ke  most  past
disasters, we'll come out of it in another day or two. The best thing is  to
<I>plan</I>  for things that way. This is like  a  'time-out' in the  battle.  Take
advantage  of  it  to  have  a little  peace.  Figure  out  how to  get  the
unperverted parts of Commercial Security to help us."
     "... Yeah." Depending on the shape of the surge's trailing edge the <I>OOB</I>
might have lost a good part of its lead....  <I>But I'll bet the Alliance fleet
is completely panicked by  all this.</I> Such opportunists  would likely run for
safety as soon as they're back in the Beyond.
     The advice kept her busy  for  another twenty hours, fighting  with the
half-witted  things  that claimed to be strategy planners on the new version
of  the <I>OOB</I>. Even if the  surge passed right  this instant, it might  be too
late. There were players in this game for whom the surge was not a time-out:
Jefri Olsndot  and his Tinish allies.  It had been seventy  hours  now since
their last contact; Ravna had missed three  comm sessions with  them. If <I>she</I>
were panicked, what must be like for Jefri? Even if Steel could hold off his
enemies, time -- and trust -- would be running out at Tines' world.
     One hundred hours into the surge, Ravna noticed that Blueshell and Pham
were doing power tests  on the <I>OOB</I>'s ramscoop drive.... Some  time-outs last
forever.




     .Delete this paragraph to shift page flush





     -=*=-



        CHAPTER 34


     The summer hot spell  broke  for a time; in fact, it was almost chilly.
There was still the smoke and  the  air was still dry, but the  winds seemed
less driven. Inside their  cubby aboard the  ship, Amdijefri weren't  taking
much notice of the nice weather.
     "They've  been slow in answering  before," said Amdi. "She's  explained
how the ultrawave -- "
     "Ravna's never  been <I>this</I> late!" Not  since the winter, anyway. Jefri's
tone hovered between fear and petulance. In fact, there was supposed to be a
transmission  in the middle of the night, technical data for them to pass on
to Mr. Steel. It hadn't  arrived  by this  morning, and  now Ravna  had also
missed their afternoon session, the time when normally they  could just chat
for a bit.
     The two children reviewed  all the  comm  settings. The previous  fall,
they had laboriously copied  those  and the first level diagnostics.  It all
looked  the same  now ... except  for something  called "carrier detect". If
only they had a dataset, they might have looked up what that meant.
     They had even very carefully reset some of the comm parameters ... then
nervously set them back when nothing happened. Maybe  they  hadn't given the
changes  enough  of  a  chance to  work.  Maybe now  they  had <I>really</I> messed
something up.
     They stayed in the command cubby all through the afternoon, their minds
cycling  trough fear and boredom and  frustration. After four hours, boredom
had at least a temporary victory. Jefri was napping uneasily in his father's
hammock with two of Amdi curled up in his arms.
     Amdi poked idly around the room, looked at the rocket controls.  No ...
not even his self-confidence  was  up to playing with those. Another of  him
jerked at  the  wall quilting. He could  always watch the fungus grow for  a
while. Things were that slow.
     Actually, the gray stuff had spread a lot further than the last time he
looked. Behind the quilt, it was  quite thick.  He sent a  chain of  himself
squirreling  back  between  the wall and the fabric. It was  dark,  but some
light  spilled  through the gap at the ceiling. In most  places the mold was
scarcely an  inch thick, but back here it was five or six -- <I>wow</I>. Just above
his exploring nose, a huge lump of it grew from the wall. This was as big as
some  of  the ornamental moss that decorated  castle meeting halls.  Slender
gray filaments grew down from the fungus. He almost called out to Jefri, but
the two of him in the hammock were so comfortable.
     He brought  a couple more  heads  close  to  the  strangeness. The wall
behind it looked a little odd, too  ... as though part of its substance  had
been  taken  by the  mold. And  the  gray itself: like  smoke -- he felt the
filaments with his nose.  They were solid, dry. His nose tickled. Amdi froze
in shocked surprise. Watching  himself from behind, he saw  that  two of the
filaments had  actually  passed through his member's head! And yet there was
no pain, just that tickling feeling.
     "What -- what?" Jefri had been jostled into wakefulness, as Amdi tensed
around him.
     "I found  something  really strange, behind  the quilts. I touched this
big hunk of fungus and -- "
     As he spoke,  Amdi gently backed away from thing on the wall. The touch
didn't hurt,  but  it  made him  more  nervous than  curious.  He  felt  the
filaments sliding slowly out.
     "I told you,  we aren't  supposed  to play with that stuff. It's dirty.
The only good thing is, it  doesn't smell." Jefri was out of the hammock. He
stepped across the cubby and lifted the quilting. Amdi's tip member lost its
balance  and jerked away from the fungus. There was a  snapping sound, and a
sharp pain in his lip.
     "Geez,  that thing is big!" Then,  hearing  Amdi's  pain whistle,  "You
okay?"
     Amdi backed  away from  the  wall.  "I think  so." The tip  of one last
filament was still stuck  in his lip. It didn't hurt as much  as the nettles
he'd sampled a few days earlier. Amdijefri looked over the wound.  What  was
left  of  the smoky spine seemed hard  and brittle.  Jefri's fingers  gently
worked  it free. Then the  two of  them turned to wonder at the thing in the
wall.
     "It really has spread. Looks like it's hurt the wall, too."
     Amdi dabbed  at his bloodied  muzzle. "Yeah. I  see why your folks told
you to stay away from it."
     "Maybe we should have Mr. Steel scrub it all out."
     The two spent half an hour crawling around behind all the quilting. The
grayness had spread  far,  but there  was only  the one marvelous flowering.
They  came back to stare at it, even  sticking articles of clothing into the
wisps. Neither risked fingers or noses on further contact.
     Staring at the fungus on the  wall was by  far the most exciting  thing
that happened that afternoon; there was no message from the <I>OOB</I>.
     The next day the hot weather was back.
     Two more days passed.... and still there was no word from Ravna.






     Lord Steel paced  the walls atop Starship Hill. It was near the  middle
of the night,  and  the sun hung about fifteen degrees  above  the  northern
horizon. Sweat filmed his fur; this was the warmest summer in ten years. The
drywind was into its  thirtieth dayaround.  It was no longer a welcome break
in the  chill  of the  northland. The  crops were dying in the fields. Smoke
from fjord fires was visible as  brownish  haze both north and  south of the
castle. At first the reddish color had been a novelty, a welcome change from
the unending blue of sky and distance, and the whitish haze of the sea fogs.
Only  at first. When fire  struck East Streamsdell, the entire sky  had been
dipped in red. Ash had rained all the dayaround, and the only smell had been
that of burning. Some said it was worse than the  filthy air of the southern
cities.
     The troops on the walls backed far out of his  way.  This was more than
courtesy, more  than their fear of Steel.  His troops were still not used to
the cloaked ones, and the cover story  Shreck  was  spreading did nothing to
ease their minds: Lord Steel was accompanied by a singleton -- in the colors
of a Lord. The creature made no mind  sounds. It  walked incredibly close to
its master.
     Steel  said  to  the  singleton,  "Success  is a  matter of  meeting  a
schedule. I remember you teaching me that," <I>cutting it into me, in fact.</I>
     The member looked back at him, cocked its head.  "As I remember, I said
that success was a  matter  of adapting to changes in  schedules." The words
were  perfectly articulated. There were singletons that could talk that well
-- but even  the  most verbal  could not  carry on intelligent conversation.
Shreck had  had no trouble  convincing the troops that Flenser  science  had
created a  race  of superpacks, that the  cloaked ones  were individually as
smart as any ordinary pack.  It was a good cover for  what the cloaks really
were. It both inspired fear and obscured the truth.
     The member stepped a little  closer -- nearer to  Steel than anyone had
been  except  during  murders  and  rapes  and  the  beatings of  the  past.
Involuntarily, Steel  licked his lips and spread out from around the threat.
Yet in some ways the dark-cloaked  one was like a corpse, without a trace of
mind sound. Steel snapped his  jaws shut  and  said, "Yes. The  genius is in
winning even when the  schedules  have fallen down the garderobe." He looked
all  away  from the Flenser member  and scanned  the  red-shrouded  southern
horizon. "What's the latest estimate of Woodcarver's progress?"
     "She's still camped about five days southeast of here."
     "The  damned incompetent.  It's  hard  to believe  she's  your  parent!
Vendacious made things so easy  for her; her soldiers  and toy cannon should
have been here almost a tenday past -- "
     "And been well-butchered, on schedule."
     "Yes! Long  before our sky friends arrived. Instead, she wanders inland
and then balks."
     The Flenser member shrugged in its dark cloak. Steel knew the radio was
as heavy as it looked. It consoled him that the other was paying a price for
his omniscience.  Just  think,  in  heat like this, to  have  every part  of
oneself muffled to the tympana. He could imagine the discomfort.... Indoors,
he could smell it.
     They walked past one  of the wall cannon. The barrel gleamed of layered
metal.  The  thing had  thrice the  range of Woodcarver's pitiful invention.
While  Woodcarver  had  been  working  with  Dataset  and  a  human  child's
intuition, he  had had the direct advice of Ravna and company. At first he'd
feared  their largesse, thinking it meant the Visitors were  superior beyond
need for care.  Now ... the more he  heard of Ravna and the others, the more
clearly  he  understood  their weakness.  They  could  not  experiment  with
themselves,   improve   themselves.  Inflexible,   slow-changing   dullards.
Sometimes they showed a low cunning -- Ravna's coyness about what she wanted
from  the first starship -- but  their  desperation  was loud  in  all their
messages, as was their attachment to the human child.
     Everything had  been  going so well  till just a  few days ago. As they
walked out of earshot of  the gunner pack, Steel said to the Flenser member,
"And still no word from our 'rescuers'."
     "Quite so," That  was the  other botched schedule,  the  important one,
which they could not  control. "Ravna has missed four sessions. Two of me is
down with Amdijefri right  now."  The singleton jabbed its snout toward  the
dome  of the inner keep. The gesture was an awkward abortion.  Without other
muzzles and  other  eyes, body language was a limited thing. <I>We  just aren't
built to wander around a piece here, a piece there.</I> "Another few minutes and
the space  folk  will have missed  a fifth  talk session.  The children  are
getting desperate, you know."
     The member's  voice  sounded  sympathetic.  Almost  unconsciously, Lord
Steel sidled a little farther out from around it. Steel remembered that tone
from his own early existence. He also remembered the cutting and  death that
had always followed. "I  want  them kept  happy, Tyrathect.  We're  assuming
communication  will  resume;  when it does we'll need them." Steel bared six
pairs of jaws at the surrounded singleton. "<I>None of your old tricks.</I>"
     The member flinched, an almost imperceptible twitch that pleased  Steel
more than  the grovelling of ten thousand. "Of course  not. I'm just  saying
that you should visit them, try to help them with their fear."
     "<I>You</I> do it."
     "Ah  ... they don't fully trust me. I've told  you before, Steel;  they
love you."
     "Ha! And they've seen through to your meanness, eh?" The situation made
Steel proud. He had succeeded where Flenser's own methods would have failed.
He had manipulated without threats  or  pain.  It had been  Steel's craziest
experiment, and certainly  his most profitable. But "-- Look,  I  don't have
time to wetnurse anyone. It's a tiresome thing to talk to those two." And it
was very tiresome to hold his temper, to suffer Jefri's "petting" and Amdi's
pranks.  In the  beginning, Steel  had insisted that  no one else have close
contact with the children.  They were too important to expose to others; the
most  casual  slipup  might  show  them the truth  and ruin them. Even  now,
Tyrathect was the only pack besides himself who had regular contact. But for
Steel, every meeting  was worse than the last, an ultimate test of  his self
control. It was  hard to think straight in  a  killing rage, and  that's how
almost every conversation  with them ended for Steel. How wonderful it would
be when the space folk landed. <I>Then</I> he could use the other end  of the  tool
that  was  Amdijefri. <I>Then</I> there would be  no need  to have  their trust and
friendship.  <I>Then</I>  he would have a lever,  something to torture and  kill to
enforce his demands.
     Of course, if the aliens never landed, or if.... "We must do something!
I will  not  be flotsam on  the  wave  of  the future." Steel  lashed at the
scaffolding that ran along the inner side of the parapet, shredding the wood
with his gleaming  tines. "We can't do anything about  the aliens,  so let's
deal with Woodcarver. Yes!" He smiled at the Flenser  member. "Ironic, isn't
it? For a hundred years, you sought her destruction. Now I can succeed. What
would have been  your great  triumph is  for  me just  an  annoying  detour,
undertaken because greater projects are temporarily delayed."
     The  cloaked one did not look  impressed.  "There is a little matter of
gifts falling out of the sky."
     "Yes,  into my  open jaws. And that  is <I>my</I> good fortune, isn't it?"  He
walked  on  several paces, chuckling  to himself. "Yes. It's  time  to  have
Vendacious  bring his  trusting Queen  in for  the slaughter.  Maybe it will
interfere with other  events, but.... I know, we'll have  the battle east of
here."
     "The Margrum Climb?"
     "Correct. Woodcarver's forces should be well concentrated coming up the
defile. We'll move  our cannon over there,  set them behind the ridgeline at
the top of the Climb.  It will be easy to destroy  all her  people. And it's
far  enough from Starship Hill; even if  the  space  folk arrive at the same
time, we can  keep the two  projects  separate."  The singleton  didn't  say
anything, and after a  moment Steel glared at him. "Yes dear teacher, I know
there is a risk. I know it splits our forces. But we've got an  army sitting
on  our  doorstep. They've arrived inconveniently late, but  even Vendacious
can't  make them turn around and go home. And if he  tries to stall  things,
the Queen might... Can you predict just what she would do?"
     "... No. She has always had a way with the unexpected."
     "She  might  even  see through Vendacious' fraud.  So. We  take a small
chance, and destroy her now. You are with Farscout Rangolith?"
     "Yes. Two of me."
     "Tell him  to get word to Vendacious.  He  is to  have the Queen's army
coming up  Margrum Climb  not  less  than two days  from  now.  Feel free to
elaborate; you  know  the region better than I. We'll work out final details
when  both  sides  are in position."  It  was  a wonderful thing to  be  the
effective commander of  both  sides  in  a  battle!  "One  more thing.  It's
important  and Vendacious  must  see to  it within  the  dayaround:  I  want
Woodcarver's human dead."
     "What harm can she do?"
     "That's a stupid question,"  <I>especially coming from you.</I> "We don't know
when Ravna and Pham may reach us.  Till  we  have them safe in our jaws, the
Johanna  creature is a dangerous thing to  have nearby. Tell  Vendacious  to
make it look like an accident, but I want that Two-Legs dead."






     Flenser was everywhere. It was a form of godhood he'd  dreamed of since
he'd been Woodcarver's  newby. While one of him  talked to Steel, two others
lounged about the Starship with Amdijefri, and two more padded through light
forest just north of Woodcarver's encampment.
     Paradise can  also be an  agony,  and each day the torment was a little
harder to bear. In  the first place,  this summer was as insufferably hot as
any in the North. And the radio  cloaks were not merely hot  and heavy. They
necessarily covered his  members'  tympana. And  unlike  other uncomfortable
costumes,  the price of taking these off <I>for even a moment</I> was mindlessness.
His first trials had lasted  just  an hour or two. Then had  come a five-day
expedition with Farscout Rangolith, providing Steel with instant information
and  instant  command of the  country around Starhip Hill. It  had  taken  a
couple of  dayarounds to  recover  from  the  sores and  aches  of the radio
cloaks.
     This latest exercise in omniscience had lasted twelve days. Wearing the
cloaks  all  the time  was impossible. Every day  in a rotation,  one of his
members threw off its radio,  was bathed, and had its cloak's liner changed.
It  was  Flenser's hour  of daily madness,  when  sometimes  the weak-willed
Tyrathect  would  come  back  to  mind, vainly  trying  to  reestablish  her
dominance.  It didn't  matter. With  one of his  members  disconnected,  the
remaining pack was only  four. There are foursomes  of normal  intelligence,
but none existed in Flenser/Tyrathect. The  bathing and recloaking  were all
done in a confused haze.
     And of course, even though Flenser was "everywhere at  once", he wasn't
any smarter  than before. After the first jarring  experiments,  he got  the
hang of seeing/hearing scenes that were radically different -- but it was as
difficult as ever to carry on multiple  conversations. When he was bantering
with  Steel, his other members had very little to  say  to Amdijefri  or  to
Rangolith's scouts.
     Lord Steel  was done with him. Flenser walked along the  parapets  with
his former student,  but if Steel had said anything  to  him  it  would have
taken him away  from his current conversation.  Flenser smiled (carefully so
the one with Steel  would  not show  it). Steel thought  he  was talking  to
Farscout Rangolith just now.  Oh, he would do that ... in a few minutes. One
advantage  of his  situation was that no one  could know for sure everything
Flenser  was  up to. If he was careful, he would eventually rule here again.
It was a dangerous game, and the  cloaks  were themselves dangerous devices.
Keep a cloak  out of  sunlight  for  a  few hours and it lost power, and the
member wearing it was cut off from the pack. Worse was the problem of <I>static</I>
-- that was a mantis word. The second set of cloaks had killed its user, and
the  Spacers weren't  sure  of the cause, except that  it  was some sort  of
"interference" problem.
     Flenser  had  experienced  nothing  so extreme.  But  sometimes  on his
farthest hikes with Rangolith, or when a  cloak's power faded  ... there was
an incredible  shrieking in  his mind, like  a  dozen packs  crowding close,
sounds that  scaled between sex madness and killing frenzy. Tyrathect seemed
to like times like that;  she'd come bounding out of the confusion, swamping
him  with her  soft  hate.  Normally  she  lurked around the  edges  of  his
consciousness, tweaking a  word here,  a motive there. After the <I>static</I>, she
was  much worse; on one occasion she'd held  control for almost a dayaround.
Given a year without crises, Flenser could have studied Ty and Ra  and Thect
and  done a proper excision.  Thect, the  member with the white-tipped ears,
was  probably  the  one to  kill: it wasn't bright,  but it  was  likely the
capstone of the trio. With a precisely crafted replacement, Flenser might be
even  greater  than  before  the massacre  at Parliament Bowl. But for  now,
Flenser was stuck;  soul surgery on one's self was an awesome  challenge  --
even to The Master.

     <I>So. Careful. Careful. Keep the cloaks well charged, take no long trips,
and don't let any one person see all the  threads  of your plan.</I> While Steel
thought he was seeking Rangolith, Flenser was talking to Amdi and Jefri.
     The  human's  face was wet  with  tears.  "F-four  times  we've  missed
R-ravna.  <I>What has happened to her?</I>" His voice  screeched up. Flenser hadn't
realized there was such flexibility in the  belching  mechanism that  humans
use to make sound.
     Most  of Amdi clustered round the  boy. He  licked Jefri's  cheeks. "It
could be  our  ultrawave.  Maybe  it's  broken."  He looked beseechingly  at
Flenser. There were tears in the puppies'  eyes, too. "Tyrathect, please ask
Steel  again. Let us  stay  in the ship all  the dayaround.  Maybe there are
messages that have come through and not been recorded."

     <I>Flenser with Steel</I>  descended the northern stairs, crossed  the  parade
ground.  He  gave a  sliver of attention to the other's complaints about the
sloppy  maintenance around  the  practice stands. At  least Steel was  smart
enough to keep the discipline scaffolds over on Hidden Island.

     <I>Flenser with  Rangolith's troopers</I>  splashed through a mountain stream.
Even in high  summer,  in the middle  of a Drywind,  there  were  still snow
patches, and the streams running from under them were icy cold.

     <I>Flenser with Amdijefri</I> edged forward, let two of Amdi rest against  his
sides. Both children liked  physical contact, and  he was  the only one they
had  besides  each other. It was all perversion  of course,  but Flenser had
based his life  on manipulating others' weakness, and -- but for the pain --
welcomed  it.  Flenser buzzed  a deep purring sound through  his  shoulders,
caressing the puppy next to him. "I'll ask our Lord Steel the very next time
I see him."
     "Thank you." A puppy nuzzled at his cloak, then  mercifully moved away;
Flenser  was a mass of sores beneath that cover. Perhaps Amdi realized that,
or perhaps --  more  and more  Flenser saw a reticence in the children.  His
comment to Steel had  been a  slip into  the truth: these two  really didn't
trust him. That was Tyrathect's fault. On his own, Flenser would have had no
trouble winning Amdijefri's love. Flenser had none of Steel's killing temper
and  fragile  dignity. Flenser could chat for casual pleasure, all the while
mixing truth with  lies. One of his greatest  talents was empathy; no sadist
can aspire to perfection without  that diagnostic ability. But  just when he
was doing well, when they seemed about to open to him  -- then Ty  or  Ra or
Thect  would pop  up,  twisting his expression  or  poisoning  his choice of
phrase. Perhaps he should  content himself with undermining  the  children's
respect for Steel (without, of course, ever saying anything directly against
him). Flenser sighed, and  patted Jefri's  arm  comfortingly. "Ravna will be
back. I'm sure  of it." The human sniffled a little, then reached out to pet
the  part  of Flenser's head that was not shrouded by the cloak. They sat in
companionable silence for a moment, and his attention drifted back to --
     -- <I>the forest and Rangolith's troops.</I> The group had been  moving uphill
for almost  ten minutes. The others were lightly  burdened and used to  this
sort of exercise. Flenser's two members were lagging. He hissed at the group
leader.
     The group leader  sidled back, his  squad  shifting briskly  out of his
way.  He stopped  when  his nearest  was  fifteen  feet from  Flenser's. The
soldier's  heads cocked this way and that.  "Your wishes  ... My Lord?" This
one  was new; he had  been briefed about  the  cloaks, but  Flenser knew the
fellow didn't understand the  new rules. The gold and silver that glinted in
the  darkness  of the cloaks -- those colors were reserved for the Lords  of
the  Domain.  Yet there only two  of  Flenser here; normally such a fragment
could barely carry on a conversation, much less give reasonable orders. Just
as disconcerting, Flenser knew, was his lack of mind sound. "Zombie" was the
word some of the troops used when they thought themselves alone.
     Flenser pointed up the hill; the  timberline was only a few yards away.
"Farscout Rangolith is on the other side. We will take a short cut," he said
weakly.
     Part of the other  was already looking up the hill. "That  is not good,
sir." The trooper  spoke slowly. <I>Stupid damn duo,</I> his posture said. "The bad
ones will see us."
     Flenser glowered at the other, a hard thing to do properly when you are
just two. "Soldier, do you see  the gold on my shoulders? Even  one of me is
worth <I>all</I> of  you. If I say take  a short  cut, we do it -- even if it means
walking belly  deep through brimstone." Actually, Flenser knew exactly where
Vendacious had put lookouts.  There was no risk  in crossing the open ground
here. And he was <I>so</I> tired.
     The group leader  still didn't know quite  what Flenser was, but he saw
the dark-cloaks were at  least as dangerous as any full-pack lord. He backed
off humbly, bellies dragging  on the ground. The group turned  up hill and a
few minutes later were walking across open heather.
     Rangolith's command post was less than a half mile away along this path
--

     <I>Flenser with  Steel</I>  walked into the inner keep.  The stone was freshly
cut,  the  walls  thrown up with the  feverish  speed  of  all this castle's
construction.  Thirty  feet over  their  heads, where  vault met buttresses,
there  were  small  holes  set in  the  stonework. Those holes would soon be
filled with gunpowder -- as would slots  in the wall surrounding the landing
field. Steel  called those the Jaws of Welcome. Now he turned a head back to
Flenser. "So what does Rangolith say?"
     "Sorry. He's been out on patrol. He should be here -- I mean, he should
be in camp --  any  minute."  Flenser did his best to conceal his own  trips
with the scouts.  Such  recons  were  not  forbidden, but  Steel  would have
demanded explanations if he knew.

     <I>Flenser with  Rangolith's troops</I> sloshed through  water-soaked heather.
The air over the snowmelt was delightfully chill, and the breeze pushed cool
tongues partway under his wretched cloaks.
     Rangolith had chosen the site for his command post well. His tents were
in a slight  depression at the edge of a large summer pond.  A hundred yards
away, a huge patch  of  a snow covered the hill above them and fed the pond,
and  kept the air  pleasantly cool. The tents were out of sight  from below,
yet the site was so high  in the hills that from the edge of  the depression
there was a  clear view across three  points of the compass, centered on the
south.  Resupply could be accomplished from the  north with little chance of
detection, and  even if the damn fires struck the  forests below,  this post
would be untouched.
     Farscout Rangolith  was lounging  about his signal mirrors,  oiling the
aiming gears. One of his subordinates lay with snouts stuck over the lip  of
the hill, scanning the landscape  with its telescopes. He  came to attention
at the  sight  of  Flenser,  but  his  gaze wasn't full  of  fear. Like most
long-range  scouts,  he  wasn't  completely  terrorized by castle  politics.
Besides, Flenser had cultivated an "us against the  prigs" relationship with
the  fellow.  Now  Rangolith growled at the group leader: "The next time you
come prancing across the open like that, your asses go on report."
     "My  fault, Farscout," put  in Flenser.  "I have some important  news."
They walked away from the others, down toward Rangolith's tent.
     "See something  interesting, did  you?" Rangolith was smiling oddly. He
had long ago figured out that Flenser was not a brilliant duo, but part of a
pack with members back at the castle.
     "When  is your next session with Craddleheads?" That was the  fieldname
for Vendacious.
     "Just past noon. He hasn't missed in four days. The Southerners seem to
be on one big squat."
     "That will change." Flenser repeated Steel's orders for Vendacious. The
words came hard. The  traitor within him was restive; he felt the beginnings
of a major attack.
     "Wow! You're going to  move everything  over  to Margrum  Climb in less
than two -- Never mind, that's something I'd best not know."
     Under  his cloaks, Flenser  bristled.  There are limits  to chumminess.
Rangolith  had his  points,  but maybe after all this  was over  he could be
smoothed into something less ... ad hoc.
     "Is that all, My Lord?"
     "Yes -- No."  Flenser shivered  with  uncharacteristic puzzlement.  The
trouble with  these cloaks, sometimes they made it hard to  remember things.
<I>By the Great Pack, no!</I> It was  that  Tyrathect again.  Steel had ordered the
killing of Woodcarver's human -- all things considered, a perfectly sensible
move, but...

     <I>Flenser with Steel</I> shook his head angrily, his teeth clicking together.
"Something the  matter?" said Lord Steel. He really  seemed to love the pain
that the radio cloaks caused Flenser.
     "Nothing,  my  lord. Just a touch of  the <I>static</I>." In fact there was no
<I>static</I>, yet Flenser felt  himself  disintegrating. What had given the  other
such sudden power?

     <I>Flenser  with Amdijefri</I> snapped his jaws open and shut, open  and shut.
The children  jumped back from him, eyes wide. "It's okay,"  he said grimly,
even  as his two bodies thrashed against each other. There really  were lots
of good reasons why they should keep Johanna Olsndot alive: In the long run,
it  assured  Jefri's  good  will. And it could  be Flenser's  secret  human.
Perhaps he could fake the  Two Leg's  death  to  Steel  and  -- <I>No.  No. No!</I>
Flenser grabbed back control, jamming  the rationalizations out of mind. The
very tricks  he had used against Tyrathect, she thought to turn against him.
<I>It won't work on me. I am the master of lies.</I>
     And then her  attack twisted  again, became a  massive bludgeoning that
destroyed all thought.

     <I>With Flenser,  with Rangolith, with Amdijefri</I> -- all of him  was making
little gibbering noises now. Lord Steel danced around him, unsure whether to
laugh or be concerned. Rangolith goggled at him in frank amazement.
     The two children edged back to touch him, "Are you hurt? Are you hurt?"
The  human slipped those remarkable <I>hands</I> under the radio cloak and  brushed
softly at Flenser's bleeding fur. The world  blurred  in a surge of  <I>static</I>.
"No. Don't do that. It might hurt him more," came Amdi's voice. The puppies'
tiny muzzles reached out, trying to help with the cloaks.
     Flenser felt his being pushed downwards,  towards oblivion. Tyrathect's
final  attack  was  a  frontal  assault,  without  rationalizations  or  sly
infiltration, and...
     ...  And she looked  out upon  herself in  astonishment.  <I>After so many
days, I am me.  And in control. Enough butchering of innocents. If anyone is
to die, it is Steel  and Flenser.</I> Her head  followed Steel's prancing forms,
picked  out the most  articulate member. She gathered her legs  beneath her,
and prepared to leap at its throat. <I>Come just a little closer ... and die.</I>
     Tyrathect's last moment of consciousness  probably  didn't last  longer
than five seconds. Her attack on Flenser was a desperate, all-out thing that
left her without reserves or internal  defense.  Even as she  tensed to leap
upon Steel, she felt her soul being pulled back and down, and Flenser rising
up from  the darkness. She  felt the  member's legs spasm and  collapse, the
ground smash into its face...
     ... And  Flenser was  back in control.  The weakling's  attack had been
astonishing. She  really had <I>cared</I> for the ones  who were  to be  destroyed,
cared so much she was willing to sacrifice herself if it would kill Flenser.
And  that  had been her  undoing. Suicide  is never  something to  hang pack
dominance on. Her very resolve had weakened her  hold on the hindmind -- and
given  The  Master his chance. He  was back in  control,  and  with a  great
opportunity. Tyrathect's  assault  had left  her defenseless. The  innermost
mental barriers around her three members were suddenly as thin as  the  skin
of an overripe fruit.  Flenser  slashed through the  membrane, pawed  at the
flesh of her mind, spattering it across  his own. The three who had been her
core would still live, but  never again would they have a soul separate from
his.

     <I>Flenser  with  Steel</I>  sprawled as  though unconscious,  his convulsions
subsiding.  Let  Steel think him incapacitated. It  would  give him  time to
think of the most advantageous explanation.

     <I>Flenser with Rangolith</I> came slowly to his feet, though the  two members
were  still  in a  posture  of confusion. Flenser pulled them  together.  No
explanations were due here, but it would be best if  Farscout didn't suspect
soulstrife. "The cloaks are powerful tools,  dear Rangolith; sometimes a bit
too powerful."
     "Yes, my lord."
     Flenser let  a  smile spread  across his features. For a  moment he was
silent, savoring  what  he  would  say next.  No, there  was no sign  of the
weak-willed one. This had been her last, best try at  domination -- her last
and biggest mistake. Flenser's smile spread further, all  the way to the two
with  Amdijefri. It suddenly  occurred  to him that Johanna Olsndot would be
the first person  he had ordered killed since his  return  to Hidden Island.
Johanna Olsndot would therefore be the first blood on three of his muzzles.
     "There's one more item for Craddleheads, Farscout. An execution...." As
he spoke the details, the warmth of  a decision well-made spread through his
members.



     .Delete this paragraph to shift page flush





     -=*=-



        CHAPTER 35


     The only  good thing  about all the waiting had been the chance it gave
the  wounded.  Now  that  Vendacious had  found a way  past  the  Flenserist
defenses, everyone was anxious to break camp, but....
     Johanna spent the last  afternoon  at the field hospital. The  hospital
was laid off in rough rectangles,  each about six meters across. Some of the
plots  had ragged  tents  -- those belonging to wounded who were still smart
enough to  care for themselves.  Others were surrounded by stranded fencing;
inside each of those was a single member, the survivor of what had once been
an entire pack. The singletons could easily have jumped the fences, but most
seemed to recognize their purpose, and stayed within.
     Johanna  pulled the food cart through  the area, stopping at first  one
patient  and  then another. The  cart  was  a bit  too  large for  her,  and
sometimes it got caught in the roots that grew across the  the forest floor.
Yet this was a job  that she could do better than any  pack, and it was nice
to find a way she could help.
     In the forest around the hospital there was the sound of kherhogs being
coaxed up  to  wagon  ties, the  shouts of  crews securing the  cannons  and
getting the  camp  gear  stowed. From the maps Vendacious  had shown at  the
meeting, it was clear  the next two  days would be an exhausting time -- but
at  the  end of  it  they would  have  the  high ground  behind unsuspecting
Flenserists.
     She  stopped at the first little tent. The threesome inside  had  heard
her  coming and  was  outside now, running little circles  around her  cart.
"Johanna! Johanna!" it said in her own voice. This was all that was  left of
one  of  Woodcarver's minor strategists; once upon a time, it had known some
Samnorsk. The  pack had originally been  six;  three  had been killed by the
wolves. What was left was the  "talker"  part -- about as bright as  a  five
year old,  though with an  odd vocabulary. "Thank you for food. Thank  you."
Its  muzzles pushed  at her. She patted the  heads before reaching  into the
cart  and pulling out bowls of lukewarm stew. Two of them dug in right away,
but the third sat back for a moment and chatted. "I hear, we fight soon."

     <I>Not you anymore, but</I> "Yes. We are going up  by the dry  fall, just east
of here."
     "Uh, oh." It said. "Uh, oh. That's <I>bad</I>. Poor seeing, no control, ambush
scary." Apparently the fragment had some memories  of its own tactical work.
But there was no  way Johanna could  explain  Vendacious's  reasoning to it.
"Don't worry, we will make it okay."
     "You sure? You promise?"
     Johanna smiled gently at what was left of a rather nice fellow. "Yes. I
promise."
     "Ah-ah-ah.... Okay."  Now all three  had their muzzles stuck into  stew
bowls. This was one of the  lucky ones, really. It showed plenty of interest
in what went on around it. Just as important, it had childlike  enthusiasms.
Pilgrim  said  that fragments like this  could grow back easily if they were
just treated right long enough to bear a puppy or two.
     She pushed the cart a few meters further, to the fenced square that was
the  symbolic corral for a singleton. There was a faint  odor of shit in the
air. Some of  the singletons and duos were not housebroken; in any case, the
camp latrines were a hundred meters away.
     "Here, Blacky. Blacky?"  Johanna banged  an empty bowl against the side
of the cart. A single head eased up from behind some  root bushes; sometimes
this one  wouldn't even do that  much. Johanna got on her  knees so her eyes
weren't much higher than the black-faced one. "Blacky?"
     The creature  pulled himself out of the  bushes  and slowly approached.
This  was all  that was left  of  one of Scrupilo's  cannoneers. She vaguely
remembered  the pack, a handsome sixsome all large  and fast. But  now, even
"Blacky" wasn't whole: a falling gun  had  crushed his rear legs. He dragged
his legless rear on a little wagon with thirty  centimeter wheels... sort of
like a Skroderider with forelegs. She pushed a bowl of  stew toward him, and
made the  noises that Pilgrim coached her  in. Blacky had  refused  food the
last three days, but today he  rolled and walked close enough that she could
pet his head. After a moment he lowered his muzzle to the stew.
     Johanna grinned  in  surprised  pleasure.  This hospital was a  strange
place. A year ago  she would have been horrified by it;  even now she didn't
have  the  proper Tinish outlook on the  wounded.  As  she  continued to pet
Blacky's lowered head, Johanna looked across the  forest floor  at the crude
tents, the patients and parts  of  patients. It really was  a hospital.  The
surgeons did try to save lives, even if the medical science was a horrifying
process of cutting and splinting without anesthetics. In that regard, it was
quite comparable to  the medieval  human medicine that  Johanna  had seen on
Dataset. But with the Tines there was something more. This place was  almost
a spare parts warehouse. The medics were interested in the welfare of <I>packs</I>.
To them,  singletons were  pieces  that  might have  a  use in making larger
fragments workable, at  least temporarily. <I>Injured</I>  singletons  were  at the
bottom of  all medical priorities. "There's  not much  left to save in  such
cases," one medic had said to her via Pilgrim, "And even if there was, would
you want a crippled,  loose-bonded member in your self?" The fellow had been
too  tired  to notice the  absurdity of his  question. His muzzles  had been
dripping blood; he'd been working for hours to save wounded members of whole
packs.
     Besides, most wounded singletons just  stopped eating  and died in less
than a tenday. Even after a year with  Tines, Johanna couldn't quite  accept
it. Every singleton reminded her of dear Scriber; she wanted them to have  a
better chance than his last remnant had.  She had taken over  the  food cart
and spent as much time  with the wounded singletons as she did  with  any of
the other patients. It  had worked  out  well. She could get  close  to each
patient without mindsound interference. Her help gave the brood kenners more
time to study the larger fragments and the uninjured  singletons, and try to
build working packs from the wreckage.
     And now maybe this  one wouldn't starve. She'd tell Pilgrim.  He'd done
miracles  with some of the other match ups,  and seemed to be the  only pack
who shared  some  of  her  feelings for damaged singletons. "If  they  don't
starve  it often means a strength  of mind. Even crippled, they could be  an
advantage to a pack," he'd said to her.