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  "That's the end of the war," he remarked.

  As if his observation were a signal, the piercing whistle of recall brought the Combatants out of line, withdrawing to secondary positions. Alert and ready the Terrans waited out the afternoon. But what Mills had said at the moment of Skura's fall proved to be true. The death of the rebel chieftain demoralized his followers, the war was at an end and the Llor avoided the off-world men. The Combatants suspected that minor rebels were trying to make deals. And at that moment the future of the Horde was bleak. However, when such defeats had occurred before in Combatant history, the Horde or Legion retained by the defeated leader had always been given free access to its transport ships and allowed safe conduct off the planet.

  Soldiers are largely conservative, ruled by custom, and since custom was now on their side and they were freed from an entanglement most of them had come to regard as risky, there was a feeling of relaxation, of "Well, the worst is now over," in the Horde camp that night. They kept a patrol about the environs of their position, and there was no slacking on guard. But the death of Skura, who had left no heir to rally his men, absolved them from their pledged support. And now, with something of a holiday lightheartedness, they looked forward to a speedy return to Tharc where the transports waited.

  The only gloomy reaction to the events of the afternoon was the realization that the shortness of the campaign would mean only basic pay. But Kana and some others sensed that the future might not be so bright.

  The recruit noted that Yorke, the three Swordtans, and some veterans, including Mills, did not drag out their bed rolls that night. And when he was roused for second guardpost duty in the very early morning he saw the light still shining in the small tent where the officers had gathered.

  Skura had been killed with a flamer—which meant that at least one more illegal weapon was in the hands of the enemy. Who had brought the arms to Fronn and why? Kana puzzled over that as he took his post. The chill black of the Fronnian night was alive with sounds which might or might not signal danger. But a circle of guard lamps set at intervals around the camp made a barrier of light.

  Flying things attracted there and blinded by the radiance beat around the lamps, making a funnel of winged bodies down to the very lens. Hunting these bemused tidbits came larger creatures, some on four legs and some on two, others skimming on wings themselves. This was rich feasting and not a few vicious quarrels ensued.

  Suddenly the low-hanging branches of a bush were pushed aside and a man stepped out into the full beam of the light, halting as if he wanted to be recognized. And the newcomer was no Fronnian.

  Kana's rifle went up until its sights covered that swaggering design of crossed rockets on the breast of the stranger's tunic. A Mech—in full uniform! Kana whistled for the guard and snapped:

  "Stand where you are—hands up!"

  The other laughed. "Not planning to do anything else. I've a message for Yorke."

  5 — Morning After

  A slap across his sleeping bag shocked Kana into groggy wakefulness some hours later. Mills towered over him.

  "Hit dirt," the veteran commanded brusquely. "We're pulling out."

  Pulling out they were and with unusual speed. Kana had barely time to throw his bag on a cart already moving. And he was still rubbing the smart of sleep out of his eyes as he fell in with his team. They were marching in "hostile country" order he noticed—scouts out on the wings. And Terran drivers, not Llor, prodded the baggage guen into action. In fact in all that winding column there was not a native Fronnian to be seen. Nor were they headed back into the mountains toward Tharc, but instead following a trail which led away at right angles, north along the foothills.

  The new road dwindled into the faintest of tracks within a mile or so. From the exasperated comments voiced about him Kana gathered that none of the lower rank Combatants knew where they were headed or why. And more than once he caught muffled suggestions about the mysterious troubles which had recently overwhelmed other Hordes and Legions light years from home. In spite of their usual fatalism, the morale of the mercenaries might be seriously affected if the situation continued.

  Perhaps this new move was the result of that visit the Mech had paid their camp in the early morning. But the confidence the Terrans had shown after Skura was slain was fast changing to a growing uneasiness.

  After a space the trace they followed grew so narrow that it seemed they must abandon the carts. Two of the scouts came in to report, a native with them, a Llor of the petty officer class, wearing a stained bandage about his head, one arm in a grimy sling. Rumor rippled down the ranks.

  "There's a big river ahead—and no bridge—"

  Before that news had reached the tail of the last team the call to general council was whistled. Yorke's voice, clippy and tinny, came through the speakers.

  "Men, the situation is not promising. We were informed that S'Tork has enlisted the services of Mech renegades—how many we do not yet know. We have not been offered safe conduct, and we cannot return to Tharc without it. Until we can make a treaty and enforce the recognition of our position under general Combat usage, we must mark time. We shall send a message to Secundus—"

  "And who's going to grow a space drive and fly it there through space?" Kana heard someone ask grimly in a half whisper.

  "We have information," Yorke was continuing, "that there is another mountain gap to the north which we may cross if we cannot come to terms—we are now heading toward that. In the meantime we must do nothing to arouse the enmity of the royalists, give them any reason for declaring that we fought on after the death of Skura. Under no provocation, no matter how severe, is any Swordsman to use his weapon against a Llor—until this order is countermanded. We shall continue in `hostile country, plan three' until further notice. Change the loads on the large carts to back-packs for the guen. Only the three small handcarts can be used from this point on. We shall establish a night camp beside the river—"

  The use of resisting guen for pack animals was not easy. And it was nearly twilight before the detachment of which Kana was one, pulling and batting their snarling beasts down to the lighted area of the camp the van had set up, gained the river. The site of the Terran position was on a bluff above the dark, oily water which washed the clay bank with unwholesome ripples. And an almost vertical descent plunged into a powerful current. They need not fear a surprise attack from that direction.

  Kana strode along the bank, looking at the flood. From the white foam collars wreathing the rocks there he judged that the current was too swift to grant them an easy crossing. As his eyes trailed bubbles downstream he saw dancing dots of light moving through the blackness of the night, coalescing on the same bank farther east. Another camp? Then the Horde's line of march must have been paralleled by a detachment of Llor.

  Luckily the Horde carried their own rations. Natives who themselves depended upon the natural produce of their land could not readily gauge the superior mobility of an army for whom the supply problem consisted of a relatively small amount of condensed food tablets and other concentrated rations, weeks' needs being carried easily in an individual's own belt pouch. The ancient "scorched-earth" policy would not be effective against Terrans—unless they could be kept from their base for a period comprising months.

  "Dumb woolly heads!" As Kana dropped down by Mills and Mic he heard Sim's thick voice rumble, "What do they think they can do—"

  "It's not what the fur faces are gonna do." That was Bogate. "Skura wasn't killed by no fur face. I was there. I tell you, fellas, he got burned right through the middle—neat and clean! Me, I'm a Swordsman, and a ten-year man, and I know better'n to spit in the face of a flamer!"

  "Flamer?" questioned someone. "But if they have flamers they'd have cut us to pieces back there. And we were winning until Skura took it."

  "Lissen." Bogate's voice overbore the other's. "I saw what I saw! That was a Mech that was marched in to see Yorke last night. And he wasn't no observer either! What if S'To
rk has a whole renegade Legion hid back there?"

  "You're talking feathers and fluff!" challenged one of his companions. "A whole Legion turned bad—why, they couldn't have set course for here without Prime knowing it!"

  Bogate's sardonic bark of laughter cut that down. "There's a million-trillion ways you can beat the High Brass back at base—and you know it. Just because it ain't never been done before, is no sign that some smart guy can't pull it off. Lookit here, a Mechmaster what wanted to, could grab hisself off a world like this—set up as Control Commissioner or something. Ain't that right, Mills?"

  Deke Mills slapped away one of the flyers drawn by the lamps. "Entirely true, Bogate. And you're also right in that exactly that is what may be happening now. If so"—he paused and then continued—"if so we must be prepared to fight our way off-world."

  Several voices protested and then sank to silence under Bogate's growl.

  "Ain't you bumble-wits got it into your heads yet that when a fella breaks the top laws he ain't gonna let tongues wag if he can help it? We go back to Secundus and shoot off our mouths about flamers and Mechs here and the mop-up crew is gonna head straight to Fronn to see what's what. Think, can't you. Who's liable to have flamers—what kinda support these here renegade Mechs got?"

  The sudden tense silence which answered him was that of men who were beginning to think and didn't like it.

  Due to Hansu's use of Mills as his aide, Kana's acquaintance with his double was not a deep one. He messed with and shared the quarters of Rey and Mic, meeting with Mills only when duty brought them together. But now he ventured to ask his quiet companion a question.

  "This could reach clear to Prime, couldn't it?"

  Mills did not turn his head. But a second later he snapped:

  "Explain that!"

  Kana described the actions of the Mech in the information library, retailing his belief that the man was waiting for the pak on Fronn.

  "No Legion badge on his helmet?"

  "No, sir. I thought he might have just signed up. But why—" He fell silent but his thoughts were very busy.

  How could any Mech be recruited for illegal service on Prime? S'Tork must be backed by more than a mere handful of renegades!

  "Yes—why and how." Mills' whisper added to his formless apprehension. "This is a case of going into battle blindfolded." The veteran got to his feet and Kana trailed him.

  They were, the younger Swordsman discovered, making a circuit of the camp, passing from post to post. When they reached the east Mills gave the password and stepped beyond the brilliance of the lamps into the night. As their eyes adjusted Kana located the bluish haze of the Llor encampment. Contrary to their usual custom the Fronnian forces were keeping their torches ablaze. But they had not advanced any toward the Terran site.

  A single moment of study was enough to satisfy Mills. He tramped south, stopping now and then to study the darkness. Farther off was another barrier of lights across the road over which they had just come. The Llor had cut off any possible retreat.

  To the west stood the mountain wall. There were no gleams of blue on the heights. The Terran camp was not yet ringed in—or did the Llor believe that the mountains themselves were barrier enough? They might consider that they had the off-world army pinned down with the mountains and the river and the two bodies of their own troops.

  Mills reached the last post, but he did not turn back into camp. "Hansu tells me," he began abruptly, "that you're an AL man. What do you make of the Llor—of this situation? Surely they must know they haven't bottled us up. We could blow them out of our way whenever we wanted to show strength. They have something in reserve—they must have!"

  "You can never tell about a feudal civilization with alien natives. Skura was inclined to overestimate his own powers. This is the first time a Combat force has been on Fronn." Kana shrugged. "You know that X-Tee, Alien Liaison, is pure guesswork at times. We can't get inside the skull of a creature whose whole mental processes may be different. The Llor, it's my guess, are either just what they outwardly appear to be—simple barbarians—or else—"

  "Or else," Mills caught him up, "something so tortuously complicated that we shall never be able to cope with them. Or they may have expert advice and assistance—"

  "From a Mech Legion?"

  "I don't see how they could have that! The transportation problem to Fronn alone—! Why, no troopship can clear for anywhere in the Galaxy without a sealed route-tape to its known destination. And yet that Mech on Prime was taking indoctrination for this planet—Prime! Right where the least rumor of such a move should damn it from the start. And suppose a Legion, or a part of a Legion has turned rotten—why select Fronn for their operations? What does a frontier world possess that would make such a risk within the bounds of profit?"

  "What sort of mineral rights did Skura sell Interplanetary to raise the pay for Yorke, sir?"

  Deke Mills squared around to face Kana, amazement in his eyes. Almost, the younger Swordsman thought, as if a gu had addressed him in good Basic.

  "Out of the mouths of greenies," he said. "Mineral rights, trading rights, and maybe a good chance for a double cross all around with the Terrans to blame everything on! Lord of Space! That could be the answer to a lot of questions. Mechs could be smuggled in on trade ships—flamers provided—everything! But"—he stared thoughtfully at Kana— "you keep your mouth shut on that bright idea, understand? We already have enough rumors flying around now without adding one so logical it can be believed."

  "Then you think we've more than renegades against us, sir?"

  "Alien reasoning—how do we know how their minds work? The C.C. doesn't understand, doesn't want to. They've never even tried to know what makes us tick. We're the slightly comical, childish mercenaries—with minds that don't match their pattern charts. So they fit us into the general scheme of things and try to forget us. And because we have functioned in that niche, they've stopped worrying about us. Their idea of a Terran has become so much of a set figure that they do not see us as we are at all, but as they think we are—two very different things. You know"—Mills paused for a moment as if a new thought had struck him— "that in a way gives us a protective covering. We've learned things which would surprise the Galactic Agents. So these Trade boys—non-Terran, of course—Terra cannot trade—figure out a neat, strictly illegal scheme—and they don't stop to think of our part in it at all. We're just pieces to be shoved around on a game board. But what will happen if we begin to make moves on our own? We should try just that—"

  Kana tensed. Was Mills choosing to pass along real information? Did the Terrans have some way of fighting back against the protective parentalism of C.C. which might even now keep them earthbound? The odd sixth sense which was part of the make-up of any A.L. man quivered into life. He thought of questions—ten—twenty of them—he wanted to ask. But there was no time, for in the camp Swordsmen were moving among the tents and saddled guen stood in the light marking Yorke's headquarters.

  "Do we march?" Kana hurried to catch up with Mills.

  Before the Blademaster's tent were the three Swordtans and a group of under officers. It was plain there was an argument in progress and at last Yorke turned impatiently from Hansu and reached for the reins of his gu.

  "Until I return you're in command," he said.

  A party of three Llor, high-ranking nobles by their war harness, were waiting, the lamps painting their furred faces with a slightly sinister shadow. The other two Swordtans mounted, but the Llor leader was in no hurry to leave. He gestured at Hansu and asked a question. Yorke answered, and still the Llor did not move. Yorke's gaze fastened on Mills. He beckoned the young veteran forward. Hansu nodded and snapped the Swordtan's insignia from his helmet, passing it to Deke.

  "You're my deputy. The Llor demand that all our High Brass attend. And they've seen you at our conferences in the past so you can pass as an officer. But—" perhaps Kana was the only one who saw that the fingers which passed the badge from one man to
another closed bruisingly tight on Mills' hand— "watch out." Mills mounted a gu and the small cavalcade swept off. Their progress across country was marked by the blue of the Fronnian torches as they sped eastward to the camp of the royalists downriver.

  Hansu wasted no time after Yorke left. Working by quiet orders passed from man to man, the Combatants went into action. The tents were left standing. But all other gear was sorted and skeleton packs of one change of clothing, blankets and cold-weather wear, were assembled by each man. Medical kits were passed out, along with rations and spare ammunition. Then the men turned in, half a team at a time, for a few hours' sleep. When Kana roused in the early morning the camp presented the appearance of having been sacked by the enemy.

  Everywhere the war bags of the Swordsmen gaped, their less useful contents spilled. The force was now prepared to move fast and keep moving. Hansu must expect trouble.

  With the rising sun the Terrans could see the hide tents of the royalists on the river bank to the east, and sight the clustered standards of the troops which had followed them through the foothills. The lamps on the barrier were switched off but not dismounted from their bases. For if the Horde had to travel light, these, too, must be left behind.

  Hansu had stationed men along the river. Their principal occupation, as Kana observed from an eastern sentry post, was to toss in bits of wood fastened to cords in order to study the current. After about an hour of this they straggled back to report. But Kana knew that to cross the stream here, especially if they were forced into that act under fire, was suicide.

  It should not come to that. The Llor had asked to treat. Yorke would return with the safe conduct and the Horde would march back to Tharc. If the Llor followed the rules of Combat that was all they could do—If.

  Llor rode leisurely down the mountain road, holding their guen to an ambling pace. All wore the royalists' badges, though, as they made a detour about the Terran camp, Kana was not the only one to suspect that the majority had not been on that side of the conflict three days before. They were armed but their weapons were sheathed and slung. And they appeared content to ride slowly to the river, shouting remarks which no Combatant deceived himself into believing were complimentary.