I refused to be unsettled by the sneaky stone. Much.

What are they? Where did they come from? Why are they different from normal stones? For that matter, why is the Plain ridiculously different? Why so bellicose? We are here on sufferance only, allied against a greater enemy. Shatter the Lady and see how our friendship prospers.

“How soon?”

“When they are ready.”

“Brilliant, old stone. Positively illuminating.”

My sarcasm did not go unnoticed, just unremarked. The menhirs have their own flare for sarcasm and the sharp-edged tongue.

“Five armies,” said the voice. “They will not wait long.”

I indicated the sky. “The Taken cruise at will. Unchallenged.”

“They have not challenged.” True. But a weak excuse. Allies should be allies. More, windwhales and mantas usually consider appearance on the Plain sufficient challenge. It occurred to me the Taken might have bought them off.

“Not so.” The menhir had moved. Its shadow now fell across my toes. I finally looked. This one was just ten feet tall. A real runt.

It had guessed my thought. Damn.

It continued telling me what I already knew. “It is not possible to deal from a position of strength always. Take care. There has been a call to the Peoples to reassess your acceptance on the Plain.”

So. This overtalkative hunk was an emissary. The natives were scared. Some thought they could save themselves trouble by booting us out.

“Yes.”

“The Peoples” doesn’t properly describe the parliament of species that makes decisions here, but I know no better title.

If the menhirs are to be believed-and they lie only by omission or indirection-over forty intelligent species inhabit the Plain of Fear. Those I know include menhirs, walking trees, windwhales and mantas, a handful of humans (both primitives and hermits), two kinds of lizard, a bird like a buzzard, a giant white bat, and an extremely scarce critter that looks like a camel-centaur put together backward. I mean, the humanoid half is behind. The creature runs toward what most would take as its fanny.

No doubt I have encountered others without recognizing them.

Goblin says there is a tiny rock monkey that lives in the hearts of the great coral reefs. He claims it looks like a miniature One-Eye. But Goblin is not to be trusted where One-Eye is concerned.

“I am charged with delivering a warning,” the menhir said. “There are strangers on the Plain.”

I asked questions. When it did not answer I turned irritably. It was gone. “Damned stone...”

Tracker and his mutt stood in the mouth of the Hole, watching the Taken.

Darling interviewed Tracker thoroughly, I’m told. I missed that. She was satisfied.

I had an argument with Elmo. Elmo liked Tracker. “Reminds me of Raven,” he said. “We could use a few hundred Ravens.”

“Reminds me of Raven, too. And that’s what I don’t like.” But what good arguing? We cannot always like everyone. Darling thinks he is all right. Elmo thinks so. The Lieutenant accepts him. Why should I be different? Hell, if he is from the same mold as Raven, the Lady is in trouble.

He will be tested soon enough. Darling has something in mind. Something preemptive, I suspect. Possibly toward Rust.

Rust. Where the Limper had raised his Stella.

The Limper. Back from the dead. I did everything but burn the body. Should have done that, I guess. Bloody hell.

The scary part is wondering if he is the only one. “Did others survive apparent certain death? Are they hidden away now, waiting to astound the world?”

A shadow fell across my feet. I returned to the living. Tracker stood beside me. “You look distressed,” he said. He did show one every courtesy, I must admit.

I looked toward those patroling reminders of the struggle. I said, “I am a soldier, grown old and tired and confused. I have been fighting since before you were born. And I have yet to see anything gained.”

He smiled a thin, almost secretive smile. It made me uncomfortable. Everything he did made me uncomfortable. Even his damned dog made me uncomfortable, and it did nothing but sleep. Much as it loafed, how had it managed the journey from Oar? Too much like work. I swear, that dog won’t even get in a hurry to eat.

“Be of good faith, Croaker,” Tracker said. “She will fall.” He spoke with absolute conviction. “She hasn’t the strength to tame the world.”

There was that scariness again. True or not, the way he expressed the sentiment was disturbing.

“We’ll bring them all down.” He indicated the Taken. “They aren’t real, like those of old.”

Toadkiller Dog sneezed on Tracker’s boot. He looked down. I thought he would kick the mutt. But instead he bent to scratch the dog’s ear.

“Toadkiller Dog. What kind of name is that?”

“Oh, it’s an old joke. From when we were both a lot younger. He took a shine to it. Insists on it now.”

Tracker seemed only half there. His eyes were vacant, his gaze far away, though he continued to watch the Taken. Weird.

At least he admitted to having been young. There was a hint of human vulnerability in that. It is the apparent invulnerability of characters like Tracker and Raven that rattles me.

“Yo! Croaker!” The Lieutenant had come outside.

“What?”

“Let Tracker cover you.” I had only minutes left in my watch. “Darling wants you.”

I glanced at Tracker. He shrugged. “Go ahead.” He assumed a stance facing westward. I swear, it was like he turned the vigilance on. As though on the instant he became the ultimate sentinel.

Even Toadkiller Dog opened an eye and went to watching.

I brushed the dog’s scalp with my fingers as I left, what I thought a friendly gesture. He growled. “Be like that,” I said, and joined the Lieutenant.

He seemed disturbed. Generally, he is a cold customer. “What is it?”

“She’s got one of her wild hairs.”

Oh, boy. “What?”

“Rust.”

“Oh yeah! Brilliant! Get it all over with fast! I thought that was just talk. I trust you tried to argue her out of it?”

You would think a man would grow accustomed to stench after having lived with it for years. But as we descended into the Hole my nose wrinkled and tightened. You just can’t keep a bunch of people stuffed in a pit without ventilation. We have precious little.

“I tried. She says, ‘Load the wagon. Let me worry about the mule being blind.’”

“She’s right most of the time.”

“She’s a damned military genius. But that don’t mean she can pull off any cockamamie scheme she dreams up. Some dreams are nightmares. Hell, Croaker. The Limper is out there.”

Which is where we started when we reached the conference room. Silent and I bore the brunt because we are Darling’s favorites. Seldom do I see such unanimity among my brethren. Even Goblin and One-Eye spoke with a single voice, and those two will fight over whether it is night or day with the sun at high noon.

Darling prowled like a caged beast. She had doubts. They nagged her.

“Two Taken in Rust,” I argued. “That’s what Corder said. One of them our oldest and nastiest enemy.”

“Break them and we will shatter their entire plan of campaign,” she countered.

“Break them? Girl, you’re talking about the Limper. I proved he is invincible before.”

“No. You proved that he will survive unless you are thorough. You might have burned him.”

Yeah. Or cut him into pieces and fed him to the fish, or given him a swim in a vat of acid or a dust bath in quicklime. But those things take time. We had the Lady herself coming down on us. We barely got away as it was.

“Assuming we can get there undetected-which I do not believe for a moment-and manage total surprise, how long before all the Taken get on us?” I signed vigorously, more angry than frightened. I never refuse Darling, ever. But this time I was ready.