‘I see them,' Miki cried excitedly. She was standing at the gate to Warikeewa camp. Beside her were Marcellus and Makoma, who exchanged smiles at the eagerness of the young girl to be off to greet the returning hunting party.

'You may go,' Makoma said, and she gave them a brief smile as she rushed forward, across the plain, through the fields of crops to where she had seen the group of figures returning from the hunt, pulling travois. As she ran, they got larger, and as she came to be within a few hundred feet of them, she realised there were just the three of them, and her heart, already racing from her early morning run, started to beat faster.

She could see quite clearly that Radulf, in whom her greatest interest lay, was among the three. She could see also that Warikeewappah, the leader of the hunt despite his advancing years, made a second. And finally she recognised the sweet features of Shanneen, one of her closest friends within the camp of the Warikeewa, for they had been raised as sisters following the untimely death of the other girl's parents.

She had intended slowing quite dramatically and finishing her advance towards them at a walking pace, so as not to appear too keen, but now she ran faster and faster her feet barely touching the ground, her heart hammering against the walls of its cavity as she pushed herself to the limit, knowing intuitively that something was dreadfully wrong. At last they were within shouting distance, but she did not shout. They plodded towards her, their heads bowed, not only because of the enormous weight of the travois they were pulling, but because of the great wrong that had befallen them.

Miki now stopped, breathing in great gulps of air to calm her agitated body, to settle her fluttering stomach, to allow her hammering heart to rest easier. She stood stock still, trying to read the expressions on their faces, but their heads were bent low, staring mostly at the earth beneath their feet as they advanced towards her. She glanced quickly behind her, and saw that a number of people had gathered at the gates, but so far no one had ventured out to meet the hunting party as she had done. At last, with Radulf, who led the three of them, just twenty feet away, she could contain herself no more, and ran to his side. He brought the travois to an abrupt stop, and the others did likewise.

A great wrong.

She sensed in his demeanour that something was terribly wrong, that this was not an advance party of the returning hunt, but that somehow these three, these three people, were the only survivors.

The only survivors of a great wrong.

Her heart shuddered.

At last Radulf raised his eyes to hers, and she saw there such a deep sorrow that immediately the tears sprang to her own eyes. She reached out her hand, tentatively, to touch his cheek, feeling the stubble there, and her heart shuddered again. His beautiful, grey eyes stared back at hers with an amalgam of emotions so deep that she could not begin to understand what was going through his head.

A great wrong, she sensed, and soon she was shaking from head to foot, and at last there were people emerging from the camp, walking at first, then breaking into a run, and their cheers, which they had voiced as the first sight of the returning party had become theirs turned to questions, and anxiety, and hope, and dismay, and a sense of foreboding fell over them as they rushed to find out what had befallen their fellows.

'We were attacked by men from the north,' Radulf said quietly. 'Everyone who was in the party, with the exception of us three, is dead.'

'What do you mean, dead?' Miki asked, tears running down her face and onto the bridge of her nose and down to her lip.

'They are all dead,' he said again, quietly. She glanced at Warikeewappah, then at Shanneen, who stared still at the ground, and did not cry. It was a bad sign.

'Dead,' she echoed.

'They are all dead. Everyone is dead, Miki,' Radulf said.

'Dead,' she said again, in a hollow, distant voice that boomed inside her head and then faded to a quiet, distant murmur. 'Dead,' she whispered.

'They killed the men, butchered their bodies, raped the women and the girls, and defiled them. They are all dead.'

'That cannot be.'

'Everybody is dead, Miki. Everyone who went with the hunt is dead.'

'It is as he says,' Warikeewappah said. He too could not raise his eyes from the ground.

'I do not believe it. Why would they do such a thing?'

'They were white men, from the north,' Radulf said. 'I have little doubt but that some were my own countrymen, from Horta. They were white men. They massacred your people without reason, without provocation, without mercy. I cannot describe to you the horrific things they did to your people.....'

'No!' she cried, raising the back of her hand to her mouth, wiping away some of the wetness, but the tears cascaded from her eyes, seemingly never-ending, and she could not cope with it.

'No!'

'Everybody is dead, Miki. Everybody who went with the hunt is dead. My people did it. The leaders came from Hor-Lak. But there were men from Horta there also. I saw them. I recognised them. I am sorry.'

He started off again, taking up the slack of the leather harness by which he was attached to the travois, and soon she realised that the three of them had left her standing, and were advancing towards the men and women and children who had come out of the camp to greet them, though they knew, every one of them, that there was something terribly wrong, not just because there were only the three of them, though that was indication enough, but because they sensed it. Something awesome and horrific had happened to the hunting party. Within a few moments, without any questions asked of the three survivors, willing hands took the harnesses from them and pulled the travois to the camp, and others assisted Radulf, Warikeewappah and Shanneen. Between them they had managed to save, with Radulf's initiative, enough carcass meat to last the tribe through the first months of the winter. Other hunting parties would have to take place, but there was a great deal of fresh meat on the travois that they were able to pile into the cold house.

She watched them go, towards the camp, and with the three survivors drawing away from her, Miki sobbed her heart out, sinking to the cool, fresh grass and burying her face in its lush softness. It was Marcellus who came to lift her gently into his arms and carry her back to the camp, many hours after the others had entered the enclosure and started to tell the terrible tale of what had happened.

There was wailing and moaning for lost loved ones, and a sense of grief and foreboding descended over the camp. Marcellus was not worried overmuch about a repeat attack on Warikeewa camp. Fortifications were strong, the guards were well trained, well disciplined in their duties. There would be good warning of impending attack. No, it was what the council of elders would decide to do in retribution that worried him. A meeting was called for that evening. During the afternoon, he sought out Radulf, who had retired to his hut.

'Do you wish to tell me what occurred?'

Radulf stared up at his countryman with hard, stony eyes, eyes filled with a hatred and loathing for his own kind which had not existed before.

'They came at us without warning. About twenty men. Some were Hor-Lakians, others were from Horta. I did not recognise any of them, but I sensed that was where they were from. They attacked without warning, riding into our camp, butchering..... Shall I tell you what they did to the men? Shall I tell you what they did to the women?'

Marcellus shook his head gravely.

'I know what they did. Warikeewappah also witnessed what they did. He has given evidence.'

'And Shanneen, what of her? Has she given her testimony? Does anyone doubt what happened? Shall I be called to give my testimony, to testify? What are you waiting for?'

'What do you mean?'

'You should take a party of warriors, seek out these butchers and kill them!'

'You are not thinking this through, Rad,' Marcellus said, laying his huge hand on the younger man's shoulder.

'I have thought it through. You were right, and I was wrong. I did not believe that what you said could possibly be true, that men from my country were capable of treating these people thusly! I did not believe that there was any man who could do what they did to another man, or what they did to a woman. I did not believe you when you told me that the treaty with Pekeesh had been broken by Barbessel. I could not but believe that it had been the plains bronzeskins.....'

'What you experienced yesterday is hardly evidence that the treaty was broken by Barbessel,' Marcellus said quietly. 'These could have been the actions of men from the north and the west following the breaking of the treaty by the bronzeskins.'

'You do not believe that, Marcellus.'

'No, I do not. But it is not evidence.'

'What are you saying, that you do not believe me?'

'Of course I believe you. I have no reason to disbelieve you. But you are letting your head and not your heart instruct you in this.'

'My people were involved in a gratuitous massacre of Warikeewa. The culpability is plain for all to see. We must take a party of warriors, seek out this band of renegades and kill them. They must not be allowed to get away with it.'

'You forget, Rad, Vitellius is behind this. He gave orders for this massacre as surely as I am sitting here talking to you now. What do you think he will expect of the Warikeewa now? Just what you have suggested, and as soon as our party of warriors crosses the border with Pekeesh, he has all the evidence he needs that the Warikeewa are warlike, barbaric, not to be trusted.'

'We do nothing, then?'

'I did not say that. Rushing off to find a group of men in Barbessel, men who are perhaps visiting, in a city the size of Horta.....would you recognise any of them again?'

'No. I did not get a look at their faces. They were masked.'

'Exactly.'

'We must do something.'

'The council will decide.'

'We must do something.'

'Something will be done.'

'I am so angry, Marcellus.'

'I have been as angry as you are now for many months, Rad,' Marcellus said quietly. The younger man looked up with tears in his eyes, and nodded. The sagacity of the older man could not be denied.

'Will I be permitted to attend the council meeting?'

'Surely.'

'Do you have a plan?'

'I do.'

'I should find Shanneen.....'

'Shanneen has been removed from the company of men for a while. You are lucky she did not turn on you and Warikeewappah on your return from the hunt.'

'I do not understand.'

'The atrocities heaped upon her were far worse than you could ever imagine. It might have been better for her to have died. It will be many months before she can trust a man again.'

'But these were barbarians, men from Baikonur, from Barbessel.....'

'They were men, nevertheless, Rad. Had your attackers all been women, things might be different. As it is, only man can inflict such defilement, such suffering on woman, and she has quite rightly retreated from the sight of man while her heart and her mind, along with her body, mends. She will never bear children.'

'She walked back with us.....'

'She is proud.'

'I made her pull a travois....'

'She is determined.'

'She did not say anything.'

'She is Warikeewa!'

'I had no idea. I should have examined her.....'

'You would be dead long since.'

'Marcellus, I am so sorry.....'

'One day, I am sure, you will be able to voice your concern to her in person.' With a measure of sympathy for Radulf already beginning to disperse, Marcellus walked away. The council meeting was attended by all eligible males, including Radulf. Outside the long hut, the younger braves and the women and girls pressed against the walls so that they might hear what was being said. At first the speeches centred on the bravery and quick thinking of the white man, and thanks were voiced to him for bringing at least two members of the hunt back to Warikeewa camp. Mention was made of the enormous burial chamber he had dug, and although this was not the traditional manner of honouring their dead, they nevertheless recognised that immediate interment had been far preferable to leaving the bodies for silthen and other predatory animals to eat during the nighttime hours. There followed evidence from Warikeewappah and from Radulf as to the identity of the raiding party, and now the discussion became heated, and angry. Many of the council spoke out for gathering together a war party, and it was at this point that Marcellus took his turn to address the council.

'I believe this unprovoked attack was designed to get you to do exactly what you are now threatening to do, and if you raise a war party and cross the border with Barbessel, you will be going into a trap. This massacre was engineered by Vitellius to get you to engage in war with Barbessel. You should not do this thing.'

'I am all for making war with Barbessel,' Radulf said. 'I am sickened by what they did to us. They should not be allowed to get away with it.'

'My young friend, you know as well as I do that what occurred when your hunting party was attacked would never have been sanctioned by our countrymen. The very fact that many of the raiders were from Baikonur, who are already sworn to follow Vitellius to the death speaks for itself. This massacre was engineered to make you believe that Barbessel wants war. It does not want war, it wants peace. The rights and the wishes of the plains bronzeskins are as much their interest as ours. They would not kill and maim in the fashion you have described, and well you know it.'

'What do you suggest, then? That we wait for the next raid, which will come maybe tomorrow, maybe in a few days' time, and when that has occurred, have another council meeting and again do nothing because you do not believe our countrymen could do any such thing?'

'Your anger is ill-founded, Running Scared. And I would remind you that you are a guest speaker at this council,' Warikeewappah said. 'You would do well to listen to your countryman. His wisdom is the wisdom of experience.'

Marcellus smiled to himself momentarily, reflecting on how the few short years which separated him from Radulf gave him superiority in such a discussion. But then, in his young life, he had been through so much so soon.....

'What then should we do?' Radulf asked earnestly.

'It is my belief that Vitellius engineered this massacre in the hope that the Warikeewa would gather together a war party and cross into Barbessel seeking revenge, thereby confirming to the Barbesselian government that they were prepared to break the treaty. It is my belief that Vitellius is not in Barbessel. We both left there a few days ago, and there was no sign of him there. I believe him to be elsewhere. I believe the Warikeewa should appoint a small band of specially selected warriors to seek him out.'

'Do you have any idea where he might be?' Warikeewappah asked.

Marcellus shook his head.

'I have none. But if I were to be appointed to this party I would begin my search in the East.'

'To the East lies Ancyros,' Warikeewappah said, frowning.

'And Prakussara,' Radulf said.

Marcellus nodded.

'That is where I believe him to be. In the holy city of Prakussara.'

'Do you have any evidence to support this belief?' Warikeewappah asked.

'No.'

'The council will deliberate on this matter in seclusion. The white men will retire.'

Marcellus and Radulf left the long hut, pressing their way through the throng of anxious parents and lovers of the massacred tribesmen. At length Warikeewappah emerged from the hut and addressed them.

'Angry Wolf has said that he believes Vitellius to be in the East, in Prakussara, the holy city of Ancyros. It is there we will seek to avenge our brothers' and sisters' deaths.'

It was not quite light when they were awakened by shouting. Marcellus, donning his clothes and his weapons, emerged from the hut to find a number of bronzeskins clambering onto sleepy ponies and beginning to make ready to leave the camp. He stopped a youth about to mount his pony.

'What has happened?' he demanded.

'It is Running Scared,' the youth replied. 'He has somehow got out of the camp. He has escaped.'

Marcellus groaned.

'Find me a pony,' he said, and unquestioningly the youth handed him the reins to his own mount. Angry Wolf was legendary in the camp of the Warikeewa. He vaulted into the saddle and rode quickly to the entrance, where Makoma was addressing the youths who had assembled there.

'I will bring him back,' Marcellus said. 'Send these others back to their beds.'

'I had your word,' Makoma reminded him.

'I am aware of that.'

'You will bring him back, Angry Wolf. You will bring him back dead or alive. Either way it makes little difference. His life is now forfeit.'

In the gloom of the early morning, Marcellus saw Miki amongst the women and children who had gathered to witness what was happening. In her eyes there was the anxiety of one who is attracted to someone.

'I will bring him back, Makoma. You may depend on it.'

'You will not further assist his escape.'

'I gave my word. Send the others back to their beds. They are tired. They may be needed for fresh battles.'

'It is done,' Makoma said, turning to the mounted ones. 'Angry Wolf will fetch back Running Scared. He will be executed on his return.'

Marcellus turned his pony and trotted over to where Miki stood amongst the others.

'You spread the word of the name you gave him?' She lowered her head, ashamed to meet his eyes. Angrily, Marcellus rode out of the camp, picking up Radulf's tracks almost immediately. He had made little attempt to obscure his footprints. It was Marcellus's understanding that he had been on the run for at least an hour, travelling south. There was no evidence that he had taken weapons, food or water.

He followed a well-defined trail, travelling south-east, watching for Radulf's tracks in the gathering light of a bright new day. By the first hour after sun-up he had moved off the trail and ahead of him he could see the beginnings of an area he had not visited before. He came to the edge of the great plains plateau where the high ground gave way to the valleys and vales heralding the beginning of the land of the province of Hor-Lak. He was looking down across a vast valley stretching out for as far as the eye could see, the far side of it rising steeply into the morning mist and forming, he supposed, the foothills of the mountains at the border. It was a staggeringly beautiful sight. He dismounted from the pony and simply sat, allowing his eyes to feast on the glorious wonders of the rift valley before him. He had never seen anything quite like the vista that presented itself here, yet to the west, Barbessel was no more than a day's ride. Furthermore, during the great battle with the Hor-Lakis a year before, he had travelled south from the great plains of Pekeesh, into Hor-Lak and beyond, and had somehow missed this breathtaking landscape.

He heard a noise, way behind him, and peered into the still quite dark mists back the way he had come. There was nothing to be seen. It was evident that Radulf had gone down into the valley, and Marcellus, after examining the route the youth must have taken, decided that it was unsuitable for the pony, and sent it packing, knowing that it would eventually arrive back in Warikeewa camp. He did not give a thought at the time to the probability that the Warikeewa would assume that he had somehow lost the pony and was now himself in some sort of trouble.

Scrambling down the first part of the scree, he found himself on a ledge from which there appeared to be no way to proceed. Then, lowering himself to his belly, he observed that set into the rock at surprisingly regular intervals were a series of hand and footholds. He lowered himself down this part of the rock face and after perhaps an hour found himself standing on the upper floor of the valley. From there on, the slope was gentle and grassed. Again he heard a noise behind him, and looked skywards to see a figure following him, now on the ledge, then pausing to examine the further way down. Marcellus grinned to himself, and started off down the valley slope, picking up Radulf's unmistakeable trail immediately.

On the valley floor itself, there were more shrubs and trees, and some of these had combined over the years to form copses, ideal hiding places for someone on the run. At one time he thought he saw movement in one of these natural hiding places, and remained perfectly still, peering out from behind a bush, but no further movement ensued. Glancing behind him, he could see that the person following him was halfway down the rock face, using the hand and footholds, quite agile, though shorter in stature than he was, and having to stretch somewhat between the holds. Satisfying himself that his pursuer was safely onto the valley floor, he started off again.

Radulf's trail of broken twigs and bent grasses brought Marcellus through a small wooded area to the edge of a river. The obvious route was across the river, though Marcellus thought that might take them directly into Hor-Lak. He searched the banks for further signs of his quarry, and found none. He knew that if he crossed the river he ran the risk of failing to pick up Radulf's trail again, for he might easily have swam in either direction along the river and emerged elsewhere on the opposite side. There was also the distinct possibility that he might have emerged back onto the northern bank further up or down the river and might even now be doubling back towards Pekeesh or Barbessel. Finally, the thought occurred to Marcellus that entering Hor-Lak was not a wise move at this time, nevertheless, he had to do something. He could not return to Warikeewa camp without Radulf, for he had given his word.

For a short while he was undecided. Then he made up his mind. He followed the river to the east, along the valley floor, knowing that as long as he remained on the northern side he was in Pekeesh. He was confident in his own mind that Radulf would have done the same. He would have been as unfamiliar with this territory as was Marcellus, and crossing a river which obviously formed a natural border between provinces, when the border was clearly not that with Barbessel, made little sense.

At last he picked up Radulf's trail again, about three miles further up the river. He bent to examine the broken grasses, guessing that his second theory had been the correct one, that Radulf had used the river to break the trail, and had emerged here, three miles upstream. It had been pure chance that had brought Marcellus in this direction, but a warrior survives often on nothing but pure chance, and the knowledge of his opponent. In a way he was sad that he had found the trail with so little difficulty, for it meant that before long he would have caught up with Radulf and would be forced to take him back to Warikeewa camp. If he did not, his own life was forfeit. It was the way of the great plains bronzeskins. He had given his word on Radulf, and had no option but to bring him back or face execution himself.

He stood up, ready to start off again, heard the rustling of the bushes behind him and smiled as he realised that his pursuer had made good ground and had almost caught up with him, then there was a blood-curdling yell and a figure emerged from the undergrowth, charging at him. He had just time to realise that it was not the person he had thought had been following him, then, unprepared, he went down under a welter of blows and struck his head on a rock, losing consciousness altogether.