Chapter V

            The cave was an interesting experience. The quiet, monotonous sounds of water running over limestone resounded throughout its chambers. Although they had climbed part of the way up the cliff, Lucius estimated that he and Alex were still at least ten meters below the surface of the land, and while the route of the underground river led naturally uphill, the land above also rose, as the lieutenant had noticed when standing on the shore.

            The all-encompassing shadow of the cave grew more and more dense with each step taken forward. Looking up, it seemed to Lucius that the roof of the cave, one with the land itself, of course, was an outcropping of rocks, melded together by time’s relentless compression of sediment. Still, cracks remained, and through them, always at the same sharp angle, for there was only one sun, and it was low in the sky, penetrated bright beams of light that illuminated the smallest sections of moist speleothems and craggy walls.

            From behind him, Lucius heard the doctor who had saved him without medicine call out, “Oi! Do you think it would be possible to provide a light?”

            The mage turned. “You can’t.”

            “Not at all. I’m no use; you’ll have to forgive me that.”

            Lucius shrugged. Shortly, emanating from nowhere in particular, but generally centered around Lucius, and oddly producing no palpable shadows, there was a soft but pervasive luminescence.

            “Much better. I thank you; I was worried I’d trip over something in here. It was hard to see.”

            Lucius nodded. They continued on for a ways. Presently, Lucius inquired, “How are we going to get to Fulstead? I heard you talking on the island. You mentioned some geography, but no real means of transportation.”

            Alex realized that he was picking up on the subtleties of Lucius’s dialect. Lucius, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be having much trouble understanding him. Alex answered, “I’ve been thinking about it some. We really can’t be wasteful with our time, but caution is vital. There is only one course of action with which I feel comfortable. I’d like to follow this cave as far as it’ll take us inland. That shouldn’t be much more than a few miles before we’re forced to emerge, even if we allow ourselves to be optimistic. After that, we’ll have to get horses somewhere. We’ll ride northward, of course. I’m afraid it could take us two days to get through Axoria and Straulstvania, but for better or worse, two days it’ll take. But we can’t wait until we get to Fulstead to do anything. That idea was folly. Just north of the mountains is a fort where an acquaintance of mine serves. I believe he’s a major general now. With any fortune at all, we will be able to use an aquelecom there to contact the capital.”

            “With any fortune, you say? I suppose it is so. The loyalty of these officers to the system seems almost dangerous, especially since the system is obviously so pernicious itself.”

            “No, you’re wrong!” the major contradicted. “The Republican government is not a pernicious thing; it is benevolent. You must acknowledge that the government itself and the people who participate in the government and the military are two different entities. And I should be more clear; anyone who would deny us an audience, even via aquelecom, with the Tribune of the Military would break a law of the Republic. It’s loyalty to people that is dangerous, not loyalty to government.”

            Lucius shook his head. “All that is a government is people. There is no spirit of the Republic; there are only many Republicans who, acting in unison, make themselves seem like more than they are. Perhaps it would be better to notify the Monarchy instead and let them liberate the prisoners.”

            “The Monarchy, too, is only a government made of people.”

            “But those people are not the ones who have committed such a crime!”

            Alex frowned. “Neither are these. You must understand that such a thing could only have been done without the knowledge of those in Fulstead. Any alternative scenario is impossible. And I disagree with you about alerting the Monarchy for other reasons. For instance, this is an issue of the Republic. It would be most expedient to let the Republican government address it. I assure you that the culpable will receive no mercy. And to involve the Monarchy would escalate the present conflict. You must see the futility in that, and the damage it would do. These little micro-wars never help anyone. It would be bad to inflame this one.”

            Lucius conceded the point. The lieutenant, who had never considered himself at all loyal to anything much larger than Freboria, was surprised to see the issue of citizenship come between the rescuer and the rescued. The pair walked on further through the cavern. The walls of the passage gradually narrowed and the ceiling fell as the floor rose. Stalagmites split the flow of the water as it fell over rocks that had refused to wear away and splashed down onto its path. The disquieted water shimmered in the uniform light.

            Gradually, just before it became impassable, the cramped space began to open up again, until Lucius and Alex found themselves again in a large room. Shortly, the doctor turned toward Lucius and admitted, “I am glad to have someone like you along; it lends some feeling of security.”

            The mage eyed Alex askance. “You know, I am not omnipotent.”

            Alex shrugged. “Close enough for me.”

            “I guess you’re thinking of the other boat in the gulf. Well, you don’t realize how difficult that was. Nearly impossible for me, and I’m amazed I did it. Besides, you shouldn’t be happy about that, given the high regard you have for your countrymen.”

            Alex shook his head. “No, I’m not –”

            Lucius broke in. “But then, why shouldn’t you be? The lives of those who come between a person and freedom, unwittingly or not, are not worth sparing.” He frowned. So did his companion, who noticed in the former captive then a darkness to which he had previously been oblivious.

            Cutler couldn’t help asking, “How many did you kill when you were detained?”

            “When I was first captured? None. I chose not to kill any, and so I chose to be a captive.” He then remembered, like an absurd dream, the episode that had followed immediately the ambush of which he had been a victim. “Well, there was one I tried to kill, but that was more from a confused rage than a desire to be free. I think he was insane. Then he shot me.”

            The pair continued on for a length more in quiet before Lucius resumed the discussion. “So, you are confident that we are in Axoria?”

            “Yes, I am. The winds blew us north-northeast. That’d take us to the Axorian coastline. Since it didn’t drown us, we’re really rather lucky to have had the storm blow us to shore. It would have been quite a distance to row.”

            As Alex finished his sentence, Lucius, who was leading, finally came to the stopping point. The cave’s ceiling dropped to a point at which there was barely room for the underground river to pass through. He turned back to face the doctor.

            Alex shrugged and looked upward. “Well, I didn’t expect an easy exit. I figured that I’d leave creating one to you.”

            Lucius gave a guffaw. “That’s extremely dangerous. It’ll take some force to open a hole for us. It’ll be hard to do carefully, so that we don’t trap ourselves, or crush ourselves. And it’ll be harder still to do subtly.”

            Alex shrugged again. “We must try.”

            Lucius shook his head. “This is unwise.” But, after retreating a number of meters from the end of the passable area of the cave, he turned all the same to look up at the ceiling. His face again assumed an expression of powerful concentration, and his arms shook at his sides with exertion. There was a faint cracking sound, and the grating of rock on rock, but no visible movement. Moments passed, and Lucius’s face slackened, his arms falling slack. He turned wordlessly back to Alex. After a pause, he admitted, “It may be possible with a staff. I think I could do it with even just a wand. But not unaided. This is harder than directing a bit of lightning during what is already a thunderstorm. And besides, I had the aid of adrenaline before.”

            Alex walked forward and inspected the rocky area above his head. On the opposite side of a stalactite, he spotted a crack, and pointed it out to Lucius. “It looks like you did make some progress.” He pointed at the damaged spot.

            Lucius looked where indicated. “Maybe. How thick do you think the roof is?”

            “I haven’t any idea. Your guess is as good as mine.”

            “I saw a hole in the rock about half a mile back. Success would be almost guaranteed there.”

            “But with this terrain, we could easily give up fifteen minutes each way returning to it. Let’s not be so quick to give up here.”

            Lucius groaned. “Fine.”

            “Focus on the crack, if you can.”

            “Of course.” There was more noise. Dust fell, then a few pebbles. Suddenly, a portion of the ceiling collapsed in a pile of rubble, barely avoiding crushing Alex, who leapt out of the way, as it fell. Sunlight shone on rocks that had lingered in darkness for millennia. Lucius dropped to the ground in exhaustion, allowing his eyes to slowly close and his mind to clear serenely. After a few minutes of rest, he raised himself and followed the major’s lead, scaling the damaged cave wall.

            Upon emerging, the fugitives saw around them the Axorian countryside. They were near the edge of a forest, where, instead of stopping abruptly, the trees became less and less dense, giving way to an open meadow.

            Alex turned to Lucius. “It’s a good thing we took the cave. It was much safer than simply appearing washed ashore, on the coast, where people do live, without an explanation of our origin.”

            Lucius nodded in quiet agreement, his eyes on a road that ran through the far side of the meadow. “That’ll lead to a town, I suppose. We’ll certainly need horses. I hope we can count on you for that. No doubt you know that the Republic has pressured Axoria into refusing Monarchy credit for the duration of the present conflict.”

            Alex nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

            “Well, let’s go.”

            Neither being in poor shape, both set off at a jog toward and then down the dirt road. Lucius had been right; before long, they did come upon a moderately sized, handsome town. The buildings were arranged in neatly along gently curving streets that, with their deviation from the linear, lent variety to the town’s layout. The outskirts were full of single-story homes with medium yards, while the residences farther inward were larger, of two stories, but without yards. None were in severe disrepair. Past the townhouses lay the market area, full of all sorts of shops. Lucius couldn’t help being tempted by the delicious smell of coming from a bakery.

            It was not difficult to locate stables, and Alex, knowing more than a little about horses, selected two that were reasonably priced and well suited for the trip to Ericica, the capital of Axoria, from which, he expected, a train could be taken into the north of Straulstvania, leaving only one last ride straight to the fort.

            Over two hours were spent in the town that revealed itself to be pleasingly hospitable purchasing on Alex’s credit those supplies which were necessary for the road. Finally, when the time to depart arrived, no inclination was expressed to linger, but neither could either bring himself to push the pace. Lucius absently watched the seagulls as they rode.

            “Have you ever seen such birds before?” Alex asked.

            “Only in my fourth grade zoology textbook.”

            Cutler smiled. “I suppose you’re unused to people who are not so as pale as clouds as well.”

            Lucius laughed. “No, you’re right. I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone before as dark as you,” for Alex was of a pronouncedly swarthy complexion.

            “Then you should travel the Peninsula sometime. It’s good to see the heterogeneity that exists.”

            Alex looked around himself some, taking in the fields, trees, forests, clearings, streams, and now sporadically placed houses. “Axoria is a beautiful country,” he remarked. “It’s picturesque down by the coast, and to the north, the mountains are breathtaking. And the fish is delicious. All of the cuisine is, but especially the fish.”

            Lucius’s attention was drawn to the waxing sound of a mandolin. Ahead, by the left side of the road, sat a man, a beggar. The worn lines of his face bespoke the troubles he had known, and his unkempt appearance those he still knew. A numbed expression shone from his eyes; he gazed abstractedly into the distance, a little wistfully, but, more than anything, exhaustedly. Life is a journey, and his had been uphill. But his hands told a different story from his face. They too had been worn with time, but they, it seemed, had been invigorated, not enervated, by their experiences. His right hand picked energetically at his instrument with a brisk, untiring style, while his left deftly stopped the correct strings on the correct frets, keeping up perfectly with his right. He played a bounding, cheerful hornpipe, and it seemed that his music was the last vestige of his spirit yet to be downtrodden by misfortune.

            Atratus’s expression was unmoved, but he turned to Alex and asked, frankly, “Do we have any currency that could be spared him?”

            The doctor shook his head. “No.  None on hand, anyway.” They continued on.

            The land there was not slow in rising away from the coast, and ten kilometers from the shore, the two had gained at least 1,500 meters in altitude. Looking back from the crest of a hill, the sea was visible. It was late in the afternoon, and looking west, the sun already hung low above the horizon, but it was a clear day, and the star continued to shine with its full intensity, though its hue was more golden. And while they were short, rarely much over a meter in height, the waves cast dramatic, dynamic shadows over the glistening surface of the gulf. In the countryside to the north lay occasional fields of grain, and the stalks of the plants, shaking in the wind, and likewise catching the sharp angle of the sun’s rays, constantly flickered in and out of the light, exposed to and then freed from the unreliable shade of their neighbors.

            That region of Axoria was not generally agrarian, relying much more on the sea, and, to some extent, tourism, for its sustenance, but the land was not infertile either. It was no more expensive to grow crops than to import them, and the rural inhabitants had learned that in bad years the harvest of the land may save them when the harvest of the sea failed.

            The pair rode onward for an hour and a half past sunset.  Before the sun had dropped behind the horizon, they passed through a small town, and after that, by a n inn, but, as Lucius had pointed out, both were soldiers, and not unsuited to the discomforts of a bed of weeds under a roof of stars.  The night was clear and unthreatening, and so, it not being an unreasonable suggestion, the riders were able to wring the as much time on the road as possible from the day.  As they traveled, Lucius observed the uniqueness of the landscape.  Its development not being a necessity, the Axorians had cultivated the land only halfheartedly, with fields of crops and pastures of livestock intermingled among miles of woodland.  Emerging from such a forest, one would spot, faintly iridescent in the post-twilight rays, the dull blue of an Axorian barn and farmhouse roof.

            Alex, who had apparently traveled much through the south-west of the continent, was generous with his knowledge of local customs.  “The blue painting of the barns is an ancient tradition here.  Axoria hasn’t been involved in an armed conflict over borders with its neighbors for six centuries.  Of course, it usually sends troops in support of the Republic’s causes whatever those are, but Axoria hasn’t fought in a war on Axoria’s behalf for centuries.  But way back, before borders were well-established on universally acknowledged maps drawn by government-appointed cartographers, the color of the barns in any given vicinity was used to identify the country to travelers unsure of their exact location.  Blue’s the most prominent color on the Axorian flag, so blue’s the color of Axorian barns.  In Liethenia, they’re a dark green; in Straulstvania, a bold crimson.” 

            The major paused and looked around himself as if surveying with satisfied familiarity a neighboring district of his own province.  “Sometimes it seems like Axoria may as well have joined the Republic when the offer was extended so long ago.  Without Straulstvania’s membership, it would have been fairly cut off from the rest of the country anyway by the Myrabion range.  But Axoria is proud of its independence, just like, I suppose, countries like Straulstvania and Elsinia, and even Casponilo and Myrthai are, although they’ve all got their own very unique forms of nationalism.”

            He paused again while his thoughts, evidently, had time to fly hundreds of miles to the north-west, to the fort that housed the only safe aquelecom of which he knew.  “That fort, Verstonherst, is actually a castle.  It was built three hundred fifty years ago, a few decades before the Great War, which was the last time it saw really serious conflict.  It’s too far from the border to have gotten much action since.  There have been little skirmishes, of course.  The biggest was around sixteen decades ago, when a little war in Straulstvania spilled over into the southern Republic.”

            Lucius nodded.  “The Bleeding Goat War, grown out of riots protesting the political faction then in power into a bitter civil war that lasted four years and wrecked the country.”

            “Your Freborian history classes were thorough.”

            “The academy was thorough about military history, anyway.  We studied to at least some extent every armed conflict, major or minor, that occurred in the last four hundred years, every major conflict for the last millennium, and a few selected wars from before that.”

            The major nodded in approval.  “Then you know that it’s only because of its location that Verstonherst still exists as what it is today.  The castles built in more volatile areas, like those historic ones that defended the Neirh, and the famous armored naval base on the tip of the Saragian, have all been destroyed, trampled under the relentlessly forward-marching boots of technology and magic.”

            The lieutenant shrugged.  “That’s progress.”

            “I guess it is.  But I lament past ages sometimes, if only because sword wounds would be so much more desirable than bullet wounds.  A sword wound is either lethal or it isn’t.  It’s clean.  Maybe it requires an amputation or something, but there’s not much to it.  If it’s to the abdomen, the patient is probably lost, so the doctor has only to ease the suffering.  If it misses the vitals, magic is used to help heal the organs that are damaged, and then the wound is bandaged and the patient is sent off somewhere to convalesce.  Bullets are nasty things.  They don’t just cut or pierce.  They smash and traumatize.  They can fragment.”  He shook his head.  “Nasty things,” the doctor repeated.

            “Of course, there’s always been magic.”

            “Yes.  Not always as refined as it is now, but yes, and it’s always been devastating.  But it still, in all its multifarious forms, isn’t as messy as a bullet wound.  And at least it can both heal and harm.  No one’s life has ever been saved by a bullet, except at the expense of someone else’s life,” he sighed.  Alex then cast an inquisitive look on Lucius.  “Can you perform medical magic?” he asked.  Lucius realized that the idealistic major yearned for an affirmation, yearned to be able to see his fellow in the shining light of a saver of lives rather than in the darkness of a soldier, a destroyer.
            “No, not really,” he answered.  “Of course, I know some basic medical procedures to help treat wounds that aren’t too severe, but I’m not a doctor or a medic.  I’m a military sorcerer.  Anyone who has magic potential has the ability to apply that potential in any way he or she wishes; to become an enchanter, an engineer, a doctor, a sorcerer, or whatever, but it all takes training.  I’ve got the training of a sorcerer.”

            Alex nodded in acceptance but said nothing.

            Camp was made quickly that night and broken quickly the next morning before dawn.  Conversation was stifled for the duration of the morning’s accelerated ride.  They reached Ericica in a few hours.  Trains ran almost continuously back and forth between that city and Straulstvania’s capital Chebarov, the two countries being linked closely economically if not diplomatically.  Fortunately, the next departure was only half an hour away when they arrived.

            Lucius looked around the city, the capital both of the modest country’s government and commerce, with a naïve awe that amused the major.  The mage had never seen a city, and only very rarely buildings of three stories aside from Freboria castle.  The tallest edifice to pass through Lucius’s gaze had a dizzying nine stories.

            “This is a town compared to the cities of the Republic,” Alex remarked.

            “And even compared to the smaller cities of the Monarchy too, I’m sure.  It’s still a monument to human industriousness.”

            “That it is.”

            “I prefer the country.  It is too noisy, too hot, and too crowded here.”

            The boarding the train was swift and efficient.  Again, Alex paid for both tickets on his credit, made possible by a relatively centralized banking system that used magic to communicate and coordinate transactions.  In a similar way, horses could be exchanged.  Most stables in cities and larger towns were owned by very large companies, so that a person could, as Lucius and Alex would do, purchase a horse in one town, return it to the company that had sold it in a city, ride a train to another city, and then select a different horse free of charge from the stable in the second city.

            Once aboard the train, Alex mentioned to Lucius, “The ride from Chebarov to Verstonherst will be short, and we’ll be riding along the northern side of the Myrabions for a little ways before we arrive.  The wind off the mountains is cold.  You’ll like it.  I’m sure the heat of a country so far south is uncomfortable to a northerner like you.”

            Lucius only nodded distantly as he stared out the window into a void of his imagination.  It was difficult to judge, the young lieutenant having been removed so recently from a situation of horror, but the doctor was of the impression that Atratus was a moody youth.  He had not been disagreeable, and seemed passably mature, but there was something vaguely unsettling in him that transcended the obvious effects of his confinement.  But there also had been an undeniable heroism when he had rowed so tenaciously in the storm on the gulf.  Remembering, Alex asked, “Lucius, do you mind if I take a look at your right shoulder and back?”

            Lucius turned his head to the doctor with a look of mild surprised that fluidly transfigured itself into a mild frown.  “Why would you think that there’s something wrong with my back?”

            “Because of the way you winced when you took the oars in the boat.  Even if your muscles were fatigued and aching, the adrenaline should have completely negated that.”

            Lucius looked both reluctant and a little relieved, like someone about to confess, but glad to be rid of a burden.  “Wait until Verstonherst.”

            The doctor rubbed his forehead and temple in comprehension of the indubitable gravity of whatever Lucius was trying to conceal.  “You obviously don’t want to slow down our progress toward the fort.  That’s understandable.  But that you think that the severity of your wound would slow us down means that you think that it would require surgery.  That means it probably would.  I’ll agree not to treat it until we get to Verstonherst.  I probably wouldn’t be able to do much anyway.  I’m generally a very qualified surgeon considering my severe magical inability, but that does mean I need supplies.  The only way to treat anything before Verstonherst would be to go to a hospital, and I agree that that is not an option.  But I would like at least to take a look at it.”

            “Fine.”  Lucius pulled down the right shoulder of his shirt, a new cotton shirt purchased by Cutler in the South Axorian town.  Alex gave a quiet start.  He’d treated much worse, but hadn’t expected what he saw.  The flesh was badly mangled and much of it completely missing in an area almost ten centimeters across.  Cutler could make out the shapes of two ribs beneath a thin layer of skin.  But he did not see the work of a conventional weapon.  There were no gashes; it looked instead as though a section of the lieutenant’s back had been melted off.  The healing process, at least, had progressed remarkably.

            “How did you manage to row like this?  How have you even managed to ride?”

            “The same way I have skin on my back.  Magic.”

            “This sort of thing can’t be healed with some quickly applied field magic alone.  That’s a rudimentary, temporary solution that’ll do for now, but you do need surgery.”

            “I know.”

            Alex paused.  “How did it happen?”

            Lucius’s blank stare continued, now into the back of the unoccupied seat in front of him.  “It’s the cost of a Republican life.”

            Alex left it at that.  He’d avoided dwelling on the conditions on the island.

            Lucius, however, apparently concerned that his companion would resume the topic after another pause, diverted the conversation.  “It’ll be a trip of a few hours after we arrive in Chebarov to get to Verstonherst, no?”

            “That’s right.  We’ll ride due west out of Straulstvania into the Republic, across the Myrabion foothills, and the fort will be on the other side.  We’ll be just far enough north to avoid any mountains, and I think it’ll be faster to go directly through the foothills rather than around them.”

            The sorcerer smiled weakly.  “‘The Republic’” he quoted.  “It’s unified enough that one would expect a proper name for the thing.”  He clearly had no intention of keeping his mind in one place, and was rambling now.  Alex guessed that there was something else on his mind, and decided to indulge the invented distraction.

            “The same could be said of the Monarchy, I guess, but it’s unnamed for the same reason.  You know there was a time when the provinces were called states, and the names ‘Republic’ and ‘Monarchy’ just described the style of government that presided over a weak alliance that only gradually grew stronger.  Anyway, they’re probably still not done growing.  I mean, the end of the main phase of growing inclusion was four hundred years ago, around when the province that now contains Verstonherst joined the Republic, but it wasn’t until two hundred fifty years ago that the Republic obtained most of the Saragian Peninsula.  And who’s to say the Monarchy won’t one day include Casponilo?”

            Lucius half-heartedly raised his shoulders in an expression of indifference, already bored with the conversation he’d begun.  Cutler still pressed on.

            “And the Republic and Monarchy are the only countries not to have one uniform dialect throughout, which of course is a symptom of their sizes, but you know, the word ‘republic’ isn’t even the same everywhere in the Republic.”  A questioned occurred to him.  “Speaking of that, I’ve been wondering: how is it that you were able to understand me so quickly, while I struggled at first with your dialect?  Maybe it didn’t seem so to you because I guessed so much about things, but it was rather difficult.”

            “Because you speak a dialect very similar to the Fulstead dialect.  It’s just a simpler version, really.”

            “And you speak the Fulstead dialect?”

            Lucius smiled.  “Well, I understand it.  We were required to learn it at the academy.  I know the language, but I confess that I speak it with a horrible accent.”

            Alex chuckled.  “Give it a try.  Say something complicated, like with the conditional of the future immediate reverse perfect tense and a subordinate clause in the subjunctive.”

            “You sound like Professor Newlend, but fine.”  He then said, with badly mauled consonants and distorted vowels, “If ever in coming years I am to receive the knowledge that they be offered for free, I would be then about to adopt a puppy.”

            “The grammar is impeccable, anyway.”

            “Yes, it may be of use eventually, if I someday have a pen pal in the Republican government!  But which would have been a greater impediment for you in understanding my speech: my thick Freborian accent you hear when I speak in the Fulstead dialect, or the utter foreignness of my native dialect?”

            Alex conceded that, once he had become more familiar with it, the latter had been much more intelligible.

            “Still, it’s quite the accomplishment.”

            “I don’t know.  Some of my classmates balked at the twenty-seven tenses, but that’s counting combinations, and there are so many only because its tenses are so complete and precise.  The harder part was the conjugations.  In Freborian, as you no doubt realize, we have no conjugations.  We have auxiliary verbs for all of our tenses – I believe there are only sixteen – and articles denote case.  In the Fulstead dialect, even the few auxiliary verbs they have are conjugated!  Well, anyway, I guess what I’ve said isn’t entirely true – the hardest part wasn’t the conjugations.  I’ve learnt all of those, but I still struggle with the accent.  Freborian has a much coarser sound, doesn’t it?”

            Following this, conversation was finally exhausted.  Aside from the regular, blunted beating noise of the train and the subdued conversations of other passengers, the rest of the trip was passed in silence.

            Lucius’s mind drifted.  He thought of his friend, Bentley, almost unquestionably still a captive of Lemenge’s megalomania; his dreary and now conquered homeland of Freboria; his family, unaware of his fate; the actions that the leaders in Fulstead may take when they were informed of the use of the supposedly discontinued prison camp on the island in the Ribecarian Gulf; and his own unforeseeable future.  Leeds had always been more prudent than Atratus; he would probably be able to persevere until freed.  The Republic was not evil, and Freboria would be fine.  Once the fighting drew to a close, most of the invaded lands would be traded back for other lands and various legal and diplomatic rights anyway.  It was impossible to tell what his family may be thinking, but he’d write them a letter in Verstonherst to be delivered by the postal system of the Republicans, efficient and rapid even in occupied territories.  It was also hard to tell how the Republicans would deal with the situation in the Gulf.  They’d probably send a force down to relieve Lemenge of his command, properly shut down the prison, and send the prisoners home.

            More than all else, though, Lucius was uncertain of himself.  He owed a great deal to the province that had trained and educated him to be what he was and what he was supposed to be: a lieutenant in its military.  But he had seen more of the world, and he wondered if the restless spirit he knew himself to be would be content remaining in cold and isolated Freboria.  He certainly wouldn’t join the regular Monarchy military, but there were all sorts of opportunities for an adventurer in a world that was still very incompletely tamed.  There were even stories of the discovery by far-roaming Republican sailors of a continent on the far, unnavigated side of the world, fertile, unlike the small desert continent that was known to exist somewhere to the south.

            The mage decided to dwell on romantic notions of this untouched land.  The globe had been circumnavigated for the first time a few centuries ago, and little no land had been found but an archipelago here and there.  The known continent was undoubtedly the greatest continent on the planet, but it would have been easy for the oceanic explorers to have missed something smaller but still significant.  According to the rumors published in newspapers, this was what had happened.  The smaller continent brimmed with natural resources, and while it was at the time uneconomical to import from that unnamed land while the main continent remained plentiful enough to support the empire of man, it was expected that the day would come when the known side of the world would be wrung dry enough that industrialists would be willing to pay the price of importation.  In the meantime, it may be prudent to begin colonizing that completely uninhabited continent.  It may someday sport great cities of its own, and sooner rather than later, Lucius, imagined, it would be home to many who sought a new start, if indeed it existed.

            The train rolled on, and Lucius allowed his turbulent thoughts to lapse into sleep.

Chapter IV

            Alex roused himself early and made his way onto the deck.  Health inspections could be tedious, but this represented Alex’s last break before yet another field hospital.  He didn’t hate his occupation, he kept reminding himself.  He hated the gore and the death and the moaning of his compatriots.  Anyone would hate that.  He didn’t hate his occupation.  His occupation was helping, and he was good at it.  The hospitals he ran were some of the most efficient, and he was one of the Republican military’s most valued anatomists.

            It was a dark morning, Cutler noted.  Somewhere across the ship a sailor was playing a guitar and singing an ancient Saragian folk tune in a dialect thick with euphonic rhymes and almost impossible to understand.  The major closed his eyes, took in the sounds of the steady melody, and wondered about the subject of the lyrics.  Alex didn’t know much about music, but he could tell that they key was minor.  A song about homesickness or a forsaken love would be fitting.  He swung his foot to the rhythm.  He’d considered buying Emily a guitar as a gift for Spring Festival, but hadn’t had the opportunity.  Spring Festival wasn’t traditionally a gift-giving holiday, but on occasion, gifts were exchanged anyway.

            The doctor disembarked at six hundred hours after eating a small breakfast of potato slices.  As he was rowed toward the shore in one of the ship’s boats, he noted how invigorating the fresh air of the island felt.  He was greeted at the dock by an officer wearing a captain’s bars.  She saluted.  “Major Cutler, I am Captain Solovna.  I’ll be guiding you on your tour of the laboratories.”  She led him to a waiting carriage, which carried both of them down a short road to the research buildings.

            The complex was neither strikingly large nor small.  There were only five buildings, comprising a central office, the main research building, a secondary research building, a warehouse for various supplies, and a hospital in case of an accident which, Cutler was informed, had never to date occurred.  The buildings were just far enough inland that they were out of sight of the shore, and were located at the base of something of a large hill.  To the right, a path stretched around the hill toward an unseen destination.

            Cutler was first led into the office, where he was introduced to Major General Joseph Lemenge, the commander of the research facility and an accomplished wizard himself.  The general was a tall man, just short of middle age, with a darkly intelligent demeanor.  The time he spent with Lemenge was short, but the general left a lasting impression of uneasiness.  After the commander, Alex was introduced other officers of varying importance.  After these formalities, he was lead to the first of the research buildings.

            The work that took place on this island was not highly publicized, but Alex understood one of its chief functions to be the development of defenses to a magically-engineered plague.  This had become a terrifying possibility in the past few years with significant advancements in the understanding of human physiology and the functioning of enchantments on a microscopic level.  Other wizards, most unsettlingly primarily in the Monarchy, had found evidence that the conversion of mass to energy through a magical medium may be possible.  For ages it had been understood that mass could be converted into a bound form of magical energy; this was how shape-shifters were able to gain and lose fractions of their weight.  But the energy thus created could only be used later to recreate the mass that had been destroyed.  If it were possible to unbind this energy and apply it elsewhere, the destruction of matter could yield devastating results, one kilogram being approximately equal to 89.87 quadrillion jolls of energy.

            Alex didn’t understand the functions of the more intricate tools, but he did know about the containment of pathogens.  All agents on which experiments were carried out were supposedly naturally-occurring.  One of the central items of research was the artificially imbuement of these diseases with a marker that could not be destroyed by mutation and that would physically repel them from areas with a certain enchantment.  Since this was more a part of the research than an actual safety measure, airlocks and subatmospheric pressures were also employed, made possible by further use of magic.  Tests were done to ensure that the markers worked correctly and that the airlocks were secure.  After finishing his inspection of one of the last suites in the primary building, Cutler couldn’t resist asking if any militarily feasible plague had been created in the course of the research.

            Solovna shook her head, not in a response to the question, but to the asking of the question itself.  “Such work is prohibited by very serious and rigorously enforced international laws.  Facilities like these exist only to protect Republican citizens in the event that a foreign power breaking those laws.”

            “But has anything been created in the course of research, even if just for testing purposes?”

            “Either way, the answer is confidential.”

            Alex nodded.  The rest of the building was inspected without any conversation between the two beyond the completely necessary.

            When the building was finished the two exited and walked toward the secondary research building.  During the short walk, Cutler thought he heard sounds, and among them voices, coming from somewhere beyond the hill, but he wasn’t sure, and so continued following Captain Solovna.  He also noted that the air seemed less pleasant than the sweet sea air nearer the coast of the island.

            It was in the second building that more tangential projects were undertaken.  Because of this, its uses were generally more varied, and the equipment was less uniform, requiring a more detailed inspection of each piece.  Happily, though, some of it was not meant for experimentation on biological agents at all, and therefore did not require inspection.  While passing one such suite, Alex allowed his gaze to pass over the various scientific instruments therein.  The suite itself, like the others, was kept very tidy, and its furnishings were on the whole boring.  The entire thing was made of a very dense species of wood that was no more difficult to decontaminate than metal, almost as fire-resistant, and which was far cheaper to produce.  The instruments Cutler observed looked more like weapons than scientific tools, but he allowed his ignorance to be the researchers’ excuse.

            The secondary research building’s tour was concluded, and then, too, was that of the supply building.  Even in the supply building, there were areas from which the major’s eyes were kept, it being explained that the supplies there had no pertinence to his inspection.  It felt odd that the inspector was not the one in charge, but such was the way the army operated; Cutler was subject to the authority of General Lemenge, who had apparently deemed only certain areas worth inspecting.

            The hospital was, as expected, the easiest building to examine.  The doctor looked with envy upon the unused surgical implements.  It was easy, at least, to determine that all met the regulations.  Once the inspections were finished, Alex was led back to the offices, where he filled out some necessary paperwork and met again with Lemenge.

            When he left the office, still with Captain Solovna, who was to escort him back to the coast, Alex noticed footprints along the path leading behind the hill.  He was forced to ask his guide, “Captain, do people frequent the other area of the island, where the prison camp used to be?

            She turned and regarded him, somewhat severely, but didn’t answer.  Then, “That area was decommissioned years ago.”

            “Yes, but if people still frequent it, I should inspect it as well, especially given its former nature.”

            “It isn’t part of the inspection.  Don’t waste your time.”

            “On the contrary, my mandate is to inspect all facilities on the island.  The general’s power of exclusion is not unlimited, despite appearances.”

            Solovna shook her head.  “Follow me.  Your boat will be waiting.”

            Cutler felt that he was far more intimidated by Solovna than he should have been by a subordinate officer.  Yet, he did feel more intimidated by General Lemenge.  It wouldn’t be to the general that he would press his case.  All things considered, it must have been the accumulated, and justified, impressions of secrecy that Alex felt that made him quiet his steps.

            There was something distinctly wrong on the island.  Alex had a heavy feeling of foreboding, and he knew that if he boarded the boat, he would be taken away from it, back to the familiar.  But he couldn’t bring himself to shrug off the impulse that pressed itself upon him more and more like a duty.

            Cutler had lightened his footsteps to the point that they would not be missed by Solovna were they to disappear.  And they did.

            As the distance between the captain and major grew, Alex quickened his pace, and then began to run.  He didn’t know how he’d explain himself if he found nothing, but he also knew he wouldn’t find nothing.  Suddenly, he was very grateful for the sidearm that Republican officers wore at almost all times.

            Doing his best to stay out of the view of the windows of the offices, Alex jogged down the path that led beyond the hill.  When he emerged from behind the rise, he stopped in his tracks.  But only for a second.

            A soberingly cold wind struck the major’s face, bent the grass, and shook the leaves of a few distant trees.  He hadn’t noticed how dark the sky was.  The ominousness of the weather struck him all the more forcefully in light of what stood before him.

            There lay another complex, certainly not deserted, of buildings much more sinister in appearance.  There were watch towers, what he knew to be dungeons, a central, oddly shaped building, and another, probably for administrative purposes.

            A baritone horn was being played to announce the time – it was eighteen hundred hours.  This was not a customary practice in the Republican military, and only done when the time was of some significance to the schedule.

            It clearly was significant, because prisoners in shackles were being shepherded by guards to and from the central building.  Alex noticed that these groups almost never traveled in a straight path from the dungeon to the building; the guards kept the groups of prisoners separate, as if afraid that, if allowed too close together, they would rise up against their captors.  Alex also noticed the wands of an apparently high quality carried by all the guards.

            This whole installation was illegal.  It wasn’t supposed to exist, and the conditions of imprisonment were fairly obviously in violation of international treaties.  The major was morally outraged that the country he so dutifully served could perpetrate such a crime.

            But then he remembered that the country did not commit this crime.  People did.  Lemenge did.  Something had to be done.  Cutler unholstered his pistol and advanced unthinkingly toward the nearest group.  The guard was following three prisoners.  The prisoners were forced to walk in front for safety, no doubt.  The whole progression was outside the square of dungeons, and just passing through a small section of out view of the guard towers.

            Just as Cutler found himself upon the guard, it was as if he regained consciousness.  He didn’t remember approaching the group, and certainly didn’t know what he was about to do.

            With no other option, the major struck the guard over the head with his pistol.  The thud caused the prisoners to turn.  For a moment, the doctor and the men, all of the prisoners being of poor health, stared at each other.  Neither party knew what to make of the other.  Finally, Alex articulated, “Come.”

            Glancing wildly around, he set off away from the complex on a course that appeared to avoid the line of sight of any watchtowers.  The prisoners hesitated but followed.  One of the foremost, a stout young man of around twenty three years, walked forward next to Cutler and addressed the liberator with a southern Monarchy accent.

            “Do you have a means of removing our chains?”

            “No.”

            “Where are we going?”

             After a pause, “Fulstead.”

            “How?”

            “Over the Gulf, across Axoria, around the Myrabion Mountains, through Straultsvania, and either up the Neirh along or across the Eastern Republican countryside.”

            “Let’s start with the first part.  How are we getting off this island?  Don’t you have a boat?  Who are you?”

            “I don’t have a boat.  It’s all a little too difficult to explain now, but I was planning on stealing one.  I’m sure there’s a dock on the northwestern side of the island with a few.”

            “I’m not so sure, but we obviously don’t have a choice.  Now tell us who you are.”

            Before Cutler could explain his identity, another prisoner, younger-looking, with a pale complexion and dark black hair approached the front of the progression and began to speak.  “If you will permit it, since I know now where you are going, I will split away from you and rejoin you at the dock on the northern shore.  I assure you, an alarm will not be raised on the account of my actions.  I know how I can free us of these chains and lend credence to the story I’m sure you intend us to relate before the High Court in Fulstead.”  He spoke with an accent alien to Alex, and his rendering of the major’s dialect was imperfect so that Cutler was unable to understand parts of the speech.  Alex guessed that he was from somewhere in the isolated north of the Monarchy.

            “If you are confident in your mission, then fine, but if you know where the dock is, perhaps you should guide us.”

            The young northerner shook his head.  “I only think I know where it is.  My guidance would be of little advantage.  Especially because I can accomplish more by fulfilling these different tasks.”

            Alex shrugged, and the youth departed.  Away from the prison area, there was a fair amount of woods – at least a sufficient amount of cover.  Luckily, the band had begun its flight near the perimeter, and the young prisoner quickly disappeared into the foliage, newly dense with the infant leaves of spring.  The rest of the group continued forward, through the trees, as if without regard for its diverging member.  The island was between storms as it were, and as the sun was setting, its golden rays broke through the dissipating clouds, even as more advanced from the east, to illuminate the scene and turn lingering droplets of water on the plants into beads of molten gold.  It was as if nature were encouraging the men to celebrate their newly regained freedom, or, more sinisterly, to forget that so many still lacked theirs.

            As they ran onward, Alex inquired to the prisoner with whom he had spoken earlier about the nature of the prison.

            “Why are you being kept here?  Your incarceration is illegal, even if you have done some wrong; this prison isn’t recognized by the Republic.  So probably you have not done anything wrong.”

            “We are mages.”

            Alex nodded.  “I may have surmised as much.”

            The land was sloping down, and the fugitives ran at an increased pace.  By this time, their absence was sure to have been noticed.

            “If mages, what has kept you from rising up and freeing yourselves?  Your weapons cannot truly be taken from you.”

            “Most of us do require wands and staffs for powerful spells.  These were taken.  More powerfully, there is fear.  Sure, most of us could manage to kill a guard, or even two.  But it would be impossible to escape.  The perpetrator would face immediate death.  In fact, that boy whom you allowed to run off on his own sports a nasty wound from a guard’s wand, received after killing one.  They would have executed him in front of us very gruesomely if you had not arrived.”  Alex raised his eyebrows at this.  “It makes me wonder where he’s going,” the former prisoner concluded.

            Alex led on in silence.  Though he was unsurprised, it was to his chagrin that he heard faint shouts from behind, forcing the group toward the beach ever faster.  But once there, the garrison that was almost certainly at the dock would have to be evaded or incapacitated.  As he continued through the trees in the glowing evening light, Major Cutler had more and more impression that he had begun a nightmare for himself, even as the men whom he’d freed had more and more the impression that one was ending.

            The major was unable to gauge how much time had passed when the shore came into view; excitement always tended to distort his perception of time.  He could indeed make out a small dock, where boats from ships may have unloaded supplies, or from which fishing boats may have once set sail before the island had been procured by the Republic for its current use.  In either case, the underwater topology of the area wouldn’t permit a larger vessel drawing very near.

            Apparently, the dock was now used for patrol boats; civilian crafts had to be kept from the area somehow.  With any manner of providence, this extra bit of security that would otherwise be an obstacle would in fact offer an escape.

            There was room for three boats at the dock.  Only one was present.  On it were three workers, apparently preparing it for a patrol.  The major judged that it would be most advantageous to take action before the workers were alerted by the approaching shouts of the pursuers.  He thought quickly to devise a way to incapacitate those between him and his escape.

            Cutler’s thoughts were interrupted by two shots in quick succession, and then a third after a short delay.  Startled, Alex’s gaze shot to his left.  There stood the prisoner who had left the group, free of his chains, clutching a gun the Republican major identified as one of the finer firearms issued to soldiers.  Beside the former prisoner was a man dressed in a guard uniform, likewise holding a weapon to his shoulder.

            Looking back at the boat, Alex saw instead of three dock workers three corpses.  The outright killing of his countrymen made him feel a momentary faintness, but this quickly passed in the urgency of the situation.

            “Onto the boat!”  He ordered immediately, the instinct to command inherent in all senior officers failing to desert the major in this situation of need.  It took only seconds for the prisoners and guard to clamber into the vessel, but in that brief time, soldiers had appeared on the not-too-distant horizon of the hill the group had just run down.  Alex looked at the boat, back to the approaching soldiers, drew his sword, cut the moorings, sheathed his sword, drew his pistol, aimed, and fired hesitantly at the charging Republicans.  The boat began to drift away at once.  “Fool!” someone shouted from the boat.  It was the prisoner who had earlier left the group and who had returned with the Republican guard.  “Lower the lifeboat!” Cutler heard him shout.  Directly there was a splash.  Alex turned to look behind him.

            The former prisoner was swimming toward him.  The boat had drifted a surprising distance away.  The northerner pulled the officer into the water, and they swam toward the lifeboat, nearer than the patrol boat, but still connected to it by a rope.  They had just gotten into it when an atrociously unlucky bullet severed the line connecting them with the others.

            For a moment, the Monarchist turned a silently enraged glare at the major.  “You are an idiot,” was all that could be mustered.  He then seized Cutler’s pistol and began to fire at the Republican guards nearing the shore, saying only the command, “Row.”  This Alex did, pulling with all his might on the oars, trying to steer the small craft toward the patrol boat, from which he could hear more firing.

            Amidst all the gunfire, Alex’s attention was drawn to another sound.  It was a low rumbling, in contrast to the sharp reports of the guns.  Looking to the south, he saw storm clouds advancing with a startling rapidity, appearing almost to be engulfing the island.  Lightning flashed to the right and left.

            The major felt like an embarrassed child before this seventeen-year-old.  The excuse that he was unused to battle, having served mostly in mobile field hospitals, came to his mind, but Alex quickly determined that the voicing of such a stupid thing by a seasoned army officer would only demean him more, and so remained silent on the matter, implying his acknowledgment of the validity of the condemnation.  Instead, he only remarked, “We must regain the boat; that storm would be dangerous for us.”

            The other shook his head.  “The wind will make it impossible.  But let us try all the same.”

            As if conjured by the mage’s words, the lifeboat was buffeted by a blast of salty air that lifted water over the edges and dumped it into the boat.  Bullets from the shore had left holes in the boat’s sides, but luckily none were dangerously close to the waterline.  Still, the storm presented a new danger.

            Seeing that they were finally out of range of the shore, Cutler breathed a sigh of relief.  He was checked by a severe look from his fellow.  “I’m sure the other two boats that are kept at that dock will be coming after us.  And mark, it’ll be after us that they come.”  He looked over Alex’s shoulder.  Alex turned his head and saw with an instant feeling of defeat the distance of the lifeboat from the stolen patrol boat.  The wind had blown it farther away, and those aboard it seemed to be struggling to control the boat’s magic-powered propulsion system.

            Turning back, Alex shrugged.  “The weather may keep them away.”  The mage did not respond.

            “What is your name?” Alex asked presently as he rowed.

            “Lucius Atratus, Lieutenant in the military of Freboria.”

            “Freboria.  I might have guessed.”

            “You are planning on travelling to Fulstead?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why not contact the capital via an aquelecom?”  These were large, immobile devices that were constructed in important places and which could use magic to communicate with other such devices on the same network, used most broadly by militaries and news agencies.

            “In theory, that should be possible, but I fear General Lemenge’s influence to much to try it.  The Tribune of the Military, as the office is called, is obligated to hear the statements of those seeking to reveal corruption or injustice in the military, either in person or over an aquelecom, with the understanding, of course, that liars will be punished heavily for their perjury.  But Lemenge will have all those under his influence deny anyone fitting any of our descriptions deny us an audience with the Tribune and arrest us.  It would be much safer, through longer, to travel to Fulstead in person and avoid any authority lesser than the Tribune herself.”

            Lucius frowned, but then shrugged and nodded.  “You know your own country.  We’ll do as you judge to be prudent.”

            Already darkness was pouring over the sea as the sea was pouring into the small wooden craft.  The boat of the other escapees was lost in the storm and the night.  Alex continued to row, his arms driven on indefatigably by his feeling of desperation of being trapped in a hostile gulf in a now hostile world with just one true ally.  He caught the eye of the other passenger.

            “Who was that guard you brought with you to the boat?” he couldn’t help inquiring, shouting a little to make himself heard.

            Lucius shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Just a guard.  His name was Victor.  I don’t know much else.”

            Cutler frowned.  “Why did he come with you?  Why did you seek him out?”

            “Well, he got my chains off.  And why did he come with me?  I offered him an opportunity to escape.  Well, you did, I suppose.”  Lucius laughed a little.  “Really, not even that.  You didn’t do much.  But I’ll give you credit: you catalyzed the escape.  Anyway, as he described the situation to me, most of the guards are unwilling participants in the crimes of that island, so he welcomed the opportunity.  It was there all along, but sometimes it takes something like the spontaneous courage of your little raid for people to take advantage of their opportunities.”  The mage shrugged again.

            Although he could figure out most of Lucius’s speech, the language barrier was becoming increasingly annoying to Alex.  He decided to ignore the words he didn’t understand.

            “Fear is a stupid emotion,” Lucius continued, reflectively.  “No doubt that’s the only reason why we were pursued, and why our pursuers fired on their fellows, you and Victor.”  He sighed.  “If they had the courage to simply set themselves free, their problems would be unraveled, but human nature does not permit them to see the solution that is so clearly before them.”

            They continued on voicelessly for some time.  Eventually, Lucius motioned to Alex.  “Let me row for a while.”  Alex consented.  As he dropped the oars, he was struck by his accumulated exhaustion, his body no longer able to ignore it out of the necessity of his exertion.

            When he had seated himself again in the stern, the major laid back and looked up at the sky.  Where the clouds were thinner, they glowed moodily with the veiled luminosity of the stars.  Elsewhere, bright flashes of lightening illuminated the violent expanse of water.  Suddenly, out of the roaring, watery blackness, the furious waves would appear, frozen by the instantaneousness of their lighting.  Their sides reflected the harsh light of the tormented sky; their peaks frothed like a mad animal.  After taking in the conditions of his environment, Alex turned his eyes to his companion rowing.  Lucius’s features were made to look harsh in the brutal light of the storm.  His eyes descending from the other’s face, the doctor saw a frame full of youthful vigor and potency, stained only by the former prisoner’s wince with every stroke of the oars.  The situation was too desperate for it to be worth the effort of inquiry.  All else was out of sight, and the men relied only in the constancy of their rowing and Lucius’s mage’s intuition for direction.

            Half an hour passed.  Lucius pointed behind them.  “There is a boat.”  Alex turned to look.  Although he didn’t initially see it, a boat was visible, intermittently, in the distance.  Alex watched, transfixed, waiting for the next flash of lightening to illuminate its progress.  Sometimes the flash would find it at the crest of a wave, as if about to plummet into the trough.  Other times, it would be wholly invisible, lost in the turbulent hills of water.  But always, even if only by small measures, it was undeniably advancing.

            “It looks like one of the patrol boats,” Alex recognized.

            “It is, I’m sure.  What other vessel would venture out on a night like this?”

            Alex looked back at his companion, unable to understand this last sentence, but dismissed his confusion as insignificant.  “It could be the other prisoners.”

            “It could be.”

            They continued on.  The other boat remained more or less in sight for an hour, slowly drawing nearer.  Lucius and Alex switched places again.  Finally, the boat was close enough to make out those on board.  The faces were unfamiliar, unfriendly.  It was not the other boat of escapees.

            “Keep us steady,” Lucius ordered.  It was a difficult command, but Alex did his best.  Lucius turned and raised himself a little from the seat.  During the moments the other boat could be seen, it was clear that its passengers had spotted the lifeboat.  Lucius stared intently in the direction of the boat, raising his right hand.  There was a flash, and Alex thought he heard distant cries through the tumult of the tempest.

            “What did you do?” the major questioned.  His inquiry did not express the deep concern he felt; his reservoirs of mental and physical strength were both nearly depleted.

            “The only sensible thing,” Atratus responded as he sank back into the boat.

            The next thing the doctor remembered was a discomfiting surprise at the absence of the forceful rocking of the gulf.  He opened his eyes slowly, startled by the calm.  The storm had passed, and the boat had somehow reached the northern shore of the Ribecarian.  For all Alex knew, he hadn’t even blacked out; it was possible that he had simply been too tired to remember anything.  Surely, the conscious effort of someone had kept the boat from capsizing.  The magnitude of this feat struck then him; they had been fantastically lucky.  They!  Yes, the memory of Lucius made its way into Alex’s disorganized and groggy mind.  Maybe Lucius had kept them afloat.

            Alex opened his eyes.  He saw faintly that dawn had just broken.  The sun ascended serenely in the east, and seagulls were flying through the air, enjoying the wonderful feeling of relief that follows such great furors.  The world seemed safe again.  But it was not.  Alex remembered that too, and he remembered the boat that Lucius had destroyed.  Alex climbed out of the boat and looked around.  Lucius was lying face-down on the sand of the small beach on which the boat had landed.  Landwards lay a great cliff.  Alex knelt and roused his companion.

            The two took a few minutes to compose themselves, and then began to disassemble the boat, tossing its rent wood and broken oars into the waves, or scattering them along the beach and covering them with sand in order to disguise the landing site.  Cutler appreciated the resources of the Republican military.  It would likely be able to find them if it so desired.  And Lemenge would want it to find them.

            Once the boat had been obliterated, Alex began to walk along the cliff.  Approaching a bend, he heard a sound of water different from the lapping of the tide.  On the other side of a rocky wall, a stream was flowing out of the cliff itself, onto the beach, and into the gulf.  Looking more closely, he saw that it flowed from a large cave.

            Cutler walked back, too tired to jog, and shouted to Lucius of his discovery.  They returned to the site of the subterranean stream’s emergence.  The young mage quickly scaled the face of the rock between the shore and the cave’s opening.  Alex walked to the base of the waterfall and began his own climb.  Nearing the entrance, he reached a hand upwards.  “Give me lift, comrade.”