ales and wines, and even a brief allusion to the Highlander that
had something to do with the extent of the support that the
Movement enjoyed. Morgan stayed wisely silent during that ex-
change. He knew he had been brought there for support, not to
contradict.
The afternoon was waning when the runner appeared, winded
and frightened-looking. Padishar caught sight of him, frowned
in annoyance at the interruption, and excused himself. He lis-
tened intently to what the runner had to say, hesitated, then
glanced at the Highlander and beckoned. Morgan came to his
feet in a hurry. He did not care for what he saw in Padishar
Creel’s face.
Padishar dismissed the runner when Morgan reached them.
“They found Hirehone,” he said softly, evenly. “Out along the
west edge of the Parma Key, close to the path we followed on
our return. He’s dead.” His eyes shifted uncomfortably. “The
patrol that found him said he looked as if he had been tamed
inside out.”
Morgan felt his throat tighten at the image. “What’s going
on, Padishar?” he asked quietly.
“Be sure you let me know when you figure it out, Highlander.
Meantime, there’s worse news still. My neck hairs never lie.
There’s a Federation army not two miles off-the garrison at
Tyrsis or I’m not my mother’s favorite son.” The hard face
creased with lines of irony. “They’re coming right for us, lad.
Not a whit of deviation in their approach. Somehow they’ve
discovered where we are-and I guess we both know how that
might have happened, don’t we?”
Morgan was stunned.’ ‘Who?” He barely breathed the word.
Padishar shrugged and laughed softly. “Does it really matter
now?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Time to finish up here.
I don’t relish telling Axhind and his clan what’s happened, but
it wouldn’t do to play games with them. If I were them, I’d
disappear out of here faster than a hare gone to ground.”
The Trolls were of a different mind, however. When the meet-
ing broke up, Axhind and his companions showed no inclination
to leave. Instead, they requested their weapons back-an im-
pressive collection of axes, pikes, and broadswords-and on
receiving them sat down and began in a leisurely fashion to
sharpen the blades. It seemed as if they were looking for a fight.
Morgan went off to find the Dwarves. They were camped in
a small, secluded grove of fir at the far end of the cliff base
where an outcropping of rock formed a natural shelter from the
weather. Steff greeted him without much enthusiasm. Teel was
sitting up, her strange, masked face revealing nothing of her
thoughts, though her eyes glittered watchfully. She looked
stronger, her dusky hair brushed out, her hands steady as they
accepted Morgan’s own. He spoke with her briefly, but she said
almost nothing in return. Morgan gave them the news of Hire-
hone and the approaching Federation army. Staff nodded so-
berly; Teel didn’t even do that. He left them feeling vaguely
dissatisfied with the entire visit.
The Federation army arrived with the coming of nightfall,
spread out in the forestlands directly below the cliffs of the Jut,
and began clearing the land for its use, working with the indus-
trious determination of ants. They streamed out of the trees,
several thousand strong, their pennants flying, their weapons
gleaming. Standards were raised before each company-banners
of solid black with one red and one white stripe where there
were regular Federation soldiers and a grinning white wolf’s
head where there were Seekers. Tents went up, weapons racks
were assembled, supplies were positioned to the rear, and fires
sparked to life. Almost immediately teams of men began build-
ing siege weapons, and the sounds of saws felling trees and axes
hewing limbs filled the air.
The outlaws watched from the heights, their own fortifica-
tions already in place. Morgan watched with them. They seemed
relaxed and easy. There were only three hundred of them, but
the Jut was a natural fortification that could resist an army five
times the size of this one. The lifts had already been drawn to
the bluff, and now there was no way up or down except by