"What choice had I? But I have come with more than men-at-arms." Tylara described the battle at the crossroads. "And twice more they fought when bandits and refugees would not leave us alone. Each time they left none alive." She described the weapons; the large ones like crossbows carried over the shoulder, and the smaller one-handed weapons they carried concealed beneath their jackets.

"But where do they come from?" her father demanded.

"From the stars," Yanulf said.

Drumold stared at the priest and back to his daughter. "Weapons of fire and thunder… then the old tales are true?"

"They are," Yanulf said. "You can see for yourself, the Demon Star grows larger each ten-day."

"Aye, I hae seen it at dawn when the night sun is low," Drumold agreed. "But the tales speak of evil gods." He glanced nervously toward the stone house where the newcomers were lodged. "Are these-"

"Not gods," Tylara said. "They are men. Men with great weapons, but men. For days they were sick nearly to death. The lady with them is ill yet."

"She carries a child," Yanulf said. "I do not know whose."

"Not gods," Drumold mused. "Men. And they befriended you. With such power as they have-" He grew thoughtful.

"That had occurred to me," Yanulf said. "When I saw the power of their weapons, I had thought to find the Lord Protector and the boy Wanax of Drantos. With the aid of these star men, we might have driven Sarakos from Drantos and returned the lady Tylara to her home."

"But they would no aid you?" Drumold demanded.

"They could not," Yanulf said. "In the ten-day we sought the Protector's army, the Protector sought Sarakos. We heard the story from refugees three days after their armies met. The battle was thought to be equal at first, even though Sarakos bad many more lances. But as the battle was fought, Sarakos smote his enemies with weapons of fire and thunder." The priest spread his hands. "Our friends are not the only men from the stars. More than a score, with weapons more terrible than any Rick carries, now are allied with Sarakos and hold Drantos for him."

"Rick was once of their company," Tylara said.

"Then why is he not with them?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I do not know. I heard from the lady Gwen that Rick was once the commander of the star men. I know that he does not care to have them find him again."

"Then dare we keep him here?" Drumold demanded. "Is he a danger to our land?"

"He is our guest. He saved me from Sarakos once and twice from bandits," Tylara said.

Her father studied her face carefully. "Aye, and he has done more than that," he said. "When your mourning is done, will we see another stranger wed the daughter of the Mac Clallan Muir?"

Tylara had no answer to that. I wish, she thought, I wish I knew. Whose child does Gwen carry? She does not act toward Rick as a woman does to her man, but the ways of the star men are strange. I do not understand them. Especially I do not understand Rick, who likes well enough to be near me, but who has never touched me except to heal wounds…

And another memory. Rick's shouting rage when finally he understood what Sarakos had done to her. Almost, almost he had gone back to seek out Sarakos, but then Gwen spoke to him for a long time, and they rode on again.

But he did rage. He hates the man who harmed me.

"We hae our troubles here," Drumold was saying. "There was untimely rain, and the harvests will be poor. Wi'out the archers sent with you, we hae lost many of our pastures. Mac Clallan Muir does not stand so high as at the time you left, and when it is learned that my daughter can no longer send a thousand lances to my aid, it will go worse. Now you hae brought us guests who may draw the strength of Sarakos against us. Daughter, 'tis no' your fault, but this is not good."

He looked to his silent henchmen. They had no advice for him. Then he stared moodily into the fire. "But they are guests and they have my welcome, for what good it will be to them."

"What's taking them so damned long?" Corporal Mason asked. "My stomach's growling. They could at least feed us."

"I expect that's what the debate is about," Gwen said. "Hospitality is taken very seriously in some cultures. If they feed us, they have to take us in and protect us from our enemies."

"Well, I wish they'd get on with it."

"Count your blessings," Rick told him. "At least there's a warm fire and we'll get a safe night's sleep." Which, he thought, was more than they'd had for weeks while they fled across Drantos, staying ahead of the occupation forces that Sarakos and his new allies sent out in waves. It had been a nightmare journey, with all three of them sick with classic cases of Montezuma's Revenge, knowing nothing of the language and customs.

"But we made it," he said aloud. "And without leaving tracks. So now what do we do?"

"Blend in," Gwen said. "Get established in the community."

"Sure." Rick pointed out the window. The scenery was lovely. The village stood on a flat alpine meadow high above the sea, ringed on three sides by snowcapped mountains. Except for the seacoast to the southeast, it might have been a scene from a picture postcard of Switzerland. "Beautiful," he said. "But I don't see a hell of a lot of cultivated land, and some of the fields I did see were gullied. No industry, and not much pastureland. Gwen, you've noticed more than I have, but it's obvious even to me that this is a warrior society. They probably get more of their food by raiding their~ flatland neighbors than they do by growing their own. There's only one way Mason and I can make a living here. Fortunately, it's a trade we know."

"Until we run out of cartridges," Mason said. "Which may not take long."

"So we get busy manufacturing muzzle-loaders," Rick said. "I've been trying to remember the formula for gunpowder. I think I've got it."

"Rick, you can't!" Gwen protested.

"Why not? You want them unspoiled? Think arrows are a cleaner way to go than gunshots?"

"It's not that," Gwen said. "God, I wish my head would stop aching. Rick, if you start using gunpowder weapons, you'll advertise our location as surely as if you sent Parsons a letter."

Mason growled low in his throat. "Cap'n, I don't know about you, but I'm sick of worrying about Lieutenant-ha, he's a general by now-about Parsons. You saw the country we came through gettin' here. With five hundred good men, we could hold those passes forever. To hell with bein' scared of Parsons and his crew. I just wish I could be sure he'd come."

"He's right," Rick said. "And he's not the only one tired of running scared."

"Have you stopped to think that the Shalnuksis may help Parsons?" Gwen said. "Probably will. Can you fight them? Not to mention that you're involving Tylara's father in a needless war with the most powerful force on this planet." She sniffed. "I'd thought better of you than that."

"What the hell do you want us to do?" Rick demanded.

"What we agreed. Leave as few traces of our presence as possible-at least until the Shalnuksis have done with their trading. Once they're gone, you'll only have Parsons to fight."

Once again, Rick thought. Once again she makes sense. But why do I think she isn't telling me everything?