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# -VI-

"You have done well. My guild will be pleased," the demon-jester's voice piped in Sir George's ear.

The small alien sat in his air car, hovering no more than six feet above the ground so that Sir George could look almost straight across at him through the open vehicle window as the baron sat in Satan's saddle. The light, expressionless voice seemed even more grotesque than usual as Sir George turned his head away to gaze out over the heaped and mounded bodies of the slain. Never in all his days, not even at Dupplin or at Halidon Hill, had he seen such slaughter. Not even the devastating defeat of the Thoolaas had littered the field with so many corpses, and human or not, the groans and whimpering moans of the wounded and dying sounded much the same. The aftermath of battle, the smells and sights and—especially—the sounds, was what had always truly haunted the baron, and as the aftermath of this battle washed over him, a sudden wave of fury filled him.

His armor was splashed and spattered with blood. His sword had been gummy with more of the same and clotted with hide and hair before he cleaned it, and his body ached in every muscle and sinew. A final, despairing charge of warriors who had known they were defeated, whose only remaining purpose in life had been to reach and kill the author of the destruction of their tribes, had very nearly succeeded. The howling tide of ax-wielding barbarians had slammed into his personal bodyguard, and if they hadn't—quite—managed to kill Sir George, they had hacked down his squire. Thomas Snellgrave would never be knighted now, the baron thought grimly. The young man had flung himself between three shrieking Laahstaar warriors and his liege while Sir George was fully engaged against two others, and not even the Physician could restore life to someone whose head had been entirely severed and whose body had been hewn limb from limb by the vengeful axes of warriors who had known they were doomed.

Nor had young Snellgrave been the only human fatality. Seven more of Sir George's men were "dead," and from the reports he'd received, it seemed likely that at least two of them would remain that way despite even the Physician's healing magic. Three lives might not weigh for much against the thousands upon thousands of other lives which had been taken away this bloody day, but in an odd sort of way, it was the very smallness of the number which made it hit so hard. It was one a human mind could envision and feel, not a vastness impossible to truly comprehend. And unlike the anonymous natives whose bodies covered the plain as far as the baron could see, the men those lives had belonged to had been part of his own life. They had been his men, faces he'd known, individuals—people—for whom he had been responsible. They'd gone into battle under his orders, and they had died there, and one of them left behind a wife and three children.

The filth and suffering, the horror and the loss, weighed down upon the baron. A hard man, Sir George Wincaster, and a tough one. A soldier who'd seen massacre and casual cruelty enough before this day even when both sides had been human, and one who was no more immune to the fierce pride of victory against overwhelming numbers than any other man. Oh, yes, he was all of those things. But he was also the man who had wrought the savagery which had covered this purple-colored grass on this alien world with agony and blood. His was the mind which had created the alliance which had made it all possible, and his was the voice which had launched his men and their allies into the vortex. He knew that, and the guilt for what stretched as far as he could see weighed down upon him like the very millstones of God.

And now the demon-jester hovered beside him, floating like some evil sorcerer of legend above the Hell-spawned landscape, untouched and clean despite the unspeakable carnage. Congratulating him. Telling him how well he'd served in that voice which was never touched by emotion. No doubt that emotionlessness was largely the product of whatever translated the demon-jester's language into English, but not all of it was. Sir George had spent too much time with the demon-jester, heard too many of his dismissals of his "inferiors' " right to be considered even remotely his equal, to doubt that for a moment. His "Commander's" satisfaction was genuine, however little feeling there might be in his voice, and that satisfaction was unshadowed by even a trace of the horror which haunted Sir George. The demon-jester and his precious guild were responsible for every drop of blood, every wound, every corpse ... and the alien didn't even care.

Did the demon-jester ever so much as think about it? Did it even occur to him that the beings, human and otherwise, whom he had so casually condemned to death had been living, thinking creatures? It was impossible to tell, but Sir George very much doubted that it did. Whatever else the bodies tumbled about the field of battle might have been, they had never been people to the demon-jester. They'd been mere obstacles, "primitives" to be compelled to submit to his will or destroyed, whichever was required, by the equally primitive Englishmen he'd stolen from their homes. And if there had been any reason to feel guilt or remorse—there wasn't, of course, but if there had been—then that guilt would have belonged to Sir George and his men, not to the demon-jester. If, of course, such primitives as they could possibly have possessed the sensitivity to feel such things.

The baron clenched his teeth, fighting down the tidal bore of his hate as he gazed at the true author of the atrocity he had just wrought. It took every ounce of the iron self-control learned in twenty years of warfare and political infighting, but somehow he kept that sick tide of loathing leashed. Rage hammered the backs of his teeth, yet he refused to let it out. Instead, he bit off the invective his soul cried out to hurl into the demon-jester's emotionless, double-mouthed face. He chewed the iron-tasting words and swallowed their jagged shards, and made himself nod to the creature upon whom the lives of every one of his men and their families depended.

"Indeed, Commander," he said. "The men fought well, and our allies showed better discipline than I'd truly expected."

"So I observed," the demon-jester replied. "I do not believe that the Laahstaar and Mouthai will raise any further objections to my guild's terms."

No, the baron thought harshly, they won't. There aren't enough of them left.

"It will, of course, be necessary to make certain of that," the demon-jester continued, oblivious to the human's reaction. "And as you have proven surprisingly adroit at negotiating with and understanding these crude and primitive creatures, I may require your assistance in framing the precise terms of our trade agreements."

"As you command," Sir George replied. The thought of serving the demon-jester's interests further galled his soul, but even as it did, he recognized the alien's words as proof of the increased value the creature assigned to him.

The baron looked away from the air car once more, gazing out over the field where the demon-jester's mechanical minions hovered, still collecting the wounded ... and at least some of the dead. He'd tried to convince the demon-jester to make the Physician's services available to their allies' wounded, as well, but his "Commander" had insisted that there would not be sufficient return upon the investment to make it profitable for the guild to extend such services to the natives. The possibility that he might have had any moral responsibility to them hadn't even crossed his mind, yet at least Sir George had gotten him to agree to allow the natives access to the water-carriers and to collect his allies' wounded and transport them to their own villages for whatever treatment their healers could provide. The human was only too well aware of how little that actually amounted to compared to what the demon-jester might have done for them, but they weren't. As far as they were concerned, simply having their wounded transported home was a miracle, and he felt an all too familiar sense of flawed achievement. What he'd accomplished fell far short of anything he would have considered just, yet little as it was, it was still better than they would have had without him. He knew that, and yet a part of him deeply resented the way in which it had actually enhanced the natives' sense of gratitude to the demon-jester who considered them worth less than as many dumb beasts.

"No doubt you have duties to which you should attend," the alien's voice piped into his ear, "so I will detain you no longer. Inform your men that I am pleased with them. I will, of course, tell them so myself at a suitable moment."

"Of course, Commander," Sir George managed to say in a nearly normal voice, and watched the silent air car float away across a sky heavy with Shaakun's equivalent of ravens.

Matilda and Edward looked up from her cherished illuminated manuscript of the tale of King Arthur, opened on the table between them, as Sir George walked into the pavilion. Almost a week had passed since the battle, and they'd seen little of him during that time, for the demon-jester had indeed made extensive use of his services. Not only did Sir George show a better understanding of the natives than the demon-jester ever would, but he was also the very personification of the cost of defying the demon-jester's will. The tribal chieftains who'd fought under the baron's orders regarded him with awe and near deification, while potential enemies feared him like the very angel of death.

It had not been a comfortable week.

Now Edward started to jump to his feet and reach for the chilled ewer of wine which had been awaiting him, but Sir George waved him back and slumped wearily into an empty camp chair.

"Stay where you are, boy," he said, and grimaced. "I've had all the wine I can stomach for one day."

Matilda's eyes narrowed, and she gazed at him speculatively. He saw her expression and gave a short laugh.

"Oh, it's not so bad as all that, love," he told her. "It was just that our 'Commander' was feeling ... generous—" his mouth twisted wryly on the word, "—and opened his cellars wide for me." He inhaled deeply. "It appears that we've now accomplished his goals here on Shaakun," he went on. "He's most grateful for my assistance, although, of course, as a member of a truly advanced race, he could have accomplished the same without me."

A trace of alarm flickered in Matilda's blue eyes, but he shook his head quickly.

"Don't worry that I've turned down fresh wine," he said. "It's not because I'm drunk. I walked all the way here without stumbling once, and my head was clear enough to let me repeat his exact words to you."

His wife relaxed at the oblique assurance that he was using the demon-jester's own words and not allowing his obvious fatigue and disgust to betray him into indiscretion.

"So the other tribes have acceded to his demands?" she asked.

"Indeed, they have. It wasn't as if they had a great deal of choice, after all," he replied with another grimace. "All that was truly necessary was to ... explain that to them. And to suggest that what befell the Thoolaas, Laahstaar, and Mouthai could also befall them if they refused."

"I should think so," Matilda agreed. "So he's satisfied with their submission?" Sir George nodded, and she wrinkled her brow. "I must confess, my love, that I remain puzzled by all of this."

"I should hope you do!" he snorted with a sudden burst of true amusement. "I've been 'puzzled' by everything that has happened to us since the day we first set foot upon that accursed cog's deck!"

"You know perfectly well that wasn't what I meant!" she scolded, and he nodded again, this time with an edge of contrition. "I still don't understand what these creatures could possibly possess to make it worth the 'Commander's' guild's time and effort to bring us here in the first place. Or be the cause of so much bloodshed and killing once we were here."

"I'm far from certain of that myself," her husband admitted, "but I've learned more in the past few days than I did know. I'd already discovered that some ore which is mined here is of considerable value to the guild, but until just yesterday, no one had explained the process by which it is extracted to me. I still have no idea what it is, or what makes it sufficiently valuable to bring the 'Commander' here, but I believe I've discovered why the natives were so ... reluctant to allow his guild to mine it, and it wasn't at all why I'd thought they were. You see, I'd thought that they would be required to mine it as part of their submission."

"They won't be?" she asked in a surprised tone.

"No. The 'Commander' and Computer explained to me yesterday that some other guild has already installed machinery on this world to accomplish that without the need for supervision. Their devices extract the ore and store it until a ship calls to collect it."

"Some other guild," Matilda repeated very carefully.

"Yes." Sir George frowned. "Computer actually did most of the explaining, and he was less than completely clear." He held his wife's eye for just a moment, and she nodded in understanding of the limits the demon-jester clearly had placed upon what Computer was allowed to tell them. "From what he did say, however," Sir George went on, "it would appear that this other guild had previously gained the right to mine the ore, whatever it is, from the Thoolaas at some time in the past. Those rights have now been transferred to the 'Commander's' guild."

"But if they'd already conceded those rights to someone else, then why were they so unwilling to transfer them to the 'Commander' when he arrived?" Matilda asked. "Were they that loyal to whomever they'd already granted them to?"

"Hardly!" Sir George snorted. "So far as I can tell, the Thoolaas were no fonder of the previous owner of the mining rights than they were of us. From what I've been able to discover, however, this mining process is very destructive and dangerous for the natives. There's so much more 'technology' involved in it that I'm completely unable to understand everything that it entails or how it works. But however it works, it lays the area in which the mining takes place completely waste. According to Computer, it kills every living creature in the immediate vicinity of the mine and poisons the water and the land for centuries."

"And these ... people permitted that on their own lands?"

"I would assume that the Thoolaas had no more choice in the original 'negotiations' than our 'allies' had in these," Sir George said dryly. "On the other hand, I believe I now understand the position of the Laahstaar and Mouthai better than I did. Although the Thoolaas had been forced to concede the original rights, they had at least managed to restrict the area covered to a desolate, unused area on the far side of their tribal lands. But it seems that one reason for the combined tribes' resistance to the 'Commander's' demands was that he required not only that the right to mine be transferred to his guild, but that the area to be mined be extended into the heart of the Laahstaar tribal lands, as well."

"Sweet Jesu," Matilda murmured, and crossed herself slowly, her eyes haunted—as Sir George's own had been—at the realization of what they had been given no choice but to help bring to this world.

"But if this process is so destructive and dangerous, how can the 'Commander' expect that they won't destroy the mine and all of its equipment once we leave? Especially if it threatens their own lands and the lives of their own people?" she asked after a moment.

"They can't," Sir George said simply. "Again, I don't pretend to understand how it's accomplished, love, but Computer says that the equipment itself is protected by something he calls a 'force field' which prevents its destruction. Besides, the area around the actual site of the mine is so heavily poisoned that any native who attempted to enter it would perish long before he could do any significant damage to it."

"I see ... I think," Matilda said slowly, but she also frowned and shook her head. "Yet if their equipment is invulnerable, and if the natives dare not even approach it lest they die, then why seek an agreement to mine it in the first place? Why not simply establish the mine and ignore the natives entirely if there's nothing they can do to prevent the operation in the first place?"

"That's a question I'm only beginning to puzzle out an answer for," Sir George admitted. "As nearly as I can tell, there is some authority to whom all of the guilds must submit. Whether that authority is what we would call a government or not is more than I could begin to say from what I now know, but its decisions appear to be binding upon all parties. Apparently, it apportions grants of authority in matters such as this to maintain order among the various guilds, and the consent of someone native to this world is a precondition to obtaining its permission to mine here."

"And he doesn't expect whoever has just lost the rights to this world to complain to this authority that he's poached upon their preserve?"

"Apparently not. Again, it hasn't been explained to me because it wasn't something that I had to understand in order to discharge my duties, but the 'Commander' seems quite confident that the new agreement will supersede the older one beyond any possibility of successful challenge."

"So his guild will simply take over everything which had belonged to its rivals? And even if it does, how will they prevent anyone else from trading with the natives in our absence? From what you've already told me, he clearly doesn't intend to stay here to enforce the terms of his new agreement, so why shouldn't anyone else with his advantages in technology simply arrive here and demand that the natives trade with them? Or, for that matter, lie to the natives and claim to be representatives of the 'Commander's' guild?"

"I raised the same questions with Computer," Sir George said. "To answer the last one first, he told me that the natives will never have the option of trading with anyone else so long as the current agreement is in force. Something he called an 'orbital traffic monitor' is permanently stationed here. He says that it 'orbits' the world, which—if he is to be believed, and by now I see no reason not to believe him—means that it actually travels in a permanent circle around a round planet. However that may be, it contains still more of these people's technology, and the 'Commander' will place a copy of his new agreement aboard it. All ships approaching Shaakun are required to report their presences and identities to it, and it will inform any other merchant vessels that the 'Commander's' guild now has exclusive trading rights here. That notice will warn them that any attempt by anyone else to trade with the natives is a crime which carries very heavy penalties. As I understand it, those penalties may range anywhere from heavy fines to outright confiscation of the violator's vessel."

"But if it's unlawful for anyone else to trade here in violation of exclusive agreements, then hasn't the 'Commander' himself violated the law?"

"Not according to Computer. The 'Commander' comes from what is obviously a very ancient civilization, my love. They have highly developed laws and customs which Computer says govern every aspect of their lives and business arrangements. The 'Commander' himself isn't taking a single pound of ore with him when he leaves, and technically he hasn't 'traded' with anyone on this world. All he's done is to ... negotiate a new trade agreement which makes it legal for his guild to trade here henceforth. All of the ore which has already been mined and processed under the pre-existing agreement belongs to the guild with whom that agreement was negotiated, and it would be illegal for the 'Commander' to take any of it. But when the other guild's ship arrives to collect the ore which has been mined since its last visit—and Computer says that ships call here only once every fifty or sixty of our years—it will be illegal for that ship to take any of the ore which has been mined since our agreement went into effect. Any which had been mined before our arrival will belong to the other guild, however, and the 'Commander's' guild will be required to maintain very careful records to ensure that none of the other guild's property is molested or misappropriated."

"It all sounds very complicated," Matilda sighed.

"I certainly can't disagree with you about that," Sir George agreed. "But Computer insists that their customs and traditions are so binding that no one would even consider violating them. Which doesn't mean, so far as I can tell, that they won't search diligently for any loophole or technicality which might permit to them to violate the spirit of a custom or regulation so long as they can do it in what's technically a legal manner."

"In that much, at least, they seem very like humans," his wife observed, and he chuckled sourly.

"In some ways, they are very like us. In others, though, I find that they become more difficult to understand with experience, not less."

"I suppose that's inevitable, given the huge differences between us and them," Matilda said. "Still, it occurs to me that if the 'Commander' and his guild can compel the Thoolaas, or some other tribe, at least, to cede the exclusive trading rights for this entire world to them without technically violating their own laws, then surely someone else could do the same thing to them."

"The same thought had occurred to me," Sir George replied. "I asked Computer about that possibility, and he admitted that it existed, but he seemed unperturbed by it. For all I know, that indicates that it's not unusual for trade agreements to be changed in this fashion. Since they wait fifty or sixty years between visits here to collect the ore anyway, perhaps it's simply that the amount mined between visits is sufficient to pay for all the effort the 'Commander' went to in our own case."

"And still neither he nor Computer has explained to you why they needed the swords and bows of you and your men instead of simply using their own weapons?"

"That they haven't," Sir George confirmed, and his tone darkened once more. "Nor, I think, will they anytime soon. But whatever the reason, we seem to have demonstrated our value here conclusively. From what the 'Commander' and Computer have said, the guild will require our services for the same purpose elsewhere soon enough. And, as I said, the 'Commander' has already expressed his gratitude to me. I understand that he'll be expressing it personally to the men sometime this evening."

"I see." The change in his expression and voice had not eluded Matilda, and she cocked her head at him. "And has he suggested some means by which he intends to make his gratitude manifest?"

"Indeed he has." Sir George looked into her eyes. "He intends to reward us with two more weeks here on Shaakun ... before he returns us to 'stasis' for the voyage to our next destination."

Matilda inhaled in quick dismay, and he reached out to capture her hand and squeeze it tightly.

"I could have wished for longer," he said much more lightly than he felt, "but at least you and I and Edward will have those weeks without the press of constant negotiations with restive chiefs or worries about taking the field. And it wasn't as if either of us ever thought that we could stay here forever, you know."

"No, but—" she began, then stopped herself.

"I know," he said gently. "And, truth to tell, I was surprised by his generosity. I don't know how long he originally expected to remain on this world, but I know it was nowhere near the time we've actually spent here. He feels the pressure to move on, yet I believe we've convinced him of how much we value our time in the open air outside his ship. And I believe he's come to truly value my counsel as well as my battle skills. Surely, in the long term, that can't be a bad thing, whether it be for us or for the benefit of the rest of our people."

"No, of course not." She drew a deep breath and smiled at him. "Indeed, my love, I am prouder of you now than ever I was on Earth. Certainly none of the King's other captains have ever had so intricate a measure to dance as you!"

"In some ways, no doubt," he agreed. "Yet I've enjoyed much assistance and advice, with yours not least among them. And—" he grinned suddenly "—however intricate the measure, at least my goals have had the advantage of both clarity and simplicity!"

She had to chuckle in response, and he stood and drew her against his side, then put his free hand on Edward's shoulder and drew him into a rough, shared embrace.

"God only knows how far we are from the world we once called home," he told his wife and son more quietly. "But however far it is, we'll soon be traveling still further, and at the end of the next stage, there will be fresh battle for us to face. And after that, another, and yet another." He held Matilda's gaze for a moment, then bent his head to look down into his son's eyes. "We do not move to our own purposes or by our own choice," he told Edward, "but wherever God sends us, we will face whatever task awaits us and do whatever we must. We have no choice in that, but whatever befalls us, we will not forget that wherever we may be, we are still Englishmen and Englishwomen, and we will remember our duty to those who look to us."

Edward gazed silently up at him for a long, still moment. Then he nodded firmly, and Sir George smiled proudly and ruffled the boy's hair.

"Very well," he said, turning back to his wife. "At least we know how much vacation we'll enjoy, and Sir Bryan and his lady have bidden us to a picnic this afternoon. Would you wish to join them, My Lady?"

"I would, indeed, My Lord," she replied, and his arm tightened about her for just an instant before he nodded in satisfaction.

"Good," he said. "In that case, my love, let us go."

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