Ghorr was eight days old when an excited page called Anen from midday.  "It's Vlad of Nikitina, milord. He says he begs interview with you.  Begs, milord!"

"Nikitina!" Anen's eyes flashed.  "Come, regent, this may be our game at last."  Anen dashed out of the Haunt and up the stairs, wishing as he went that the 3D room weren't the farthest room from either stairway.  Outside the 3D door he stopped to tug his tunic into order and to wipe his mouth, just to be sure no undignified crumbs were left there.  He thought of the authority and power of a Kererr and drew on that authority like a cloak, then he walked in front of the broadcast camera.  Nikitina wore his ceremonial robes and a glistening layer of sweat.  He dabbed his forehead with a big handkerchief.  Anen saw Nikitina's wife and children in the background, fanning themselves with scarves and thin books.

"Peace be on your house, Anen Kurharay," Nikitina sounded like he was choking on the words.

"And on yours, grace and peace, Vlad of Nikitina.  You wished to speak to me?"  Anen felt a little proud of the icy tone of his voice.

Nikitina flushed and spluttered.  Anen could see his hands shaking.  "I...I...." Nikitina choked and turned his head away.  "I..."

Lady Nikitina came forward and tugged at her husband's arm.  "Say it, Vlad.  Must we die for your pride?"

Nikitina stuffed the handkerchief into his belt and faced Anen squarely.  "I---I beg forgiveness, milord.  I made a---a stupid mistake.  I owe you fealty and I promise to renew my oath wh--when travel is once again safe.  We'll suffocate here, milord, if you don't allow us fuel.  We've cut power, but....We must have more fuel, Lord Anen, now. We've---I've learned we can't live with the fans at half-power and the mine is closed down completely.  I throw myself and my personal family on your mercy, milord."

Anen heard the rustle of the Kererr Anya's skirts but did not take his eyes off Nikitina. "Mercy," he said softly.  "You humiliate me and House Kurharay in the presence of Family and guests from the rest of the Ten and I'm supposed to show you mercy?  Would you show mercy to a vassal who refused fealty, Vlad of Nikitina?"

Sweat dripped in bright streaks down the sides of Nikitina's face.  He put his hand on  his handkerchief, then changed his mind.  He said nothing.

Anen read the man's fear and humiliation.  He kept his face stern and cold.  "I will be merciful, Nikitina.  This time only.  My terms are these:  your two eldest sons and both your daughters as hostages arrive here, I will release to you enough fuel to run manor and mine for the winter, but none for fliers of any kind; you will pay me for the fuel, of course, and for storage costs, with an added fee of one thousand decadalers per N-rod as penalty.  Will you accept these terms?"

Nikitina tossed an anguished glance toward his wife.  "Milord, so many of my children..."

"I will have them here, before I release any fuel to you," Anen said implacably, then added.  "You're a lucky man to have two daughters survive the Illness.  They'll be very valuable to you when they reach marriageable age."  Anen paused.  "I'll treat them as part of my personal family," he promised in a gentler tone of voice.

"Take me hostage for my family, lord." Nikitina held himself stiffly.

Anen could see how much it cost the man to plead and how much Nikitina valued his children.  He felt a brief flash of jealousy, which he suppressed instantly.  "You're needed there to run the mine.  I'll take the best care of your children."

Nikitina swallowed visibly.  "But, Lord Anen, Ghorr has begun."

Anen stiffened.  He must not weaken, even in the face of a father's love.  The time for mercy was past.  "The risk of Ghorr is yours, as the choice to rebel against me was yours.  The oath-feast was in Gorny, safe traveling time.  No hostages, no fuel, Nikitina.  And I won't need to attack you should you refuse.  In less than one week, according to my ponix techs, your ponix sheds will have to shut down.  If you still have air by that time.  The choice is yours, Nikitina."

"Give me some time to consider...."

"You had time to 'consider' before my oath-feast."

Nikitina turned his back for a moment, then turned again towards the camera and Anen.  "You win, Lord Anen.  May I have two days' grace in hope of improved flying weather?"

The Dlinnyy Anya laid her hand lightly on Anen's arm. She looked up at him questioningly.

Anen nodded the tiniest bit.  "You shall have your two days, Nikitina.  I expect the hostages no later than 12 Ghorr, before fastbreaking."

The Dlinnyy Anya turned her back to the camera and smiled her approval at Anen, then left the room.  Anen nodded curtly to Nikitina and followed her.  He heard a burst of talking and crying among the Nikitinas before they broke connection.  Anen leaned against the wall outside the 3D room door and let relief flood through him.  One down, two to go, and Korol hangs with Nikitina.  "Page!"

A small page came running.

"Find Rogan Bardiriom and bring him here!"

The boy ran off and disappeared through the nearest library door.  In moments Bardiriom came out and hurried towards Anen, the page following close behind.

Bardiriom sketched a bow.  "Milord?"

Anen stood away from the wall.  "Nikitina has surrendered and is sending hostages.  Order Family rooms prepared for them---two girls and two boys.  Maybe the boys would like to berth with the pilots.  Then call Korol, then call Ilin.  Tell them about Nikitina and if either of them wishes to surrender, call me.  I'm going to finish my midday."

Anen strolled back to the Charming Haunt.  A weight had been removed from his shoulders, and another would be before evening, he was sure.  He hummed a tune, very quietly, because Kererrs did not make music in public.

The Charming Haunt was empty.  Anen carried the remains of his meal to the small private dining area of the Kererr's personal family, rarely used.  He ate without the many interruptions from scornful or angry relatives that had plagued the past twelve days.  He licked the last of a caviar tart from his fingers, leaned back in his chair, and stretched his legs out in front of him.  At the touch of his finger on a silent bell, a quiet serf cleared away his dishes.  Anen let his eyes roam over the painted scenes of the walls and ceilings.  Herdsmen watched hairy dabis grazing the low mountain pastures in summer.  Boys of the Ten and their falconers climbed stark cliffs to get nestlings for Family mews.  The "horses" of Mirl'da V raced across a browned autumn plain.  A sleek, black Mao cat lay in the sun along a barren, sand-colored ledge, watching hunters on the plain far below with slitted yellow eyes, its litter of three kits tumbling over and around it.  The vary barrenness of the mountain landscape made Anen think of the brilliant skies and open air of Raaros.  He hard again the clear bubbling song of the gold-winged cloudlopters and the whisper of the wind in Raaros's tall, lush green trees.  Svetlana ran towards him, leaving a wake of bent grass behind her....

Someone was shaking him very politely.  Anen opened his eyes and saw Bardiriom.

"Korol would speak with you now, milord.  He didn't need long to think after he heard Nikitina had already given in.  Ilin, now Ilin turned off his transmitter, milord."

"Ilin will have to pay higher penalties then, won't he?" Anen levered himself out of the chair and followed Bardiriom to the 3D room.

Korob accepted much the same terms as Nikitina, but, since he had no living daughters, Anen required he send all three of his younger sons and his only niece.  "There will be no fuel delivered until the hostages arrive at Castle Buruq," Anen reminded Korol."

Korol looked horrified.  "Milord forgets that it is Ghorr!"

"I see you didn't think I meant what I said." Anen's eyes narrowed.  He fixed the man with an icy stare.  "What lord can keep his vassals in order by letting them walk all over him?  Nay, it was your choice to wait so long, so upon you are the consequences of your wait."

"My boys...."

Anen's mouth thinned.  "You have two days' grace to pick good weather.  That is all.  I've already risked too much of the honor of my House on you."  He bowed stiffly and cut the connection.  He looked at Bardiriom.  "Only Ilin remains, Rogan Bardiriom.  He'll probably hold out as long as he can, and that probably means he'll lose all his hostages to Ghorr.  Damn his stubbornness!  He'll find that I won't give in."

Bardiriom lifted his eyebrows in surprise but said nothing.

"Waiting, waiting, and more waiting," Anen added beneath his breath.  "Well, the waiting is almost over."  He stared at the blank 3D screen for a moment, shook his head angrily, and left the room.  He took a lift to level 6, hesitated a moment outside the pilots' barracks, then knocked.  Pilot Bajor opened the door.  His face brightened with welcome, he saluted, and opened the door wide.  "A pleasure, milord."

Anen heard a sudden flurry of movement.  He strode into the room.  The officers present were already standing or getting up. "My lord Anen," they said.

He returned a quick salute and nodded recognition to each of those present in return.  "Pilots Bubov, Churkin, Bajor, Zeltser.  Another Churkin?  Good.  Stanis.  Troopleader Thor.  I'm celebrating the surrender of Korol and Nikitina, gentlemen."

The young officers crowded close to pump Anen's hand and slap his shoulder.  Anen flushed with pleasure.  It'd been too long since he'd had such companionship.

Stanis pushed through the others and gave Anen a thump that staggered him. As a matter of habit, Stanis shot out his other hand to steady Anen.  "Sorry Anen." Stanis laughed, a little sheepishly.  "I got carried away again. This is good news!  The Academy taught you some tactics that Puredorv didn't know about.  You'll make an impression on Mirl'da V yet."

"The impression I wanted to make just now is with skills matches," Anen said dryly, rubbing his aching shoulder.  "Anyone here interested?"

"Da, Lord Anen."

"I'll come."

"Me, too."

"Count me in."

The chorus of excited voices pleased Anen.  He had been alone and working for weeks, it seemed.  It was past time to do some playing.  Stanis draped one arm across Anen's shoulders and Anen pretended to sink beneath the weight of it.  Stanis grinned down at his friend. "What are the skills matches?"

Anen laughed.  "You'll see. Come on down to the arena with us."

Only Zeltser, who had to go on duty soon, stayed behind.  By intercom Anen told the armorer what they would need, so when they reached the arena, the sword dummy stood ready with swords and padded jackets.  Other padded jackets and fencing foils lay against the arena wall a little away from the dummy, and six beamers with boxes of light-cartridges and metallized target jackets had been arranged in a precise row on a narrow table at the arena's opposite side.  Bajor and Den Churkin went right away to the zappers.

Stanis walked around the dummy, studying it from all angles.  "What does this thing do?"

"It fights."  Thor donned a padded jacket, fitted one of the battle-swords into the dummy's grip, and picked up the other for himself.  He hefted it.  "Seems a little light."  He walked behind the dummy, followed by Stanis, and turned the dial on the dummy's back to "8---advanced."

"Out of the raked circle, quick!" Thor snapped and leaped backwards himself.

The dummy whirled, raised its sword and slid towards Thor.  "Its range is limited," Popov said, parrying a blow.  "I can escape outside the circle anytime.  The trick is to stay close and give it a 'mortal' wound." Then Thor had no more time for talking because the dummy had homed in on his body heat and movement. Thor parried, struck, ducked in under the dummy's guard, backed away, grunted when the dummy's sword reached him.

"The fight ends," Bubov explained to Stanis, "when the swordsman strikes a blow that registers electrically as 'mortal' or 'crippling' or the dummy does.  The only other way to end the fight is to leave the circle and disconnect it.  It doesn't get tired.  I usually can beat it in '6',' at '7' a draw's the best I can do.  And you, Lord Anen?"

"I used to best it 3 times out of five at '7,' but that was 6 years ago.  I beat it at '8' the other day," he gave Kosh a significant look, "but that was a fluke.  I haven't practiced much since I left here; the Tarian Navy doesn't fight with swords anymore."

The dummy went blat, its red eyes flashed, and it quit moving.  Popov leaned on his sword, panting.  "That was---close.  I'm glad it wasn't---a real man."  He wiped sweat from his forehead and sat down on the sand.

"I've heard Gaito can draw a dummy at '10,'" Bajor said from across the floor, hefting a beamer for balance.

"Maybe, but the Moaekods are known to overstate their abilities."  Den Churkin looked directly at Anen.  "However, don't ever take a chance that Moaekod's just bragging, milord.  Never."

Anen made a wry grimace.  "All right then, I will not chance him if I can humanly avoid it." He looked at the other men.  "What will it be now?  Zappers at fifty paces?  Fencing?"

"Zappers!" Bajor and Yen Churkin cried together.

Anen looked at the others.   They nodded and began putting on the metallized target jackets, all except Bubov, who couldn't get his cast through a sleeve.

"I'll referee," Kosh offered.

The others laughed, since the jackets themselves were the referees.  Anen held out a jacket toward Stanis.

"Look. The red areas are mortal wounds, the blue disabling, the yellow slight wounds.  Three slight wounds equal one disabling wound and you're counted out.  If the light beam from the cartridge touches one of the target areas, the color will glow.  The team with the last man on the field wins."

Stanis looked at the jacket doubtfully.  "How about wrestling instead?"

Anen laughed. "None of us would have a chance.  Look," he opened a box of cartridges, "those don't look anything like actual ammunition.  No one could load a beam-cartridge by mistake.  It'll be Den Churkin, Popov, and Kuharay against Yen Churkin, Thor and Bajor."

Stanis slid the jacket on--the armorer had found one big enough to fit him somewhere---still looking doubtful.  He soon caught the spirit of the contest, but he didn't have as much practice as twisting and dodging beams as the others and was the first man out, with a "mortal" wound.  He shrugged and moved down the arena to try his luck against the dummy.  By the time he finally scored a mortal hit, the other five men were sitting or lying flat on the ground around Bubov's feet. Stanis dropped his sword and walked over to the others.

"And the winner is....?"

Anen and Den each raised an arm.  "Kurharay and Churkin." They laughed and let their arms droop limply back onto the ground.

Thor looked wearily up at Stanis. "As long as you're up, Thor, com us some beer."

"Why not you, Thor?" Stanis asked, wiping sweat out of his eyes.

"You're on your feet and I'm lying down."

Stanis prodded Thor with his toe. "I'm a guest here, remember?"

Thor laughed.  "Da, offworlder.  We of the Puredorv make servants of the likes of puny people like you."

With his foot Stanis shoved Thor over onto his stomach, then went to the com in the wall and ordered down fourteen beers.  He settled himself comfortably on the sand near Anen then with a puzzled frown, "Don't you ever drink milk here?"

"Milk?  What's milk?" Yen responded mockingly.

"Funny man," Stanis snapped. "All mammals know what milk is."

"This friend of yours has sure gotten uppity since he disconnected from the translits, Lord Anen." Bajor sat up and tipped his head back to look at Stanis.  "Our okees, the milk animals, are up on the surface, Thor.  We won't see any milk until Thawtime." He flopped back onto the sand as if exhausted by his explanation.

They were still waiting for beer when Cimmaron burst in.  "Anen!  Anen!  There's just been a Congressional alert from Sitka.  Astin Moaekod is dead!"

The men sprang to their feet and ran for the lift.

"Wait for me!" Cimmaron wailed.

Nobody stopped.  She looked both directions, then hiked her skirt up to her knees and ran.  Bubov let her catch up, then hurried her along with his good hand under his elbow.  They slid into the lift as the gate began to close.

"Tush, Cimmaron, you're a scandal, you are," Anen whispered into her ear.

"Oh, Anen!" Cim brushed her skirt into order again.  "Don't tease me.  I would've had to wait for you to go up and the lift come down. I might've missed the broadcast."

"What do females need to hear such news for?  They...."

"Anen!  You're just copying Lady Alexa, stuffy old..."

Anen grinned and hugged his sister with one arm.  "You know I don't mean it, Cim.  You're as good as any boy as far as I'm concerned."

She glared at him.  The lift jolted to a stop and the gate opened.  "I won't tell Mother how bad you were.  The others won't either, right?" Anen looked at the others in the little group.

The six men nodded solemnly.  Anen took one look at their dancing eyes, stuck out her lower lip in a mock pout and flounced out of the lift.  She was only halfway to the 3D room when impatience got the better of her.  She hiked her skirts again and ran almost to the door, skidded to a stop and entered the room at a sedate, lady's pace.  The hall echoed with the officers' laughter. The Lady Cimmaron poked her head back around the door frame and stuck out her tongue.  Anen caught Kosh looking speculatively down the hall.  "Kosh?  Is something wrong?"

"What?  Oh---no, nothing.  Let's catch the broadcast."

The 3D room was already full when they reached it.  Space appeared the moment Anen said, "Let me through, please," and the five officers and Stanis walked behind him to the front of the room. Anen stood beside the Dlinnyy's chair. The others sat on the floor around it.

"Rank has its privileges," Stanis whispered loudly to Kosh.  "You can get a front-row seat with it."

Anen looked down at Stanis and grinned.  Cim, who was standing behind the Dlinnyy, giggled.  Lady Anya turned and shot her a quelling look.  The 3D screen glowed white and the crowd in the room hushed up.  The elder of Sitka appeared against a background of ancient books, looking as if he were close enough to touch.

"God's peace, Ten Families and minor Houses.  One of you has left this world for another...."

"A much hotter one," Cim whispered.

"Shhhh!" said the Dlinnyy.  "He'll hear you."

The elder folded his hand and gazed at the camera.

"Does he have a wall full of monitors?"

"Shush, Cimmaron!"

The elder ignored the whispers in the background, whispers from more Houses than Kurharay.  "Astin Moaekod departed this life after many days of almost total paralysis.  There is already a rumor that he died by his own hand.  This is clearly impossible, since he could not use his hands even to..."

"Have done, old man," a harsh voice cut in.  "We have important business to finish."

The elder winced, but he dropped his hands to his sides and spoke faster.  "Since transporting the body home before Thawtime is clearly impossible, we will hold the last service for Lord Moaekod here at Sitka tomorrow at noon.  You will be able to watch the last words being ......"

The harsh voice cut in again.  "I say the last words, old man.  The words are, 'Kurharay dies!'"

The elder turned, bewildered, looking for the voice.  "Who dares?!"

"Gaito Moaekod.  Duke of Moaekod."

"Duke-designate, Lord Gaito, as long as people are interrupting---I, Klem Florian, remind one and all that House Moaekod is under trusteeship until the Thawtime Congress decides to end it or until Gild findings aboard the Zhernak exempt House Moaekod from the charges of illegal assassins and siege."

The elder threw up his hands and waved the camera away.  "I yield to Frem Florian."

"What have the Freemen to do with this?" Lord Gaito's voice was so distorted by rage or grief, it sounded little like him.

"The law has been set, Moaekod, and we, the Freemen, will, for our own protection, see that it is obeyed.  Masxad, as trustee, speaks for Moaekod now."

There was a slamming noise.  "I speak for my House and its grief!  My father is dead, a direct result of Moeakod lies in Congress.  Show my face, damn you!"

Florian waved the camera away and the transmission from Castle Moaekod took the screen.  Gaito Moaekod stood, legs braced, hands on hips, handsome face flushed with anger, glaring at the camera.  It looked like much of his Family had joined him, for the room was jammed with men and a few women, all dressed in black.  Quiet weeping made for a kind of background supporting his words.

"My sire died of a stroke directly caused by Anen Kurharay and the shame of imprisonment.  I will clear his name by wiping the slate clean with the blood of Anen Kurharay.  I vow now, before the Ten Great Houses and all the minor Houses, that I will destroy House Kurharay to the final stone and distant cousin.  I will ruin that House and then I will grind it to powder!  The Four Sentinels be my witness!"

A great gasp filled the 3D rooms of all the Houses and the sound of the horror of so many others strengthened the feeling of it.  Nobody had ever taken such a blood-drenched oath, then called on the benevolent Sentinels as witnesses.

The fine bones of the Dlinnyy's hands stood out in hard lines as she clutched the arms of her chair.  "He'll do it, I feel it in my bones.  He'll kill us all, Anen!"