiously raising 
their heads to the sky where the Zippercraft first circled round the Bay before braking to a halt 
above its designated parking spot.  

	"He seems to have lost retro braking!" Leoynar said, and shouted to the ground crew 
through the mouthpiece of his radio:  "The net, activate the braking net!"  

	"The net is in place," someone amongst the personnel confirmed. 

	The Zippercraft plummeted towards the Bay like a stone.  Black fumes tinged with red 
spouted from its exhaust and billowed across the surface of the tarmac.  With a screech the craft 
dangled for a moment in the air as a latticework of fine gauze spun out from four mobile poles 
and caught its tremendous fall.  The shock sent it flying up back into the sky.  Sparks sprayed 
throughout the Bay and glanced off the bark of trees along the fringe of the wood.  "Cut off the 
engines slowly, Deyron!" Leoynar muttered between his clenched teeth.  The impact of the 
second halt was less traumatic although tongues of flames started to spread over the wings of the 
craft.  After the fourth net braking it was stabilized and lowered onto the tarmac and two units 
of emergency crew speeded with hoses to the stricken Zippercraft.  

	Deyron was helped out, with a green hue of sickness on his face but otherwise unhurt and 
his crew emerged from the smoking cabin staggering with dizziness but all appearing unharmed.  
When the foam had put out the fire, Leoynar concluded after a quick inspection that the 
Zippercraft was largely still intact and could be repaired in no time.  

	"Everyone takes a break," he instructed, "no more sorties for the night.  We start again 
tomorrow."  

	He supported Deyron to the monitor cabin where Eirini had the medical kit already open 
on a table and she tended to the Superpre's cuts and bruises.  As if it was the norm of their daily 
conversation Deyron asked whom they had lost today. 

	"We lost Controller Lepinnan," Leoynar told him.  

	Deyron ruefully shook his head.  "A great loss.  He was a very able Controller."

	The stillness of the night closed around the bay as Jeremy, Conrad and Maykin entered 
the cabin bearing trays of plates, cups, bread, cheese, meat and drink for the dinner, which by 
unspoken agreement the six of them nightly took together.  The little group dined under the 
single bulb and barely spoke to one another; they were all aware what would come upon them 
with sunrise.  The savagery of the battle would reach them across the summits of the hills and in 
a matter of hours the Fly Bay would become the new frontline of the war.  

	Vespar had still not capitulated; every citizen and soldier seemed to be aware of the price 
of surrender to the Magni-Xandian Paramount and each of them preferred to fight to the death 
than the torture of his prisons. 

	In the subdued and gloomy light of the cabin the dinner gathering broke up in groups, 
and a few words were spoken but the war was not discussed.  Maykin insisted upon stitching the 
tear in Conrad's sleeve, Jeremy assisted Leoynar in clearing up the table and Deyron decided to 
avail himself more of that vile-looking brew the people here called "home dew".  Left on her own 
Eirini walked down the steps of the cabin, leant with her back against the rail and looked at the 
white dots in the sky. 

	When she heard that the Governor General had whisked Trajan away to an undisclosed 
destination she accepted it with apathetic resignation.  In times of hard and bitter battle she had 
never stopped thinking of him but thinking him safe was one element that had kept her on her 
feet throughout difficult days and sleepless nights.  She welcomed the strain of coordinating 
sorties as she could barely endure the pain of yearning, which would often come upon her in the 
quietness of a lull.  How was he?  Was he still twisting and tossing in delirium as she had last 
seen him? 

	"Trajan," she whispered.

	"Eirini."

	Startled she jumped forward when the voice suddenly sounded through her thoughts.  
Before her in the shadows of the hills and the trees a shape materialized like part of night, a 
shimmering contour of air.  Nothing seemed tangible except his eyes looking at her with the 
warmth of his enduring love. 

	"TRAJAN!" she called out loud and ran into the night.

	"Do not touch me.  You can hear me through your thoughts, everybody will."

	"Are you alive?" Eirini asked tremulously.  At the sound of her cry the others had pushed 
through the door of the cabin and were now standing behind her in awe and confusion.  

	"Yes, but this is only my Dissociated Essence you are sensing.  How strong is the Fly 
Corps?" 

	"We had a dozen," Leoynar answered in a trembling voice, "we have now fallen back to 
eight and one is heavily damaged."

	"It will suffice.  Listen everyone, the time has come for the Fly Corps to defend Vesparan 
positions no longer, but to attack Magni-Xandian fortifications.  Henceforth, leave the defending 
to the ground forces who are making a good job of it.  With the craft you are able to gain higher 
altitudes where the gliders cannot reach you. Tomorrow you will prepare all Zippercraft for the 
push over the Atlantic into Penari, the headquarters of the invasion.  Deyron, you have done well 
in timely evacuating the Fly Bay to this valley.  Eirini and Leoynar, your expertise has kept the 
Fly Corps strong and indomitable.  And young Seedlings, days of hardship have not weakened 
you.  Prepare yourselves: this war will decide your future!  The attack on the Penarian 
headquarters will be the Fly Corps' prime objective.  Good luck!" 

	"Don't go," Eirini pleaded but her voice trailed away into the empty night.  

	"Was that the Captain I just heard," Deyron asked  incredulously, "as if he was speaking 
into my head!"

	Leoynar clenched a fist.  "Yes, it was him! And you all heard his voice.  Let's do what he 
has instructed!"

	The party broke up swiftly, hastening into the darkened Fly Bay to rouse and assemble 
members of the Corps for the strike. 

* * *

	For a time Queen Fleuridi placidly watched her Royal Counsel pacing the floor of her 
chambers like a runaway automaton.  At last taking no more she entreated:  "Please Counsel, sit 
down.  You are making me terribly nervous."

	"Forgive me, Your Highness," Dego said and strode to a halt.  Sighing he kneaded his 
forehead.  "All this waiting is infuriating!  There is no word yet from the Dominion Vicegerent."

	Queen Fleuridi gently said:  "He is taking his time surely.  He is a cautious man.  But this 
is no reason for us to fall to pieces.  We will wait a night longer, then we will think out other 
strategy."

	Dego tugged at his beard and worked his jaws.  "We have heard no word too from our 
Regent.  All this uncertainty is really making me sick!"  He breathed deeply.  "If only the 
Dominion were to see the senselessness of their neutrality now that the Magni-Xandians have 
intruded upon their own territory.  It is also true, of course, an alliance would not turn the tide of 
the war but it would give us some breathing space along the northern borders." 

	His tired eyes glanced at the young queen.  "The inevitability that we have to abandon 
Okrane is looming nearer by the day.  If the enemy has taken all the northern woods, there are no 
choices left to us but to retreat to the eastern hills."

	"I am aware of this," Queen Fleuridi  said in a grave, almost petulant voice.  "But for the 
moment Okrane is holding strong.  We have experienced no assaults for a day, which has given 
us time to recuperate, but naturally the question is:  what will tomorrow bring?"

	"The courage I have witnessed on the streets is tremendous and heartening," Dego said, 
"but for how long will the people keep fighting like this?"

	"For as long as it takes!" a strong voice said and in an eye-blink the chambers were filled 
with a glory of blue and silver.  With perplexed, fearful eyes, Dego and the Queen saw the 
forceful frame of their Regent manifesting from the glow.

	"Regent!" Dego exclaimed.

	"No, Lord Schurell am I."

	"My Lord Laris Schurell.  The Legend!" Dego uttered with quaking voice and almost fell 
on his knees. 

	"Stay, my Royal Counsel.  You need not bow to me, old friend.  I too have learned so 
much from your strength, courage and wisdom.  Listen, Your Highness, Counsel.  Prepare to 
retreat from Okrane: the Sovereignty will be able to lead the battle from a safer place where you 
can continue to keep communication lines open with the Dominion.  The Procerem of the 
Dominion of Aseur is locked in bitter debate and the odds are about even.  In addition, there are 
subversive elements who will try their best to prevent the Procerem from looking towards Vespar 
with more generosity. 

	"It is to the people of the Dominion you must speak.  Up until now it is Vespar alone who 
is holding the fort against the invasion, Vespar who is paying a heavy price. The people of the 
Dominion and Vespar have a long tradition of ties which have bound them together through 
blood or trade.  Demand if they are willing to watch this wanton slaughter of their neighbours, 
and family, with indifference and without caring.  Let them know they could be part of a victory 
which could turn the world around."

	"My Lord!" Queen Fleuridi cried out. "Tomorrow I will speak to all the people of the 
Continent of Aseur through all channels and wavelengths.  Every citizen, soldier and child must 
know the courage of Vesparans and the blood we have shed."

	"My Lord," Dego said with moist eyes, "Now that you are back we will sign the treaty 
and win the war."

	"I will not be here to sign the treaty, as this is my last appearance to you," Lord Schurell 
imparted with a sad smile, "but you will, Dego Kolmarin, as the new Regent of Vespar.  Don't 
be sad, the Lords Laris will always be with you in memory.  Vespar will flourish under your 
wisdom, and the continued wisdom of their Queen when she comes of age.  My deepest respect 
to your strength of character too, Your Highness.  Go with honour, farewell and good fortune to 
you!"

	With a spear of blue lightning Lord Schurell departed and for long aching moments they 
gazed upon the spot where he had stood and given his last directive.  

	"Regent, Sire," spoke the Queen, gripping Dego's arm with iron determination.  "We 
have not a moment to lose.  I will prepare my speech and speak to all in a few hours' time."

	"Yes," said the former Royal Counsel, now Regent with a flush of excitement spreading 
on his cheeks. "Yes! We will show them.  By heaven and earth, we will show them!" 

* * *

	Along the shores of a smoking harbour Merinburg writhed beneath iron-grey clouds 
edged with red like a burning heart.  In some parts of the city the tips of the flames seemed to 
reach as high as the tallest pinnacle of the Chine Residence.  Across a wide stretch of the sea 
charred timber and flotsam drifted into one another and formed islands of smouldering debris.  
A chain of scorched hulks wound around and rattled against the quayside, swaying with the 
wind and waves.  The glare of the raging fire in the city fell upon the face of the sea and was 
reflected in tongues and fangs lapping and gnashing at a sky sheeted in black and red.

	Heavy casualties at the command headquarters had steadily pushed Algar Kolmarin into 
the position of Admiral of the Merinburg defence forces and after a shrapnel had brought serious 
injury to the Syndic, he considered himself to be Acting Syndic as well. 

	From a window of the Chine Residence Algar grimly viewed the despair of the city.  
Artillery and missile fire was still holding off the enemy's advance from the sea but Merinburg's 
spirit was nearly quelled.  Almost all of the citizens had been evacuated, except for a thin belt of  
defenders along the coastal lines.  Algar had just finished a briefing with all his commanding 
officers and sombrely knew Merinburg would certainly fall at dawn.  

	He did not hear that Stephanola had come to his side until she poured wine into a glass.  
So softly had she tiptoed into the room and so engrossed was he in his moody contemplations.  
"For the present moment there is nothing you can do except take a break," she advised.  "Come, 
take a little food, an admiral with an empty stomach is a pain in the arse."

	Algar swung round from the window and grinned. "Having you at my side, Ferry 
Mistress, is like salvation."

	"Or damnation," Stephanola purred, her green eyes gleaming catlike.  She twined her 
arms around his neck. "Now that you have made yourself so damnable pretty, former hireling of 
mine, what about sharing my bed tonight?" 

	"Dear Stephanola," Algar said and the bristles of his unshaven chin briefly brushed her 
smooth cheek, "there is nothing else in the world I would rather do, but we are faced with either 
complete annihilation or surrender.  I don't think we can hold off the enemy any longer."

	Stephanola sighed, caressing his cheek.  "It is ironic people can still make friends, and 
love, in times of war, as if we are discovering each other for the first time.  Never did I dream 
that I would stand here fighting at the side of people I didn't even know, but suddenly I feel at 
home.  Amidst the flames, savagery and suffering I am finally home.  Stephanola is saying 
farewell to the seas!"

	"And when this is war is over," Algar said, fiercely flinging her to his chest, "and if we 
are still alive, you'll be my wife and we will build a little house--"

	"But the war must be won first."

	Startled they sprang apart, looking round in alarm.  By the window a shade seemed to sit 
on the sill, shimmering like a moonbeam that had come down from the night, or a glint of the 
glass or a flicker of lamplight thrown back from the walls; they could not tell.  They only felt the 
intensity of the grey-purple eyes observing them even if they could not say with certainty where 
those eyes were.  

	"Captain Schurell!" Algar shouted. "Is that you?"

	"Am I causing you inconvenience?"

	Although Algar could not see the smile, he thought he could feel the playful mockery 
coming from the shade.  "No!" he cried out astonished, in a voice that nearly broke with tearful 
joy, "not at all!"  

	"Stephanola, you have finally caught a fish of great value in your nets.  Careful, do not let 
the rogue slip away.  Enough nonsense for the moment.  Hear me, Algar, abandon Merinburg 
completely, let it burn out by itself.  If the Magni-Xandians want a burning city, let them have it.  
You will be better off retreating to the north, along the coastline where the Magni-Xandians have 
not advanced.  The best strategy is to attack them from the sea.  Assemble a fleet, all the ships 
you can muster.  Establish a radio link with the Fly Corps.  At the hour, the very instant they are 
attacking the headquarters in Penari you will also commence your counter-attack against the 
Magni-Xandian forces on the Main.  All the best of luck to you two and the fleet.  Until we meet 
again!"  

	The voice in their minds stopped speaking as the sky became a sky, the window a 
window, and the wall a wall again.

	"Is this true?" Algar asked bewilderingly. "He spoke with such clarity, not with sound 
but here in my mind."

	"It is true!" Stephanola said.  "The Captain has a talent of speaking with his thoughts, 
once he did that to me.  Algar, we must act as he has directed."

	"Yes, Stephanola!" Algar confirmed, feverishly gathering his weapons. "Yes!  There is no 
other way.  Better to die fighting on the sea than burn to death helplessly in the city." 

	Side by side they dashed into the corridor, thundering through grand halls and staircases 
of the Chine Residence, overhung by the stench and smoke of the dying city, and stormed into 
the command headquarters, alarming several of the officers gathered there, and Algar gave the 
order to abandon Merinburg. 

* * *

	Eugene Trevarthen on Brightloft swept his russet eyes over the battlefield which lay 
fuming at the foot of the hill.  The smash and clang of weapons, the screeches and bursts of 
missiles and the furious snaps of artillery fire had quietened during the night, but as dawn started 
to unfold a veil of yellow-grey light along the eastern crests of the dunes, battle sounds renewed 
their thunder and dark crimson tips of light spit through the hazy air.

	The D'Orrian army had battled with magnificent bravery and endurance.  They had 
followed his leadership like the tail of a brilliant comet and fought like he showed them how to 
fight.  The fury and blood of the combat had all but washed away the anger and darkness of his 
heart.  He had won the adoration of his armies and gained redemption amidst the countless 
heroism of his soldiers in the battlefield.   

	But they were tiring.  The unforeseen tenacity of the Magni-Xandians holding on to the 
coastal lands was slowly wearing his men down for they had fought day after day and night 
after night almost without resting.  A solution must be found before fatigue and the seeds of 
demoralization drained the strength from his army. 

	The blue haze which faintly enveloped him and which could sometimes be seen in 
daylight, and sometimes by moonshine, but so elusive as it seemed not to really exist, had 
injected his being with such a magnitudes of willpower he could think of nothing else but to win 
victory all over D'Or.  As One his past had surged back to him with all dreadful implications.  
Nevertheless, he was content and felt redeemed. 

	"Here will I stay and here will I die," he murmured as he looked upon the red glow of 
battle clouds tumbling across the lightening sky.  

	A brilliant light flashed around him as if a bolt of lightning had struck the hill and set it 
ablaze.  Brightloft reared with a shrill neigh of alarm but was immediately calmed by a firm hand 
when the shine transformed into a tall figure who stood beside rider and horse and looked at 
them with a sorrowful smile on his fine face. 

	"Eugene," Lord Schurell said, "my poor, tormented son!"

	Eugene blinked his eyes and stared aghast at the grave and noble features, the bright and 
compelling gray eyes, the graceful curves of the strong mouth.  

	"Father?" he faltered, "father?"

	"Yes, Eugene, you are mine too, born at the same time I believe as your brother, Trajan.  
Unguided and untaught you have suffered the most and committed the mistakes as anyone 
would in your ignorance.  The blame lies with nobody, only with them who with murderous and 
power-hungry ambition sought to possess Starglory.  And as a son of mine you have redeemed 
yourself with such outstanding valour in battle.  I am proud of you, my son!" 

	"Father," Eugene entreated, wiping the hot tears off his face. "Tell me what to do, I don't 
know what to do." 

	"Weep no more, Eugene," Lord Schurell said, "for you are a Lar!  Order a cease-fire 
immediately in Geosphere D'Or.  The D'Orrian troops have proven their mettle in combat and 
they have won the war in D'Or, but for a narrow belt of land along the coast.  Temper your fury 
with mercy, for the Magni-Xandian soldiers have suffered too through no design of their own.  
Cease all hostilities and offer them peace and sanctuary.  They will not come round immediately 
but they will think about it, and while they are doing so muster a battalion of your soldiers, lead 
them round the Magni-Xandian fortifications along the coast, cross the Middle Inlet, and halt the 
shipment of supplies from Penari into D'Or.  Join the Vesparan fleet that is now assembling on 
the Main:  Penari will be the next target of your assault."

	Lord Schurell took Eugene's hand and the blue haze closed around his fingers like a 
glove of light.  "Starglory," he said softly.  "Do not destroy life.  Do as my son Trajan wishes you 
to do.  He will be your Custodian Host until the day of his descendant's Annulus of Conception, 
if that is your future but it might also be very different as I am unable to foretell what fate awaits 
my son Trajan for he is a New Breed."  Looking up at the son on the mighty black stallion he 
smiled.  "Farewell, Eugene, I love you also!  Go in grace and honour, my son and follow your 
destiny." 

	The radiance reblossomed around Lord Schurell and with a flash he disappeared.  Eugene 
stared for long moments to where his father had stood and then spurred Brightloft to descend 
the hill.  With all speed the horse galloped to the command headquarters.  When the sun was 
crawling towards noontime a unit of commanders and soldiers were gathered for the final assault 
on Penari.

* * *

	The North Wind sailing in with blades of winter scythed lingering troughs of drizzle and 
fields of fog.  For long days he hurled his piercing breath over the pastures around Fareyad.  
Then at last he paused his lungs, spewed out a final blast of hail and went to rest.  His brother, 
the East Wind, came breezing across the Main and brought messengers from the Eastern Front, 
sheets of grey clouds from which the rain had not washed away the reek and stains of war.  The 
clouds hung low over hills, valleys and cities of Magnificent Xandia and daily they reminded the 
people with their messages of doom.  Through the pall of bleakness the sun squinted down with a 
puckered face on the structures of Fareyad. 

	The fear to speak out had gripped the folk living around Fareyad.  If they did find 
occasion to speak, they did so in whispers and in pairs, never in a crowd and openly, but in 
shaded corners and dark alleys.  The nervous squint over one's shoulder became a habit of life.  
Morale was low but stocks of nutriments and medicaments were lower still.  Bands of refugees 
streaming out from famine-stricken villages regularly gathered around the foot of Fareyad, 
hoping to meet some generous soul who would offer them a handful of food or temporary 
shelter.  

	In the morning one party would wander away to their next uncertain destination while 
another would take their shanty camp.  The word going round was that anyone courageous 
enough to go into combat would certainly gain a brighter future at the front, and for a time such 
prospects of glory were luring thousands of able-bodied men and women to the far-off 
battlefield.  

	The first seeds of disillusion were planted when the wounded and the maimed filtered 
back from the front.  'The war is a manmade purgatory', so the word went round again.  'We 
have no quarrel with the Vesparans' was a further observation, timidly uttered.  And so on and 
on it went, round and round, as people rumbled and agonized what glory was there to be had by 
torching the cities of other people who had so far not bothered them with troubles, and to what 
satisfaction, as their own family and friends were groaning in the prisons of Magni-Xandia. 

	Old Terra-Purist edicts of strict obedience and self-control began to pale beside continued 
torture and hardship.  On all fronts the people wanted to be heard but the words stuck in their 
throats because the choices they had daunted them even more: they wanted the war to stop but 
dreaded the thought of what the Paramount would do to them in times of peace.  Many of them 
had welcomed him as an able leader when he toppled the old corrupt government.  His stringent 
management had breathed new life into the torpor of their farms and industries. 

	Magni-Xandia had flourished for a while although the iron glove of tyranny had filled 
many people with misgivings.  Carlomon had made them strong during the war across the 
Southern Belt, and he would make them stronger still, as the slogan goes, after a quick victory 
against Vespar, but victory had not come so quickly.  The rumours weaving through underground 
channels were that Vespar was holding firm despite the terrible pounding coming over air, land 
and water.  Amongst other unhealthy sentiments seeping through the bulwark of Magni-Xandian 
Paramountcy was also the grudging respect for the moral strength of Vesparan forces. 

	Lisaloran had lost interest in the outside world.  Some ministers had tried to seek an 
audience with her but she had dismissed them with a cold glint in her eyes.  Her favourite seat 
was in her room before the fire where her hours were dwindled away in grim solitude, 
accompanied by only the discontent of her environment and the shadows of her past.  

	Pride and a sense of purpose had taken possession of her during the heydays of her rising 
as Lady Consort of the Paramount.  Here, finally, was a life she could fulfil with flaming glory 
rather than the boredom of Trevarthen Hall.  She had soon found out that glory in this sphere 
could only be achieved by wading through a pool of blood.  Amidst all this winter of destruction 
the meaningless leisure time in Trevarthen Hall had the sweetness of Tyro, which was so far 
away.  

	"Lisaloran," she said into the fire, "you have made a mess of your life."  

	"Is this how you have chosen to live?"

	She jolted forward in her seat and with pale knuckles she gripped the arms of the chair as 
she saw before her eyes glimmering against the flames a brighter flame of some sort, a part of the 
bricks in the hearth, or of nothing.  In another instant she recognized the voice that broke through 
her thoughts: "Lisaloran."

	"Trajan," she said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, "Trajan."

	"Lisaloran, this is not the way to redeem yourself.  There is so much you can do to repair 
the damage done by your lord in union and his creed of hatred."

	"Trajan, I cannot bear to look upon you in my moment of shame."

	"Lisaloran, your shame will wither away as Iucari-Tres will cease to exist for you.  You 
have always wanted to reign as Queen and here is your chance: to rule a dominion as Paramount, 
but alone and friendless." 

	"Then, tell me what to do, Trajan.  TELL me what to do!"

	"Take control of the government, My Dama Lisaloran, and declare an immediate 
suspension of hostilities.  Form a new cabinet of ministers and introduce reforms.  You might 
succeed or you might not: it all depends on you alone.  Above all, disconnect the duress network 
controlling the minds of Magni-Xandian soldiers and invite them to return home without fear of 
malice or persecution.  This is not their defeat but their salvation.  You must try to rebuild the 
whole Sphere in partnership with other states and in doing so you will learn how to form 
friendships.  If you succeed, it will be the glory of your redemption, My Dama. We will never see 
each other again, but I wish you all good fortune for the future.  Go in Honour, always."

	Minutes fleeted by as Lisaloran stared into the fire which was an ordinary fire once more.  
"Farewell, Trajan," she whispered.  "I will never forget the moments we shared in the sewers of 
the Old Castle."  Then she started up from her seat and rang for her lady-in-waiting.  

* * *

	A blood-red dawn, shivering with tension, had grown into a restless and humid day and 
matured into an uneasy dusk.  The Penarian Syndic, his broad lips dashed with turquoise, had 
once again delivered a glowing report of the magnificent successes of the Magni-Xandian army, 
especially with the fall of Merinburg at dawn, but Carlomon knew the war was not going the 
way he had planned.  

	Merinburg had finally fallen into his hands, no doubt, but only after days of wasteful 
shelling and there was nothing to gain from a burning city.  Vesparan armies remained 
entrenched along a wide sweep of the hinterland. The continued delay to final victory felt like an 
itching tumour he longed to cut out.  

	The Regent, and the Captain, had both mysteriously disappeared from the battle scene 
and he thought he could guess where they were.  In the Smaze.  But with all his might 
concentrated around Vespar he could not afford sending troops into the Smaze.  He only ordered 
for the waves of the Durus shields to be magnified towards the heart of the Smaze in an effort to 
pinpoint the location of Lumentor. 

	The Penarian Syndic also declared that the Aseuran Procerem were still locking horns 
over the thorny issue of taking sides in the war.  In the early hours of the day the Vesparan 
Child-Queen had broadcasted a region-wide appeal, directed not only to the people of Vespar 
and the Dominion, but to Magni-Xandians as well.  Carlomon was hardly interested; he doubted 
seriously whether the petulant words of a child could rouse the masses to a height of fervent 
patriotism, and his agents were doing a good job in the Dominion.  The time had come to strike a 
decisive blow, hard and crippling. 

	Carlomon contemplated abandoning D'Or and going instead with all lethal force at the 
throat of the Sovereignty: Okrane.  His strikes along the northern borders had proven far more 
effective and met with greater success than the impasse in D'Or.  He was still mulling over this 
strategy when his aide-de-camp hastened into the headquarters and reported a flotilla of 
D'Orrian forces had broken through the coastal demarcation and cut off the supply route to the 
invading army. 

	Carlomon grimly nodded; just as well, leave D'Or to the vultures.  It will be Okrane, 
tomorrow.