The cave was cold and smelled of ammonia. Rick shivered as the old priest led him down winding corridors. "This is all secret," Yanulf said. "Although a secret better kept in the west than here.

Still, secret enough."

"What is secret?" Rick asked. "Everyone knows there are caverns-"

"But not the size, or the location of the entrances, or how to enter them."

"Why show me?" Rick asked. He coughed from the ammonia fumes and the chill.

"They may believe you-they pay little heed to me," Yanulf said. "And I have learned this; that you star men put your own meaning to what you see."

"This is all strange to me," Rick said. "What makes it so cold?"

Yanulf held the torch close to a bulbous slimy mass that covered one wall of the cavern. "The roots of the Protector. A plant. It is why I know the stories of the Demon Sun are true. In all my life I have never seen the Protector larger than a man's body. Recently it began to grow, and now grows daily. The growth began when the Demon Star was seen in the night sky, as the legends said it would."

"How does a plant make ice?" Rick wondered aloud. "There must be parts above ground-"

"Aye. It is very large. Thick leaves. In the west the castles are built above caverns, and the Protector climbs the walls and battlements. In this impoverished land they build few castles, and the plant grows on the rocks. You have seen it."

"Ah." He remembered a broad-leafed vine with thick stems and ugly white berries. "Scientists-uh, those whose task it is to study nature-in my home would pay much to see a plant like this." Sunlight to ammonia, and somehow the ammonia produced cold; the evolutionary advantage for such a plant on a planet in a triple-star system was obvious. "What is it you want me to see?"

"The size of the caverns and the barren storerooms. When the Time is upon us, the only safe refuge is in these caves. There will be no crops that year or the next, and poor ones for two more. So say the legends. Your drawings of the suns make me believe them."

"Which is surprising," Rick said. "You are a priest of Ius Pater, the Dayfather. Did you not think the stars are gods?"

"Can they not be?" Yanulf demanded. "You say yourself that they are older than worlds and burn forever."

And I'd best leave it at that, Rick thought. I wonder why all the secrecy. Who are they hiding from?

Yanulf opened a massive wooden door. The smell of ammonia was very strong, and Rick thought the torch dimmed. The priest held the torch high, and coughing, said, "You see. A few miserable offerings. There is meat and grain, aye, enough for a few ten-days, but not enough even for a single winter. How will these people live in the Time?"

The legends said that the approach of the third sun heralded evil times: fire, flood, famine, and typhoon. Those not prepared would die. They were mixed in with tales of the wars of gods, the appearance of fabulous monsters, and garbled stories whose point was the futility of dealing with the evil gods from the skies. It was hard to sort fact from fable, but Rick didn't doubt there would be hard times ahead. The whole climate would change.

They went deeper. The caverns were quite large, and some went far below ground level, back into the granite itself. Water trickled through some of the chambers. Others were choked with ice.

"It is said that Yatar demands sacrifices," Yanulf said. "These are stored away, to be cared for by the priests and acolytes. In some lands the storerooms are kept filled. But not here."

Eventually Yanulf led the way back out of the caves. Rick was surprised to see how far they'd traveled underground. "So it is in the other caverns of Tamaerthon," Yanulf said. "The priests and acolytes tell me that their storerooms are as barren as these."

"I'll take their word for it," Rick gasped. He walked faster toward the open air and sunlight.

Drumold was horrified. "No harvests for two years? Then aye are we doomed. One year of poor harvest and we are starving before spring." For luck he spat into the log fire burning on the hearth of his council room.

"There should be a time of good harvest first," Rick said. At least I hope so. I'm not much at climatology, but the legends say so, and it's not unreasonable.

"You know little of Tamaerthon," Drumold said. "In the best years we hae little enough land, and must take our chances in raids on the Empire. Nae, nae, the gods hate us, to let us be born in such times. I had hoped the legends false."

"But we have to do something," Tylara said. "You are Mac Clallan Muir. You have sworn to protect the clansmen."

"And I have!" Drumold thundered. "Are we not free of the Empire? Have the imperial slavemasters come to our mountains these ten years? Lass, I do what I can, but I am no magician, to grow crops in a stone quarry!"

"We can help," Gwen said. "We have ways of farming that may increase the yield-"

"Lassie, I tell you there is no land to farm," Drum-old said moodily. "You hae seen that our best land is now split and cracked-"

"Yes." She spoke to Rick in English. "Heavy rains when they didn't expect them. Just showing them contour plowing will do a lot to stop the gullies-"

"In time to help?" Rick asked. "If we've got this figured right, they'll need to work their arses off starting next spring."

Drumold stared at them suspiciously. "I like it not when you speak so," he said.

"Ms' apologies," Rick said. "Is there no land not plowed, then?"

Tylara laughed. "There's land enough in the Roman Empire. Fields, left as parks for Caesar. Forests of game for Caesar. Herds for Caesar's gods. There's food and land there."

"A cruel joke," Drumold said. "There's food and land, aye. And legions to defend them, and the slavemarket for those who enter the Empire without Caesar's leave."

"Do you forget Rick's star weapons?" Tylara asked. She turned to Rick. "Your friends have taken all of Drantos with their weapons. Can we not do the same with the Empire?"

Dammit, I wish she wouldn't look at me that way, Rick thought. I am not a god. "I do not think so," he said. "Besides, there have to be better ways than fighting. Can't we parley with the current Caesar?"

Drumold and Tylara both laughed. "The only way Caesar wants to see any kin of mine is in chains," Drumold said. "We have little to sell to him save wool. What we get from Caesar we take with sword and bow."

If Caesar wouldn't parley, there might be another way to get his attention. "How strong is this Empire?" Rick asked.

"Bring the maps," Drumold shouted. He waited while a henchman unrolled parchments. "The Empire is no so large as it was in my grandfather's day," he said. "But they hold the fertile lowlands, and the foothills, here and here. They keep a legion of four thousand mercenaries in this fortress." He indicated a point some twenty miles from where the foothills became steep mountains leading to Tamaerthon. "Within a ten-day they can have two more, and another ten-day an additional three."

And we've got about a hundred rounds for the rifles, Rick thought. "That's pretty heavy odds," he said carefully.

"The other star men have taken all of Drantos," Tylara said. "Can you not do as well?"

"They needed the armies of Sarakos to do it." And I suspect Sarakos has reason to regret his bargain. He's not likely to be much more than a puppet for Andrй Parsons. Serves him right.

Lowlands. In about five years, maybe less, that new Roman Empire was going to be under water- all but the high plateau that held Rome itself. And by that time the people of Tamaerthon would be starving. Except Mac Clallan Muir and his family. They wouldn't starve. According to Yanulf, the clan leaders and their children would-in theory, willingly-offer themselves as a propitiation to the gods. It came with the job of leader. In Drumold's grandfather's time, it had happened after three years of bad harvests, which was how Drumold's grandfather had got the position of high chief of Tamaerthon.