He rushed up the hill a fifth time. Sweat ran down his body in tiny rivers, muscles he'd forgotten ached after days of training and the soles of his feet barely stayed whole. Heinrich didn't care. Running on his own was a luxury. This was for real, not the controlled lumbering of a body walker. This was freedom.

He threw a backwards glance. Four. Panopilis ahead of him, and Chang of course. Nobody beat Chang in a footrace.

Heinrich struggled the last meters to the crest and fell exhausted to the ground. He rolled over on his back and stared into the sky. Last time he wouldn't have been able to, but all trees had been felled since to give way to the new windmills feeding the port. He counted clouds. Five, six, no seven of them. As many as the cabins built from the logs. Not much in the way of hotels, but there had been none half a year ago.

He turned back onto his stomach and gazed east. A real port now, not just a landing pad and a walled concrete shed.

"Have you seen this?"

Heinrich searched for the voice. "Seen what, Liz?"

"The flowers. I love spring!"

And she loved making an issue of being female as well, and of being by far the best soldier in his command. Ran faster and farther than the rest, drove any vehicle he had encountered, made body walking look like dancing and scared the living hell out of their weapons trainer whenever they took those tests. Carried less, of course—she was female after all.

"Miner, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. Hard as rock. No seasons in the belt. You eat what you grow and all that. Dammit Major, can't you enjoy yourself for once?"

Heinrich barked a laugh. He enjoyed the hell out of himself right now, and she knew it. He was the one frantic to get planet side whenever they went past Earth. He was in love with the wilderness, the sheer open space available, and this was a spring day as gorgeous as any he could remember. And he enjoyed watching her.

"You thinking?" she purred, and stretched like a cat. Now there was beauty in motion.

"I'm thinking I could rest here for a while longer," he answered. He travelled her body with his eyes. Watching was fine. She had bedded him a few times, never the other way around. She made the invitations. He could refuse and had done so twice. She never sulked about that.

Heavy panting announced another arrival, and soon all seven of them sat in a semicircle looking at the launch port.

They were in horrible shape. Strange, considering that they'd been in the field since they arrived here. Not much in the way of physical training though. Body walkers required coordination. They were built to do the job instead of the TADAT strapped inside.

"How much more of this?" Mohammad wheezed.

Heinrich grinned. "Two more runs?"

"Show some heart!"

"Heart? Overrated!" Heinrich growled in his deepest voice. He drew air. "Eyes are always black as night, with soulless heart as cold as space. An evil smile that gives you fright, beats you once and shoots you twice. That's our TAAAAADAT commander!" he howled. They laughed and joined him. The song quickly turned incredibly ugly, describing most possible and quite a few impossible attributes of an officer in the Federation's finest.

The almost ordered march along the crest came to an abrupt halt when they turned east and down. Marching downhill on uneven ground was impossible of course and it soon turned into a race which broke up the singing. He fell, came back up with the help of a trunk he passed, made it halfway down the hill and fell again. This time he just rolled before getting his balance again.

When he reached the gravel road at the base he was laughing so hard tears ran from his eyes. Above and around him he heard laughs and shrieks as the rest signalled their success, or rather lack thereof.

We're TADAT, the scariest of the scary. And he bellowed again.

He gathered his dirty unit around him and began the march back to the port.

"Tidy up!"

"Yes Major!" came the chorus.

He watched his sorry command in their torn and dishevelled jumpsuits. "Oh hell, just fall in line."

"As you say, Major!"

"And try to look like troopers!"

"But of course, Major!"

He laughed again. It was a wonderful day, and it was good to be in command of the best unit this side of Gatekeeper.

What remained of it. That thought soured an otherwise perfect moment, but he had to accept that. Joseph would never whine and laugh with them again. Ulfsdotir's thugs got him with a grenade in Belgera. Well, they'd sent that bitch back into space now.

A lot had come down from there as well. He looked at the inflatables where most of them lived. Were forced to live. They'd been evacuated from Orbit One soon after he reported back. And they had swelled with most everyone who could get out of Verd as well. Things were getting ugly there from what he heard.

A few days more and we're back in the fray. Damn, we deserved a day off, we did! He glanced over his shoulder, but he never had to give an order. They had all straightened up before they came into sight of the refugees. They were TADAT, the scariest of the scary.

***

"Gone, what do you mean by gone?"

"I mean," Mairild started, "that your precious little propaganda gem has vanished. Harbend de Garak is no longer in Verd."

Glarien blanched at her choice of words. Good for him. They were true.

"We don't know where," she continued. So, that wasn't the answer he wanted. "I don't know where." So, there it was. The spy master of Verd had not the slightest idea where the figurehead of Keen's first caravan to Braka in a hundred years had gone. She didn't care. Anyone caught up in Minister de Verd's games were probably better of gone. Anyone caught up in hers as well, she admitted ruefully.

"That is unfortunate," Glarien said after a while. "Still salvageable though."

You would use that expression. How I hate being right about some people! "If you say so. Trade is your area of expertise" If you could turn a corpse into money I'm certain you would know where to make the best profit. Oh, almost forgot, you already did!

She had known he was a master merchant when they elected him to take the seat of Commerce. She just hadn't calculated just how ruthless he was when money was involved.

His last idea of good business took the prize though.

Small temples and shrines in the capital were hidden away for more than a lifeyear. Sometimes behind store fronts selling trinkets you had to be a believer to recognize. Now they had all opened up for the public again. With a new god staring down at them at nights not even the Holy Inquisition were stupid enough to go on a slaughtering rampage. They would remember, and document, and eventually arrest and execute, but that would be long years into the future.

And enter Glarien de Verd, Minister of Commerce. He auctioned out the rights to bury the unknown dead to the temples. That made it officially sanctioned. Priests and monks of most every kind who eightdays ago had been delivering their services in secret were suddenly best friends with the traders of death. With a war looming the greedy monsters had even sanctioned a new house dedicated to the new trade.

Not all priests were friends with the traders though. Whenever one from Chach was found, Magehunting usually never even had a chance to get a squadron there before he was lynched.

Mairild suspected they weren't in a hurry. She suspected Minister de Gelven knew about that, and that he silently agreed. She kept those suspicions close to heart. She agreed as well.

The Midland church. They stabbed at Keen's very heart. In so doing they had caused misery and death, and they had almost broken the only person she still hoped was a friend of hers. Something in Trindai was still broken.

She hoped it would heal after he had done what needed being done.

Give me any pretext, Minister de Saiden had asked. He had received it. General de Markand was already marching south with the North Gate Regiment. Gelven and Krante would supply their regiments.

Dagd and Roadbreak had received message by farwriter. Two companies from each town were on their way to reinforce the city watch in Verd. A full regiments worth of professional soldiers. Hasselden had responded to their message by sending two of their finest to Krante.

Trindai, he trained his recruits. More arrived by the day. Olvar de Saiden ruthlessly marched any arriving refugee strong enough and healthy enough straight into one of the new units he was setting up.

And of course several fled the city. Mairild didn't even want to think about how the outworlders handled that problem around the sky port. And they had new problems of their own if the news Tenanrild sent her were correct.

***

Harbend rode east. The day before he had stolen the horse. Bought it, really, but the farmer didn't want the money. He accepted the coins, twice the value of the horse, at sword point. That made it theft, or robbery? Harbend didn't care. He didn't care about much any longer.

Throat still raw from screaming he had searched for his uncle some days after Gring's message. Or an eightday, memories of time came dizzy to Harbend. He vaguely recalled being told Uncle Garak had been killed during the riots. He'd find out who had done it, but not now.

He distinctly remembered sending couriers to Hasselden to find a mindwalker.

In a port, or anywhere where ships made to, there was always someone who could be bought to find anything you looked for, even a mindwalker and even with the Inquisition around. Maybe not in Hasselden, but in the countryside, or even across the inland sea. Somewhere close to Hasselden at least one hid away, and he'd sent enough money to find him, or her. One who could reach Khanati, or reach one who could reach Khanati.

He needed Khar Escha for the next step, and to take that step he also needed to leave Keen behind him. Anywhere east of Roadbreak would do. Anywhere the Inquisition didn't come looking for him.

Escha could find him with the help of a mindwalker. He had done so when they rescued Arthur. Half a year ago? Less? It mattered little. It had worked then. It would work again. Escha would find him, and then they would find Gring, wherever she was, and jump there. Then he would kill those who had killed Nakora and then he would kill their families and then he would kill those who had paid those who had killed her and then he would kill their families, and friends, and the families of the friends.

To do that he needed Escha, because only Escha had the power to jump anywhere, any time No jump towers, no mage sending a temporary receiving beacon. Escha could jump directly to where Gring was, and then Harbend could begin killing. Gring would help him. He had felt her fury when she told him what had happened.

He understood he was hating, and he understood that he was barely sane, and he didn't care. He fed from his hate. It kept him going, or since yesterday, riding.

Somewhere, deep inside of him, a remnant of the man he once had been called vainly for attention. It tried to tell him that Nakora wouldn't have wanted this, that she wanted him to love, as they had loved.

Harbend pushed that man deeper into the darkness of his soul. For now he only needed his hate, and so he rode on. East.