" 'Incident' would be a better word, captain, but I know what you mean. The answer is no. I don't think the Ayutha will attack."

"The truce seems to be working, sir." Hamshard returned the salute of a man barely visible as he stood at the edge of the line. "No trouble last night, none at all yesterday, everything quiet so far. Let's hope that it will last."

Last night had come the promised rain; the day had been windless, but now the weather was changing. Dumarest remembered the thin column of smoke, breaking as it reached higher levels. He looked up at the sky, saw cloud and hoped for more rain.

He said, "Continue down the line, captain. Make sure that every man remains alert. If you need me, I'll be in the command post."

It was a tent set well back from the line, men busy at communicators as they received reports from the monitoring posts. Portable lamps threw a dull glow, softly crimson, light designed to retain the visual purple. As Dumarest entered, Lieutenant Paran rose from a field desk.

"Movement spotted in the foothills, sector nine, sir." He rested a finger on a map. "A small party, by the look of it, approaching the line."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir, just the one party."

"Maintain observation," said Dumarest. "What is the weather situation to the south?"

"Dry. Wind rising."

"Send a general alert. All guards in the area to remain fully masked. Villagers to be confined to their homes, masked if possible, separated if not."

The lieutenant frowned. "You expect trouble, sir?"

"I am trying to anticipate all possibilities. If anything should happen, we need to be prepared. Contact the monitoring raft and find out how close that party is now."

They were within a mile of the line, heading directly toward it. Dumarest said, "Have the raft drop a flare. Use loud-hailers to establish contact. Tell them to use the communicator I gave them to speak to me direct." Waiting, he paced the floor, studying maps, frowning as he read the report of rising winds. The party had chosen a bad time to make their approach.

"Sir!" The lieutenant turned from his desk. "I think we have something."

The face on the screen was that of an elder; Dumarest couldn't remember having seen him before. He was squinting as if trying to send thoughts as well as words over the instrument. A dull glow illuminated the oddly distorted face, giving it the appearance of a brooding idol.

He said, "We have conferred and would talk with you. There are those among us who are uneasy at what is happening. Are we animals to be caged in the hills?"

"The line is for your own protection," said Dumarest. "It will be maintained until we are truly at peace."

"We have never been other than that. It was your people who attacked our village. When they came again, we defended ourselves. All this was told to you-we thought you understood."

"I did. I do."

"Now you have forces facing us, armed men in the skies. One among us has said that you prepare to exterminate us. That you will attack and burn and kill and destroy while we respect the truce. Is this so?"

"No."

"Then you will dissolve the line. You will take your men from the skies. You will trust us as we trust you. If not, we too will ready our forces. The one who lives among us has told us what we must do."

Dumarest said harshly, "Who is this man?"

"A teacher. A friend."

"Who will destroy you if you listen to him." Behind him Dumarest heard the lieutenant's soft whisper. "More movement reported, sir. Two strong parties at sectors three and fifteen."

Both places consisted of broken ground, easy to defend, hard to attack, even from the air. They could be equipped with launchers, large flame bombs. If used, fire would bathe unarmed men and lofios alike.

To the face on the screen Dumarest said, "Retreat. Go back and find this man who has advised you. Bring him to the line. You will not be hurt; you have my word for that, but I must see him and talk to him." He added, "And warn your people. If anyone should strike against us, the truce will be over. From then on it will be a war of extermination."

He turned as the screen died and met the lieutenant's eyes, saw the grim expression. "A traitor," said the young man. "Someone who advises them, who has taught them to make arms, gas even. He won't want peace, sir. He wants to ruin us."

"Maybe."

"Can you still be in doubt?" Lieutenant Paran clenched his hands, gripping an imaginary rifle, shooting, killing, destroying the threat to his world. "You heard what he said."

"Yes," said Dumarest. "Recall the rafts from over the hills."

"Sir?"

"Have them withdraw to beyond the line. Put every man available on watch. I want to make certain that none of the Ayutha get past."

Paran frowned. "You expect trouble, sir?"

"A soldier always expects trouble, lieutenant By doing that, he manages to stay alive. But the best way to avoid it is to make sure that it doesn't happen."

"Sir?"

Dumarest made no answer, stepping out of the tent and staring up at the sky. Cloud swirled over the stars, driven by a mounting wind, blowing strongly from the south. There was nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

At a village far to the south, on the edge of the lofios area, a man rose and stretched and yawned with a gaping of his mouth which revealed the strong white teeth set in his jaws. Bran Leekquan had had a hard day. Everything lately was hard, and now with the two boys off somewhere playing at soldiers, the Ayutha nowhere to be seen, the work was piling up.

From a rocker his wife said, "Tired, Bran?"

"Beat," he admitted. "I guess I'm not as young as I was, Lorna."

"Neither of us is."

That was the truth, and he stood staring at her for a minute, remembering the young girl she had once been, the strength which had enabled him to work all through the day and kept him busy half through the night. Well, times changed, and a wise man accepted it. And there was comfort in maturity, or at least there had been until the trouble; with ambition dulled a little and the farm ticking over, there had been time to relax and to enjoy the long summer evenings with others who had grown old at his side.

As he yawned again, a heavy hand pounded at his door. Beyond stood a masked, uniformed figure.

"Red alert," he said without preamble. "Wear masks if you have them. Stay apart if you haven't. Orders from the marshal."

Bran frowned. "Stay apart? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Separate rooms, locked doors, no contact."

"Is an attack expected?" Lorna, worried, joined her man at the door. "I thought we had a truce."

"We have," the uniformed man admitted.

"Then what's this all about?" Bran was irritable. "The army has the Ayutha cooped up in the hills. You boys have made sure there are none of them around. So what have we got to be afraid of?"

The man was a stranger. Casually he shrugged. "Don't ask me, I'm just the messenger around here. You've heard the order." He moved off, to pound at another door.

"Crazy." Bran stared after him, scowling. "No sense to it at all. That's the trouble with these military types, they just like to see people jump when they give their commands. Well, to hell with him, the marshal too. It's my life, and I'm living it as I damned well please. Come on, Lorna, let's get to bed."

She hesitated, "Well, Bran, maybe-"

"Well take the gun," he said. "Put it by the door. If any of those savages attack, well be ready for them." He yawned again. "Come on, honey, you know I can't sleep alone."

He woke, restless, irritable, to rear upright in the bed, conscious of something wrong. Habit had left the window open, the curtains torn by the rising wind. Outside, he heard the sound of a shout, the sudden blast of a gun. Rising, he crossed to the window and looked outside. It was dark, cloud scudding over the stars, shadows appearing to vanish again in the fitful light. As he thrust out his head, he caught the scent of something sweet, sickly.