"Bran?"

He breathed again, wind brushing past his face, the scent stronger now. Turning, he cried out, a voice rising as he saw what crouched on the bed. A thing, dripping slime, a mass of vileness fringed with tentacles, beaked, glowing-eyed, horrible. It stirred as he darted toward the door, keening, appendages reaching toward the bedside table. Ceramics splintered around him as he snatched at the laser he had set against the wall, sharp fragments slashing his face, his hands. The keening rose to a shriek as he spun, the weapon leveling, the wordless cry rising to a scream as his finger pressed the release.

Smoke rose from the impact of the beam, thick, heavy with the stench of char. He fired again, a third time, spearing the horror on shafts of searing destruction, gloating as liquids gushed from gaping holes. Beneath it the bed sent up fingers of brightness, the covers catching, adding their heat to that of the laser. Twitching, the creature fell, sprawled in a growing nest of fire.

Tearing open the door, he raced downstairs and into the street, firing at moving shadows, a hopping, toadlike monstrosity, a thing like a flapping blanket. Something shrieked and rushed at him with extended claws.

He burned it down, heard the blast of a rifle, and felt the smash of the bullet which sent him to the ground. He rolled, firing at a looming shape, seeing it fall as the rifle fired again. The slug broke his arm, passed through into his chest, tearing at his lungs so that he lay drowning in his own blood.

Dimly he saw the figure come closer, reach toward him as, one-handed, he fired the laser for the last time.

"Lorna," he whispered as the thing fell. "Lorna!"

* * *

On tight beam, scrambled, Colonel Paran relayed the news. "It's happened, Earl. Another attack. The truce is broken."

"No."

"How can you say that?" Paran looked baffled. "I tell you I've seen it. Fifteen men and women dead. Five soldiers-"

"How did they die? The soldiers, I mean?"

"Shot down by the civilians." Paran was bitter. "They had to fire back in turn in order to defend themselves. If the fools had only obeyed orders…" He shrugged. "Well, Earl, there it is. We have no choice now but to go in and finish it."

"You aren't thinking, colonel," snapped Dumarest. "The Ayutha aren't responsible; they couldn't have been. We've got them sealed in the hills. Not one of them has passed the line since the truce. That village was way to the south. Even one man on foot would have taken a couple of days to get there; more would have taken longer. And the local patrols had scouted the entire area. Damnit," he added, as the colonel looked dubious, "why do you think I ordered this line to be established in the first place? I wanted to prove something. Well, I've done it. None of the Ayutha had a hand in what's happened."

"I'd like to believe that, Earl."

"You can."

"But what's the alternative? Is someone working with them, using them?"

"Maybe. I intend to find out. Certainly someone is advising them. My guess is that it's one of the social workers, but I could be wrong." Dumarest glanced around the command tent, seeing the hard, tense faces, sensing the grim determination, the desire for revenge. Natural enough, but misplaced and dangerous. He added, "Play this down, colonel. No hysterical publicity. The last thing we want now is to break the truce."

"If it hasn't already been broken."

"It hasn't, not by the Ayutha, but it might be to someone's interest to insist they are responsible. Make sure that doesn't happen. In fact, the best thing you can do is to maintain a silence about the whole incident. As soon as you persuade the Council, I'll detach men from the line to fell the lofios, as I suggested."

"Clear them away for a space of a mile around each village." Paran shrugged. "I remember, Earl, but they'd never agree."

"If it had been done, those people would be alive now," snapped Dumarest. "If you won't do that, then evacuate the villages." As the screen died, he said to the lieutenant, "Have three rafts move forward to check on whether that party is returning. Have they made contact?"

"No, sir."

"Get those rafts off, and keep trying. Find Captain Hamshard and have him report to me personally. I'll be at monitor post sixteen."

It was a short tower fitted with a platform and staffed by three young officers and five rankers. The officers each took turns at using the light-amplifying scanner and the radar detector; the rankers stood on guard by the compact bulk of a missile launcher aimed at the hills.

Dumarest busied himself with the instruments, checking positions on the map in the light of a dully glowing lamp. A low mound rose a few hundred yards toward the hills beyond the edge of the line. Men behind it would be invisible, but easily placed for a quick attack. To either side ran a narrow gully, merging somewhere up and back, flattening to shallow declivities at the foot of the mound. It was a good place for a meeting, one he had chosen from earlier studies.

As Captain Hamshard appeared, saluting, he said, "I want you to take charge here, captain. This entire sector. This launcher is to be zeroed in on the crest and rear of that mound. Use liquid flame. If necessary, I want you to throw up a barrier nothing living can pass."

"You expect action, sir?"

"Not the kind most of the men are hoping for, captain. Just call it insurance. Contact the posts to either side and have them zero their launchers to the gullies at either side of the mound. Similar loads and instructions."

Hamshard nodded, understanding. "I get it, sir. You want to throw down a three-sided box to contain anything on that mound."

"That's right," said Dumarest. "But remember, captain, to contain, not to destroy. You'd better send out a party of men to light a fire on the mound. I don't want those who are coming to lose their way."

"The Ayutha, sir?"

"Yes, bringing with them, I hope, their friend."

"Do you think they will come?"

"Yes," said Dumarest grimly. "They will come."

Chapter Fourteen

The hours dragged. The fire died, was replenished, died again to a smoldering bank of embers that threw little light and less heat. Standing beside it, Dumarest threw fresh fuel on the glow, tiny flames springing up to illuminate his face, the brightness of his insignia. From the communicator at his belt came the soft voice of Lieutenant Paran.

"Party spotted, sir. Heading in from the northeast, and close."

"How close?"

"Less than a mile, sir."

Too close; they should have been spotted earlier. Either the men were careless or the Ayutha more cunning than he had guessed. Men, traveling alone, could have used the terrain to baffle the electronic devices.

Captain Hamshard was hooked into the circuit. He said, "About a dozen, sir. I've launchers from posts thirteen and twenty following them."

"Unnecessary, captain. They've come to talk, not fight."

Summoned by repeated commands to explain the violation of the truce, threatened with reprisals if they did not attend with their mysterious teacher. Unfair, perhaps, but when had war ever been fair? War and other things, conflicts between men and women, between an arrogant, insane ruler and the pawn he hoped to command.

Dumarest kicked at the fire.

There had been time to think while waiting. The post-hypnotic command which Lisa had triggered had, in a sense, negated itself. Dead, she could not give the key word. Apart, he wouldn't hear it. As a threat, it was limited, something to be used, perhaps, if all else failed, but her uncontrollable jealousy had caused her to reveal too much. And if she repeated the word, and he could record it, any expert psychologist would be able to wipe the command from his subconscious.