DOM

Dom moved the red hot poker slowly from the fire, feeling Art's terrified eyes clicking in their sockets as he watched. The Dom swung it over in a casual, easy arc, stopping inches from the man's right eye, close enough for Art to feel the heat. The gag muffled the mans frantic attempts to plead for mercy. Dom inched the poker a bit closer, causing Art to try to embed his head in the log he was strapped to, them moved it down the man's naked chest, always close enough for him to feel the heat on his skin. As the Don reach the right thigh, Art blinked, and the Don instantly moved the poker over to the left and pressed it firmly into the flesh. The nauseating stench of burned hair and seared flesh filled the air as smoke billowed from the spot, and Art arched his back and screamed as best he could through the gag.

"Phew" said Krinn, holding her nose. "Maybe we should shave him before we continue with this. That hair really stinks when you fry it."

The Don shook his head. "No, no, Krinn. Makes it appear more like a medical procedure than torture. The whole point is as much psychological as physical. Like the little technique I just demonstrated... you let them think you are going to permanently maim them, then just burn them a bit... lets them imagine what would have happened if you did do the eye."

"I see" replied Krinn, who was readying her own poker. She took it out of the fire, frowned, and stuck it back in. "Not quite hot enough yet. And the flip from the right side to the left side?"

"He was keyed up for pain on the right. Never let them know where it is going to come from. Makes it much harder to handle the pain."

Art was glancing from one to the other with a look of stupefied terror on his face. Dom pulled the gag down for a moment. "You know, I don't enjoy this much. It's a lot of work, really. You could save me a lot of effort and yourself a lot of pain if you just answered a few little questions."

Krinn moved over to him and brushed his skin with her hand. "Really Art, you should listen to him. I do like you, and I feel really badly about all this."

Art stuttered "why... why are you... doing this... to old Far Seeing Art, just a... a... simple man living in isolation."

The Don shook his head and sighed. "Art, Art, Art. I'm so disappointed. Did you notice you lost your Pranan accent there?"

Art's eyes widened. "No... no sir-ee... old Far Seeing..." the rest was cut off as the Don replaced the gag. Art shook his head violently no, jerking at the ropes fastening him to the log hard enough to fray skin. He was already bleeding from countless other attempts.

Krinn sighed and went back to the fire. "I'm so sorry Art. Really." She pulled the poker out and smiled at the Don. "Just right, I think, don't you?"

DERLIN

He tried not to imagine what was happening back at the campsite. He could feel Chronos's disapproval. But the wolf continued to follow the scent of Art's track. It went along the cliff side, then cut in not far from where Delrin had seen the apparition. Before long, they saw a small hut in the faint moonlight. They moved in cautiously, but Chronos and Rosebud reported it an empty, and a fast investigation confirmed it. The hut was sparsely furnished, and not very clean.

"Perhaps he was telling the truth" said Delrin.

El Sid replied "No. Look around."

Delrin did, and shrugged. "I don't see anything that looks out of place."

El Sid nodded. "True, but look for what isn't there. It is the things that would be in place that are missing. Water bowls. Leftover supper. Garbage. The place is just a sham. Art doesn't live here."

Delrin froze, then nodded slowly. "A tunnel? Under the floorboard, perhaps?"

"Perhaps. Only one way to find out." They were prying up floorboards, using swords as crowbars, in short order. They had been at it for perhaps five minutes when Delrin and El Sid both jerked their heads up at the same time. El Sid shushed the others as he and Delrin poked their heads out the door to the shack in answer to the wolf's and cat's mental calls. They both made out the faint figure of a man flying through the air toward them, headed for the shack and a few seconds away.

DOM

Perrignon tilted his head to one side in thought. Hmmpf. This guy seemed ready to give but wouldn't. 'Course sometimes these things took a while but this didn't exactly seem macho bravado. And Art seemed more afraid of Krinn than he did of Dom himself. Maybe he feared the results of talking worse than he feared the pain to come...

"Friend, Art, you *know* i don't enjoy this. Why not just talk? We've nothing against you personally. You're just doing a job. And underpaid for it, too, i dare say. There is no reason why you shouldn't be able to walk away from this. But we need to know what the set up is, Art, what danger we are in. Don't you see? This suffering just isn't *worth* it."

The Don stood a few paces away from Art watching. Behind him he heard a rather odd conversation. Both voices seemed feminine, but one had a harsh overtone. Of course that was impossible since Krinn was the only female in camp...

"Oh my ghod! what have I done. What's this bloody knife doing in my hand and what's happened to poor old art?"

"Shut up bitch! We're in a tight spot, and this is no time for your namby pamby simpering."

"Namby pamby. Why you... you're...you're... you're just plain mean. Mean, that's what you are. We need to help poor Art. Look he's bleeding. Who would cut such a nice old man?"

"You poor ignorant fool. This is no random bumpkin. In all likely hood he is one bad as dude, a wizard more likely than not. Your country bumpkin druid friend is off in the night risking his testicles, and here you are complaining abouta little blood!"

"But I thought..."

"It's not your job to think. Now shut up and go pick daisies somewhere"

The Don turned around to see Krinn talking to herself. At first he thought she was the victim of some strange magical enchantment, but then he realized her game. She was pretending to be crazy to make Art even more confused than he already was. Krinn was truly a fine apprentice, inspired even. Turning he saw the effect the apparently mad, knife wielding half elf was having. Sure enough Art looked even more terrified than before, if that was possible. "Friend Art, I'm not sure I can hold her back any more. Are you sure you don't want to be helpful?"

Sweat rolled down Art's face and flanks but he shook his head furiously and screwed his eyes tightly shut, as if to block them both out. They opened abruptly when Art felt a sharp cold in his groin area. Krinn had taken out a slim, razor-edged, shiv.

"Iw wac, Iw wac, Iw wac" Art screamed frantically through the gag. Dom took it off. "Excuse me?" "I'll talk, OK, you win, I'll talk!" Art had lost his heavy Pranan accent. "I'm Arthur Cromwell, Kethem Naval Intelligence, serial number 45-963-7, and you have NO idea what you have walked into here. You're from Kethem; I'm telling you RIGHT NOW that you are dicking with maters of internal security classified at the highest level by the High Council itself. You turn and walk away now, nothing more will be said. You ask a lot of questions.... well, I'll give you the answers, but I guarantee they won't bring you anything but trouble."

The Dom nodded at Krinn, who jabbed a bit with the dagger, not quite hard enough to break the skin but making the point. Art blanched a bit and a touch of his newfound arrogance disappeared. None the less, the Don was not happy. The man was a professional; he'd been through this type of interrogation before, and he was much too self-composed for the Don to trust much of what he said. The whining and fear he had shown as Art was nothing more than a good job of acting in character, with the exception of the slip in accent. There was only two ways to go from here; he could take the man at face value and believe he didn't want the answers he had to offer, ask him the questions and get answers that might not be trustworthy, or go the next level... which would permanently maim the man, unless a very high ranking member of the Brethern was around, which he doubted very much.

EL SID

There was the flare of a light spell outside, not your garden-variety glow-globe but a sharp, bright one that seemed to be coming from above. It didn't compare to daylight, but it certainly lit up the surround terrain rather well. Not a good sign.

The first step was the mimic spell, which he cast quickly. Even so, by the time he was finished, the flying wizard or priest had circled the hut and was landing about sixty feet from the door, and yelling "Art. Art, damn it, where are you?" The voice was pure Kethem. Sounded vaguely western; Bythe, perhaps.

"Keep your nickers on, yes sir-ee, I'm comin' right now." The spell produced a flawless rendition of Art's nasal twang. El Sid waited long enough to prep and cast a few offensive spells on himself, figuring twenty seconds would not look suspicious, then exited the shack. "Yes sir-ee, here's old Art."

"Drop that damn phoney accent, will you? What the hell, why didn't you report back it? Proximity alarms are still going off all over the place, and we couldn't raise you on the amulet."

Ed Sid, of course, had no idea what Art's real voice sounded like and therefore couldn't imitate it, but he had prepared for this. "No sir-ee, you won't find Old Far Seeing Art drop out of character, bad practice, that's fer sure. Now Get yer arse in here, blast dammit!" Art bellowed from the door with his dagger out conspicuously, seeming to cover someone behind him in the shack. "Where da 'ell you BIN!?! Quit FARTIN'! Durd-gummit, I got PRIS'NERS!" Art turned his back on the intruder and faded slightly into the shack, now confident that reinforcements had arrived and his back was secure. "I say'd stay STILL you!" he barked to someone in the cabin.

From without, "Verification first, Art, you know the drill!"

"FAWK da drill! Dis TROLL don't give a PISS fer da DRILL 'n neider do 'is PAL!...STAY STILL I SEZ!!! Art shouted frantically as he crouched and slashed into the darkness, drawing another dagger to brandish with his offhand. A deep trollish growl was heard from the recesses of the cabin. Art obviously considered whoever was in the shack a more dangerous threat than the magic user armed with a 9mm submachine-wand at his back...

A rivlet of cold sweat began to trickly down Sid's back. He knew he had split seconds to convince the MU to come to his assistance, into knife range if possible, into lightening bolt and wolf range if not...else he'd have to bail...

"Is he coming?" Sid hissed. Delrin peered over his shoulder from deep within the cabin.

"Shit! He's disappeared! I don't see him anywhere!"

"The wolf?"

A pause. "Isn't sure."

Sid swore internally. This wasn't shaping up to be one of his most illustrious moments. "Plan B" he breathed and closed his eyes in concentration as Delrin and Cookie took up positions.

A large dense cloud suddenly billowed out and around the cabin. Delrin and Cookie waited a moment in case hostile fire immediately poured through the door. Then they went low, one left, one right out the door and into the surrounding brush. Sid stepped into Shadows and cast a Blur and a Silence. Then he evaporated with the mist.

Minutes later Delrin and Cookie burst breathlessly into camp. Sid suddenly strode out of a shadow shedding Art's rags. "It's a Scram! Load and ride, Load and ride!"

As Cookie and Delrin had set to furious activity the moment they emerged, no one else doubted the urgency of the moment. Sid caught a high sign from Dom, and froze for only an instant. The he beelined for Perignon.

"Lieutenant, report!" he snapped, "What does that trash have to say?" indicating the trussed prisoner.

"Sir! Prisoner says we have violated a KNI perimeter!"

"WHAT!" roared El Sid. He grabbed Dom with both hands and slammed him into a tree trunk. Dom's head smacked audibly. "Sir!" Dom repeated weakly, "Prisoner says he's KNI."

"FOOL!" continued Sid in his tirade, "They ALL say that!"

He pounced on Art. Grabbing him by the hair, he pulled him up into a sitting position with a vicious twist.

"Alright, sailor, REPORT!" he snarled, "What the HELL is KNI doing in Pranan in the middle of NOWHERE. What the HELL is KNI doing in the. Middle. OF. MY. OP!!" he frothed, spittle spraying Art's face.

Art reeled from the new assault. Now he *really* had a sinking feeling. He'd dealt with fanatic, young noble officers before. Hell. Used to be one himself. None were more self-righteous...and dangerous. He repeated what he'd told Perignon.

Sid stared into his eyes for a minute, then hissed, "Lieutenant?"

Dom replied, "Well, sir, within the framework of the time I've had to work with the prisoner..." He gestured absently with his hands.

"Aw...Sabrina's Left Tit," Sid swore, "What did HQ say? You *did* report in didn't you, Lieutenant?" he continued threateningly.

Dom snapped to attention. "Yes, sir, as instructed, sir. HQ said...," and paused as if dreading his superior's response, "ah...HQ said, Field's Prerogative...sir."

An ominous silence rejoindered.

"Get'em his com, Lieutenant."

Sid turned to Art and spoke tersely.

"Come in Yellow Leader, this is Old Art. Repeat, this is Old Art, come in Yellow Leader."

Sid stood astride the sitting KNI agent. He looked as if he wanted nothing better than to strangle the man. Art grasped the communications amulet and spoke aloud as instructed. There was a pause. Then Art winced as if getting a blast from his boot camp drill sergeant in both ears.

"Reporting in, sir...no, I wasn't stunting again, sir...I mean, no, that wasn't me, sir." Another wince. "No, sir, I am not at liberty, sir...Yes, sir, captured, sir...[wince]...Yes, sir, sorry, sir... A Kethem Hold Consortium, I believe, sir..." although his eyes flickered in the direction of Krinn, Glorm and Cookie. "Yes, sir...Yes, sir, I have the Opposing Force Commander right here, sir...Yes, sir. Ye-yes, sir. Sir, OFC wants to know," and here Art tried to lick dried, swolln lips, "Sir, Opposing Force Commander wants to know... what the hell KNI is doing in the middle of his Op. Sir."

This time Art jumped despite the ropes restraining him and tears wet his eyes. Art continued, "OFC wants to know if we're KNI then why there is no midden and why the sheets don't stink, sir. He says third grade gnome scouts can prepare a better blind and do we *really* wish to insist that we are KNI, sir...yes, sir, the shack, sir. yes, sir, why the sheet's don't stink, sir...[pause]...wince, "No, sir! I don't know if the sheets don't stink...I-I-I mean, that's Caruther's-- I mean I wouldn't know, sir, that's not my department, sir...[long pause].

Art looked at Sid and said, "My Officer of the Watch want's to know what Hold you represent, what you are carrying that has put his magic field detectors off scale and," and here Art's eyes narrowed triumphantly, "and why you shouldn't be burned to a crisp where you stand, Commander," and tried to sneer through puffed and mangled lips.

A minute later frost still swirled in the air around Art's head. His ears were frost-bitten from Sid's retort.

"Er...ah...Yellow Leader...ah, Opposing Force Commander says he will identify himself when we identify our department and section, sir. Says he will reveal his cargo when you tell him what we are guarding, sir. And that as far as burning him to a crisp, that, ah...that, ah...it's your chestnuts that are roasting in the, ah, fire, sir... OFC says he doubts very much if our Op is sanctioned by the Pranan Warlords, sir. He says if he and his men are detained, molested or tracked in *any* way, that within 24 hours every Pranan noble between Tendut and Microforo is going to be screaming why weren't they informed of a KNI Op in the heart of Pranan and where the hell is their cut, sir. OFC says go ahead and burn him, sir. That he, at least, will die quickly...[pause]...[pause]...er, ah, yes, sir, OFC is rather...agitated, sir. Yes, sir, I believe they have sent a transmission, can you confirm, Yellow leader?...[pause]...[pause]"

After five minutes, Art looked back at Sid,

"My Old Man says that if he ever sees your signature on his field scans again that you'll wish that you had never been born...sir."

Art waited for Sid's outburst. Sid replied tightly,

"No more than his mother wishes of his nativity. Tell him."

"Commander, I can't tel-"

"TELL him, sailor!"

"Ye-e-s, sir," Art took a deep breath,

"Yellow Leader, OFC says..."

"Heal,'em! Return his weapons!" Sid snarled at Delrin and waved his hand at Art in disgust, and walked away muttering,

"Routine Mission, they said, Cake Walk, they said, friggin' KNI sons of b-..."

They mounted and moved out in standard formation, Art left behind them, trying to keep it fast but casual. El Sid was on point, with Cookie loping near him on one side and Glorm, mounted, on the other, Don and Fuji in the second rank, Krinn and Derlin in the third. It was a bad time to be moving, four or five in the morning, dark as sin without even moonlight to guide them, and the party with no sleep the night before. He refused to use torches or light spells, however... it might be their only chance to avoid an ambush. They were passing between two low hills when El Sid heard a soft pop, pop, pop, then heard Derlin yell in alarm and Krinn curse. At the same time Cookie stopped running, looked around, and suddenly backed away from the rest of the party at an angle to their current direction. Ed Sid couldn't read his expression in the dim light.

Another one of those damn flares went off. Whoever it was had been laying in wait; while they were pinned under the radiance, he couldn't see any of their attackers.

The light did let him see what was going on in the back rank; Delrin was firmly wrapped in some kind of black string like web, and was squirming madly. Krinn's horse was snorting and rearing, covered with the same thing but too large to be encased in it. Krinn had managed to avoid the web, but was afoot and looked like she had not landed gracefully; she seemed to be limping but was diving for cover. Cookie was still backing off, looking at them like he had never seen them before.

A calm voice from behind them called out "Pin the MU." Someone from the other hill called out "Yes, sir!". There were two more pops, and Krinn, in a awesome display of agility, dived under one net and jumped over the other. El Sid back-tracked where the small spheres that burst into the webs came from. A clump of bushes on the left hill. He heard curses from the unhappy thrower. "Observer?" A third voice answered "this is all of them, Sir. Art is coming up shortly." El Sid recognized the voice, that of the man who had flown around the cabin, and was not surprised that the voice came from above them. "Scanner?" A new voice called out "Covered with magic, sir. Comm, a few other standard minor items, some water breathing stuff. The... short guy's sword is big juju... nothing I've ever seen before. The guy on the large warhorse has something strange, too, but I don't think it is offensive. "Very good. secure the perimeter."

"Gentlemen... beings...," and the man's voice grew louder as he addressed them directly, "we can do this easy, or we can do it hard. Give me two minutes, and I promise you, we will be on the same page of music. Move, draw weapons, or prep spells, and you are toast. Same goes for any further cracks about my mother."

El Sid thought for a moment, then nodded and stretched out his hands to his sides to show compliance. The rest of the group followed his lead. A few seconds later, a man strode out of the bushes. He wore light, silver chainmail on dark brown leather, a cloak vaguely reminiscent of a Holder's cloak but without the seal, and a medallion of gold embedded in the upper right hand side of his armor with a symbol that El Sid could not see but knew was a ship with a floating eye above it. Kethem Naval Intel, all right. He had an amulet that looked suspiciously like Art's. More magic comm; these guys were swimming in it. The man was older, grizzled, and as he approached he pulled out an odd device, a small tube of brown paper that he bit the end off of, sticking the other end in his mouth, and lit on fire with a small fire stick. Small puffs of smoke began to rise from the device. Some kind of self-contained pipe?

The man caught his glance. "A cigar. Get use to it, it's all the rage in Kethem. He squinted at the party and continued "you know, I really hate burning magic. Damn bean counters are going to ask for expenditure reqs in triplicate with attached explanations, substantiating information, and the rest. A total pain in the ass. I am not happy."

El Sid looked down on him. So did Johnny Rotten. "So sorry for the inconvenience. You said something about two minutes, as I recall."

The man looked at him like he had several heads, all of which were ugly. He reached into a pocket in the cloak's inner lining and pulled out a piece of paper. He held it up for the Sid's inspection. Sid noticed the signature before really seeing anything else on the paper, a signature that glimmered and glowed with it's own light, a rainbow of colors washing across it in a constantly shifting pattern. It read "Telegar, Masterscribe of the High Council". A signature very difficult to imitate. Not that many would try; it was a crime punishable by death in Kethem.

"You see I've got the signature, I've got the authority, and it proclaims me direct representative of the High Council on a mission vital to Kethem Security." El Sid glanced over the text. It said exactly that. The man added "You know not cooperating is punishable by death, at my hand, with no recourse and no requirement for judging at a Holder's Court. More likely, I'll just ship the lot of you back to Bythe and let them deal with you, unless you come clean RIGHT NOW." Bythe... not a very long journey from Salta, thought the Sid.

The Sid nodded again, trying to think things through. They were on the run, didn't have time to worry about the niceties of Kethem laws and regulations, but this was a big one. It could make it impossible for him to proclaim himself Lord Holder if and when he returned.

"So, I have a few questions" continued the man. "Who the hell are you, what the hell are you doing here, and where the hell did you hear about large tunnels around here?"

Sid sighed heavily and very slowly removed his own pipe from his cloak. He lit the pipe with an ember from a small silver box, puffed slowly and then responded. "There is no use in being hostile gentle sir. As you have so carefully pointed out we are all on the same side here. As to who we are; we are representatives of certain hold interests on expedition here in Pranan. A certain pre-fall diary came into the hands of said interests. This diary made reference to a naval base located somewhere between Cidan and Cherifyr. The top brains decided that locating a pre-fall base, should it exist, would be a coupe for the top brass; perhaps gaining said hold interests promotion in status come election time. Naturally we intended to turn the whole deal over to you boys in the KNI once we had investigated; perhaps after liberating a trinket or two, but naturally we wouldn't think of jeopardizing national security. Between the damn Urakai, the heathens and the friggin elves we civilized folks need to work together... As I said before, my official report will show the whole thing to be a wash: no base, no ruins nothing. I am sure the records of the comm officer at home will show the same as long as we avoid harm long enough to get things straightened out. The boys at home are looking for political coupes not any sort of trouble. Further, I would point out that the being you have deprived of liberty there," here gesturing in Glorm's direction, "Is a fully credentialed trade Ambassador of the Dorfish Nation on an observation mission. I'm sure His Lordship will forgive the assault to His Person, given the situation, if he is released immediately..."

[Glorm, catching on, gave his best "Don't Screw with ME, Mortal" scowl.]

"And I do beg forgiveness for my countrymen's rude injury to you, My Lord," Sid addressed to the dwarf. Returning his attentions to the slightly less smug KNI colonel, who's eyes slid over to the puffed up, frowning Dorf, "As far as putting us on a slow boat to nowhere? Again, you risk an international incident and *signifcantly* more paperwork if you attempt to enforce this warrant on Pranan soil. Causality reports follow you your entire career. We will not go quietly. I, for one, have *no* intentions of being tragically 'lost at sea'.

"One assumes the point of all this," gesturing broadly, "is to keep a low profile. If we are not allowed to return unmolested and untracked, Pranan City States will hear of this within 24 hours. No chance of suppressing *that*. Your mission here will have failed," here Sid gave his best indifferent shrug, "In which case you might as well join us on that 'slow boat'. Hope you can swim," making it clear that he never expected to leave the KNI's captivity alive.

"So over all I would imagine that a vagueness bordering on forgetfulness is the optimal course of action for us both. Yes?"

"Dorfish nation? I've never heard of such a thing. We get the Bythe Daily Press only a few weeks old, and they've never said anything about a Dorfish nation." His face grew a little more certain. "Besides, you don't bring an ambassador on this kind of mission." Then, looking a little angrier, "and don't threaten me with telling the Pranan City States. Even if I didn't, your own hold would dismember you for treason to Kethem. I can't believe you would even make such a suggestion."

At that point, a heavy breathing Far Seeing Art burst through the brush. He was looking disheveled and bleeding from numerous cut and abrasions, most from the "session" with the Don and Krinn, a few from blundering through scrub brush in the middle of the night... or early morning, noted Delrin, seeing the first glimmers of dawn over the horizon.

"Lieutenant Colonel, report." Art looked up, panting and leaning over while recovering from his exertion, and sketched a brief salute at the man frowning around his cigar.

"Sir, the Kethemer" and he waved at the Sid, "appears to be in charge. I told you about the op stuff over the comm amulet; I just don't know what it means. My general impression is that they were caught off guard; while they questioned me, they asked very general questions, including ones concerning the apparition at the cliff edge."

The man slapped his head. "Not again. Damn design defect, it's going to screw us yet." He turned back to El Sid. "Well, at least I am dealing with Kethemers." He glanced at Glorm, Fuji, and Cookie. "Weird lot you've got here. We can talk about that later. Now, I know why you are here. I still want to know what hold you represent, and I want that comm ring so I can tallk to the person on the other end, and I'd like both now, please."

From over both hills and in front of them different people called "First Squad reports north perimeter secure." "Second squad reports south and east perimeter secure." "Third squad reports west perimeter secure."

SID

Sid looked weary and impassive at the same time. Glorm took the opportunity to interject to Sid.

"What be 'Blythe Free Press'? Security Brief? I told presence would not be...how you say...ADvert-ized. Need assess capabilities for trade in quiet. No 'put up job'. This was promised."

"The Blythe Free Press is a common, public news sheet, My Lord. Rest assured, you will not be mentioned there."

"Then what be problem?"

"It would appear our good Colonel may be on a short leash, My Lord, he might not have the authority for independent action."

At this Glorm let out a veritable stream in Dwarfish of what could only be invective. The harsh guttural phonemes where clearly a distinct language unlike any other those present had ever heard.

"Please, My Lord, please!" Sid intoned in placation.

He turned, "Colonel," gesturing helplessly and, for the first time, somewhat desperately,

"As I am sure you can appreciate, my field prerogative only extends so far. I am not at liberty to reveal the information you request without authorization. And I am not authorized to simply surrender my communicator.

"We are trying to cooperate. I truly believe we are close to common ground; 'On the same page of music,' as you have put it. As an alternative, might I suggest that I relay your questions to my control audibly. That way a strange 'voice' on the circuit doesn't automatically set off alarms and queer things. Does have the downside of taking it a bit further up the line, though," he added, "Which we are trying to avoid."

Sid tilted his head to one side, "Or perhaps there may be another way I can satisfy you?" Sid slowly swung his leg over Johny's saddle and slid carefully to the ground, being sure not to move suddenly.

With Sid off of his massive warhouse, it could be seen that the two men were of a height. The KNI head stood powerfully in his well-cut cape. Sid bristled with weapons in the guise of a Kandayan. He moved with the unaffected self-assurance of nobility.

"With your permission, Colonel?"

The KNI head looked once again at the Dwarf and considered. He jerked his head to one side.

Sid slowly raised a warning hand to demonstrate his intention and then tripped a 10' radius Silence spell.

"Talk," growled the Colonel, fists on hips, "And this better be good or there won't be an 'or else'."

Sid slowly raised his right hand and, shielding it from the view of watching eyes, slowly slid his leather gaunlet partially off. A soft gleam of burnished gold was revealed as Sid's signet was brought to view. Sidney looked the KNI agent in the eye. There was no false humility.

"Colonel, in partial answer to your questions, I am Borgia, of Borgia Hold, Salta. I give you my word upon my House, and as a loyal Kethemer, that no incident ever occurred here. As a Holder, the security of Kethem is my responsibility as well. I assure you that I take that responsibility *quite* seriously. My mission, as I have explained, is part of a Hold Consortium to determine if traces of a previously unknown PreFall naval base still exist. The existence of this base was only inferred from references. It's location was never described. We surmised that, if the remains of such a base still existed, they would be hidden. We knew not whether to look upon offshore islands or upon the coast. If upon the coast, then our best chance was if this base was concealed under, or inside of, any of a number of rocky promontories between Cherifyr and Chelto. We have slowly been working our way down the coast under the guise of Kethem merchant scouts. We camped here for the night and the watch saw your beacon. As we proceeded to investigate, Old Art showed up.

"He really is quite good," Sid added as an aside.

"However, the story of the ghost didn't quite hold together. Why would it appear so large? And only visible from the sea? I thought we might have stumbled upon a group of smugglers. When we found 'Art's shack', I realized immediately that this was too sophisticated operation for simple smugglers. However, by that time it proved too late to extract ourselves.

"Colonel, I won't ask your name. I don't remember Art's face or yours. I don't remember this stretch of coast even as I stand on it. But I *do* need to know if I have completed my mission or if I should continue my search."

"My word is my bond. You now know who I am and how to find me. This can be an end to it or we can involve my control. I cannot, however, be held responsible if you wish to pursue that avenue. As I say, this is a Consortium. That a Holder leads the field mission should tell you something. I can guarantee Borgia to the KNI and promise close cooperation with you in the future should you ask it. But I cannot be surety to other Holds."

"And, Colonel," Sid continued gently, "The short gentlebeing *is* a trading prince of a race called The Dorfs. I am quite serious of the need to be circumspect of His Person. Trade is vital to Kethem. We need it."

Sid looked back at the rest of the mixed party. The tension there was palpable.

"Colonel, in the Field it seems nothing is ever simple. We can merely strive to be flexible and do the best that we can."

COLONEL FERRY

For a moment, wild thoughts of ordering an attack when through his head; he could report that they had resisted him when he surrounded them, convince General Galbladder he had no choice but to respond in force, send word to the Hold that a wandering Minstral had come upon the remains of the party in the Pranan outback, the unfortunate victims of yet another Pranan City-State skirmish. He grabbed the reins of his racing thoughts. There was no way. The Hold wouldn't just accept the news that one of the top Brass had eaten a Pranan arrow; there would be investigations, questions, and anything out of place.... well, with the comm device they were carrying, there was only one place it could lead. Right here.

A damn Gold Ring. What kind of hold would send a Gold Ring out into the field on a mission like this? He suddenly realized he had bitten through his cigar.

He bowed to the Lordling. "My sincere apologies, my Lord." Then he stepped out of the circle of silence, and yelled "First, Second, Third squads, excepting perimeter guards, form up for inspection." He stepped back inside the circle. Behind him, men were already rising out of the bushes, obviously confused and somewhat wary, but they came anyway. Eight heavy crossbowmen from the hills behind them, two carrying nothing... clerics or MUs... and another two crossbowmen from in front, along with eight others with swords and shields. Twenty men all told. They slowly approached, sheathing swords and unloading crossbows.

Ferry searched his memory, the man's Hold ringing with some kind of resonance from an old memory. Borgia Hold... Borgia Hold... it came to him. One of the Arketh Providence Great Holds... out of Salta, if he was not mistaken. There was more, but it wouldn't surface. In some ways, it was lucky. No chain of command issues. But hell, a consortium of Great Holds? He had never heard of such a thing. The Great holds already had upwards of twenty hold's resources to draw on. No wonder these people were loaded down with magic; he could only imagine the resources they could draw on. He realized El Sid was waiting patiently for him to say something.

"My Lord, on your word, I will tell you. Your search is in vain. The prefall ruins you are looking for are, as I am sure you have surmised, in use by the Kethem Navy and Kethem Naval Intelligence. Needless to say, Kethem interests in Pranan would be seriously damaged if any of the City States knew we had a forward base on the Pranan Coast. While I am sure that all the holds in your consortium would recognize this, too many people with the information is likely to result in word getting out. As I have demonstrated, I have the full authority of the High Council behind me, and I must ask that this information not be shared with any other than your Lord Holder, and that he in turn discuss it with no one but Lord Bradford, your Providence's High Council member. Without intending any disrespect, can you ensure these non-Kethemers will keep quiet on this?"

The KNI troops had formed up in ranks in front of the party. At Ferry's signal, one of them went to untangle Delrin and Krinn's horse from the webs they had been caught in.

EL SID

Sid looked over his shoulder at the assemblage.

"In truth, Commander, I don't believe the Lord Ambassador's grasp of our language is good enough yet to grasp this situation and his knowlege of the subtleties of our local politics most certainly isn't. His role is strictly observatory, not participatory. The Kandayan is bonded to Borgia Hold. The troll is my personal chef."

At this Ferry raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I still can't believe it myself," continued Sid, shaking his head, "Ask the lieutenant colonel's opinion. That troll can take leavings that would make a billy goat puke and turn them into a gourmet's delight. I tell you, the effect of that on morale during extended field missions is inestimable.

"No, Colonel, this is as desolate a stretch of Pranan coast as one is apt to find. Upon my word, it remains so."

Ferry grunted and the two men touched hands.

Two hours latter found the company moving inland. The wolf beat their backtrail to assure that no one followed. Delrin coopted a hawk that floated on the morning thermals and scanned for telltale traces of terrestial or arial surveillance. At midmorning they broke for a brief breakfast. Sid finally ended the silence that the sleepless travels had carried with them.

"Well, *that* was special. I'm sure everyone realizes that to breathe word of this might result in a painful cessation of life functions for us all? Good. So, what other irons have we in the fire? Why don't we contact Corbell and tell him that there has been a slight change of plan that we will explain to him when we return. Anyone want to explore an underwater wreck...?"

THE BOYZ

The day grew progressively warmer as the weary party continued it's trek up the Cherifyr-Cidan road. Sid loosened the ties on his chainmail to get some relief. Dom urged his mount up next to Johnny Rotten. The two men road side by side for a while. Finally, Dom leaned forward in his saddle and fixed his gaze on his cousin. He spoke slowly and darkly,

"In the middle of your Op?"

Sid, looking slightly embarrassed, shrugged, and replied earnestly,

"Sometimes you can only try to be flexible and do the best you can."

He turned to the Don. The two men stared. Then a twinkle gleamed in Perignon's eye and the pair began to chuckle. Turning their attentions back to the road their chuckles grew into laughter, strong and clear. A smiling Fuji cantered up. He grabbed his crotch and gave it a double heft. Big cajones. He let out a whoop of unrestrained delight and road up the line...

COLONEL FERRY

"Report Major."

The soldier still dressed in camo and paint snapped to attention.

"Sir. The intruding force advanced westward to the C-C highway, then turned north. The large, fast bogey on IR turned out to be some sort of large trained dog that they use as recon and rearguard. It prevented us from pursuing as closely as we would have liked, sir, but the party remained intact and we observed no ancillary contacts."

Ferry eased back in his leather chair and puffed deeply on his cigar. Clouds of acrid blue smoke rose to the ceiling and were sucked out the vent. Hmmmm... He still wasn't sure if he should have let them go. The base perimeter hadn't been breached like this in at least 15 years. So what did he have? He added it up.

A small group of what appeared to be highly trained penetrators. That boasted enough talent in the field to partially crack a seasoned KNI veteran in a period of time Ferry wouldn't have believed possible. Of course, maybe it was just that Cromwell was past his prime. Maybe not. He'd seen the business at the shack. He'd sure thought it was Cromwell at the time. That bespoke of Hashishinid training at the least. He wondered which member of the party it had been.

A Great Hold consortium, eh? Yes, he could have killed them all. His original plan had been to couzin them into surrendering peacefully and then strip their skin off; the cliffs were handy for more than just concealing warships. But when that Gold Ring showed himself...

It wouldn't have been the first time that the KNI had 'removed' a Holder who was an obstacle. It wouldn't have been the last time. In fact, given the importance of the KNI to Kethem security, the Holders collectively recognized that things like that were necessary from time to time. However, in a very real sense, the security of Kethem meant the security of the Holders, themselves, and they most certainly did not want to die and lose their perks just because the KNI said so. So they were very persistent in investigating the deaths of their top management. Very persistent. And while they couldn't retaliate directly, they could make things v-e-r-y uncomfortable at the Council come appropriations time. And any KNI officer that ignored this little fact did so at his peril.

A Consortium, eh? Ferry recognized the advantage that the KNI had in instilling fear and therefore control in the region came more from the depth of it's organization than from anything else. In terms of man for man quality and equipment for equipment, there were several Holds that could match or exceed The Service. The Holders were able to more directly reward their bonded agents in gold, properties, and power. And as to equipment? When a Great Hold loosened up the purse strings for something that it really wanted, their outfitting could easily exceed the quality of military equipment always bought with a budget in mind. The Service did have a corner on the market for big specialty items that needed a large infrastructure to produce, procure or maintain, of course. Wouldn't see a STAM in private hands, for instance. He hoped.

A consortium of Great Holds, eh? Ferry reminded himself that as potent and secure as the KNI may be, individual officers obeyed the laws of supply and demand. And when the demand became to great, they, too, could be dealt 'out of the deck'. He recalled the case of the charismatic, young civilian that had promoted himself to Council President about, oh, what was it? Thirty five years ago now? On his way to the top, he had crossed several Holds that made their money in, how to put it, the less savory sides of life? The KNI had only been involved tangentially, when, all of a sudden, the President was dead and the KNI was backtracking for all it was worth. Witnesses disappeared, had accidents or were killed outright. Reports were lost, evidence was altered. All in all, quite a thrash. And, yes, more than one KNI man had slept the Big Sleep over that affair. Cross the Holds too much and even the KNI crossed its fingers.

More smoke curled upward.

"That will be all, Major. Pass the word that the exercise is over and that overall performance was acceptable. But I want Technical to go over the beacon's design specs *again* and *this* time I want them to get it RIGHT. Further, inform Lt. Col. Cromwell that he is *personally* responsible for making sure that the shack blind 'smells' the way it should. It shouldn't take him more than, oh, five to six weeks, I would imagine. Got that? "

"E-E-Exercise, sir? Oh, *The Excerise*, sir, yes, sir! Techs to work on the beacon and Lt. Col. Cromwell to attend to the shack! Yes, sir! Very good, sir! At once, sir!"

"And Major, I want you to personally take charge of the requisition forms for the magic we burned today. Keep it simple, write it up as if it was an actual penetration attempt. We get graded on that too, you know. I'll fill out the real ones from you examples. No mistakes."

"Sir, yes sir. In... in triplicate, sir?" Ferry nodded.

Ferry watched as his frowning subordinate quickly exited himself and went to spread his misinformation. Keeping the ruckus to a mimimum was only sensible, after all. He sighed. The actual encounter report he would have to write himself. But that would be later. Right now, a verbal General Galbladder, and then to Telegar for relay to the HC. That would be easy; Galbladder was a flunky that would pass on responsibility to the Telegar without thought, and Telegar was demanding but non-judgmental. He would ask for details that Ferry would probably have a hard time remembering, but he would merely gather as complete a picture of the situation as he could and convene a emergency session of the high council, via telepathic link, no doubt.

Of course, the HC would second guess him. He sighed again. His career would depend on how well he could think on his feet and defend decisions that he made in split seconds in the field to a group of very bright people who had hours to think about it. At least at that point, he would be out of it. It would become an issue between the HC representative from Arketh providence... Bradfort hold, as it had been for many years... and the leader of this "consortium," Borgia hold.

No point delaying it. He pulled the key on the chain around his neck off, unlocked a desk drawer, and pulled out the small figure carved in black onyx, a stylized figure of a man in robes that some would recognize as from the Beegn period, a hundred years before the fall. Not many of these left; perhaps thirty or forty. Point to point telepathic communication was readily available today, even over long distances. Group contract... well, he had heard the elves had it, but this was pretty much it for the humans. He concentrated on the still black face, simple cuts and lines that gave an incredible feeling of age and wisdom, felt the first glimmerings of mental contact...

GLORM

After about 4 hours of hard marching in the predawn light Glorm started to relax. Glorm was a warrior, a lover, a drinker, occasionally a thief, but never a politician. He had been worried that the last little encounter would have been his last. Not that he wouldn't have taken more than a few down with him. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling Darkheart would be up to a serious bloodbath, if it came to that. Looking down he noticed his right hand still rigidly gripping the sword. Looking back over his shoulder he released the sword, and tried in vain to uncramp his sword hand.

As the adrenaline of the incident wore off another thought entered his mind. He had just seen gold pure gold. After a few quick strides he caught up to Sid who was for the moment walking his large charger. "Sid did you just see what I did?"

"And what would that be my Dorfish friend? Our lives flashing before our eyes?"

"No not that, something much more important money. Did you see the "Seegar" thing that Colonel Ferry was smoking? Do you have any idea how much those things would be worth back home? We import a few thousand units, sell them to the blue bloods at a gold or two a pop; suddenly were rolling in moola. We work that scheme while we contact the hobiton. With their top quality weed, we reverse the deal and import hobbit stoggies to Kethem. What great holder would be caught dead with anything, but the best. This Darkheart thing is important, as is this ships excavation, but were talking gold plated latinum by the bushel. Sid! are you listening to what Im talking about here?" You humans do not seem to appreciate the value of money, now back home..."

Sid tried to tune the small dorf out as he thought about more important details. Rumors of this little tet a tet would filter back to the higher ups back home. How fast depended on Ferry. Now how to use that to Borgia's advantage...