“Fight!”

“We’ll all be killed!” Lisspar Moen called to him.

“We owe the gods a death, and tonight they’ll have it, yes,” Zechtior Lukin said, and struck down the third of the hjjks just as it raised its clacking beak above him. “But we’ll fight all the same. We’ll fight to the end.”

The insect-folk swarmed everywhere in the encampment. Their spears flashed. Their harsh screeching cries drowned out the voices of the Acknowledgers.

Lisspar Moen’s right, Zechtior Lukin told himself. We’re all going to die now.

So it seemed he had misunderstood the will of the gods. Evidently they hadn’t meant him to be the one who built the new world after all. That seemed clear. Very well: this too was the will of the gods, even as the descent of the death-stars upon the Great World had been their will, seven hundred thousand years before.

He wondered for a moment whether it was right even to attempt to resist. If the gods had ordained his death and the death of all his people this night, as surely they had, should he not put down his spear and wait peacefully for his end with folded arms, just as the sapphire-eyes had done when the Long Winter swept over them?

Maybe so. Looking quickly around, he saw some of his people trying to hide or flee, but others standing calmly, offering themselves with an Acknowledger’s true resignation to the spears of the hjjks.

Yes. Yes, he thought. That is the proper way.

But he realized that he himself couldn’t do it. Here at the last, with destruction at hand, he felt impelled to resist, futile though it was, and contrary to all that he had believed and taught. He didn’t have it in him, after all, to submit so obligingly to slaughter. In the final hour of his life Zechtior Lukin found himself staring at an aspect of his soul that he had not expected ever to find.

False Acknowledger! Hypocrite!

At least he was capable of acknowledging that much. He pondered the matter for an instant and thrust it from his mind. After all, he was what the gods had created, for good or ill.

A wide ring of hjjks surrounded him. Their shining eyes were like huge glittering dark moons. With a snarl, he set himself in a square battle-stance as they moved in on him.

He struck and struck and struck again, until he was able to strike no more.

Husathirn Mueri said, “A moment, if I may, Hresh.” The chronicler, who had been about to enter the House of Knowledge, halted on the steps and gave Torlyri’s son an inquiring look. Husathirn Mueri took the steps two at a time and was at Hresh’s side an instant later. He said in a low voice, “Do you know what’s going on in this city, Hresh?”

“In general or in particular?”

A quick smile. “You don’t know, then. Your brother’s out at the stadium this very minute, putting the army through its drills.”

Hresh blinked. It was only three days since the Presidium had voted to ratify the new alliance with the City of Yissou. Taniane and Thu-Kimnibol had spoken strongly in favor and only a few cautious ones like Puit Kjai had objected that the agreement would sooner or later drag Dawinno into war. More likely later than sooner, Hresh had thought then. But things seemed to be moving more quickly than he had expected.

“We have no army,” he said. “Only a city guard.”

“We have an army now. Thu-Kimnibol and his friends have put it together overnight. The Sword of Dawinno, it’s called. Your brother insists that we’re going to be at war with the hjjks any minute, and we have to get ready for it.” Husathirn Mueri made a hoarse sound that Hresh realized, after a moment, was laughter. “Imagine it! Half the city’s sitting in the Kundalimon chapels right now singing the praises of the insect Queen, and the other half’s out by the stadium getting ready to go and kill Her!”

“If there is war,” Hresh said slowly, “then of course we must be prepared to fight. But why does Thu-Kimnibol think—”

“The alliance with Salaman requires us to go to war, if Yissou is attacked.”

“I know what it requires. But the hjjks haven’t made any hostile moves.”

“Not yet.”

“Is there any reason to believe they will?”

Husathirn Mueri looked thoughtfully into the distance. “I have reason to think so.”

“Salaman’s been telling us for years that the hjjks mean to invade him. I gather that wall of his has gotten higher and higher until it looms over his city in the most incredible way. But meanwhile no invasion has ever come. All the supposed hjjk threats against him have been strictly in his mind. Why should things be any different now?”

“I think they are,” Husathirn Mueri said.

“Because Salaman has rejected the Queen’s offer of a peace treaty and we’ve ignored it?”

“That’s part of it. But my guess is that it’s only a small part. I think that there are those among us who are actively engineering a war by provoking the hjjks to take action against us.”

“What are you saying, Husathirn Mueri?”

“I could say it again, if you wish.”

“You’re making a very grave accusation. Do you have any proof?”

Husathirn Mueri stared again into the distance. “I do.”

“The Presidium should have it, then.”

“It involves a person or persons very close to yourself, Hresh. Very close.”

Hresh scowled. “All this ponderous hinting at conspiracies is annoying, Husathirn Mueri. Speak out frankly or let me be.”

Husathirn Mueri looked dismayed. He said in his most ingratiating way, “Perhaps I’ve been too forward. Perhaps I’m leaping to conclusions too swiftly. I hesitate to implicate those who may be innocent, at least at this point. But let me put it another way, shall I? There are certain great forces in the universe that are pushing us to war, is what I believe. It’s inevitable. Sometimes a thing simply is inevitable, the way the coming of the death-stars was inevitable. Do you understand me, Hresh?”

This was maddening, this pious philosophizing out of an unbeliever like Husathirn Mueri. But Hresh saw that he wasn’t going to get anything explicit or even coherent out of him. He was determined to be evasive and elliptical, and no amount of questioning could break through his defenses.

It was always a temptation, when you were talking with Husathirn Mueri, to want to probe him with your second sight, to see what meanings lay concealed behind his words. Hresh resisted it. Surely Husathirn Mueri would be prepared for such a thrust, and would have a counterthrust ready.

With some irritation Hresh said, “Well, may the gods spare us, but if the hjjks do strike against Yissou, then we’re bound to go to Salaman’s defense. That’s done and agreed. As for your talk of conspiracies, I regard that as mere talk until I have reason to think otherwise. But in any event, why be so troubled by Thu-Kimnibol’s army? If a war’s coming, should we go into it unprepared?”

“You miss the point, though you utter it with your own lips. Don’t you see? It’s Thu-Kimnibol’s army. If war’s this close, and I think Thu-Kimnibol’s correct that it is, then the responsibility for organizing an army belongs to the Presidium. There has to be an official mobilization. It can’t simply be a private patriotic venture of one powerful prince. Can’t you see that, Hresh? Or are you so blinded by your love for your half-brother that you’ve forgotten that he’s his father’s son? Do you want another Harruel here? Think about that, Hresh.”

Hresh felt a stab of shock.

In an instant the years dropped away from him, and he was a boy again, and it was the Day of the Breaking Apart. Here stood the folk of Koshmar’s tribe, and there, opposite them, were those who had opted to depart from Vengiboneeza with Harruel. Hresh’s mother Minbain, Harruel’s mate, was among them; but Hresh had just chosen not to go. “There are important things for me still to do here,” Hresh had said.