Laughing, bronzed Bukal gestured to them. "You see, Craig? These are our weapons! Why should we kill, when we can hurt the cursed barons worse by sending their serfs through the skies to freedom?" Craig nodded. Another man came up. "We're ready, Bukal." "Good!" The Baemae leader strode to the shed and caught up a disc. "Here, Craig. Lend a hand!" Following his lead, Craig dragged a single saucer out into the open and spun it till it hovered on the wave-force. "Now lash it fast atop a unit." Moving the saucer to the nearest pile, Craig tied it down. A tilt--a shove--and all seven saucers took the air. A man scrambled aboard each cylinder as it rose. "North, now!" cried Bukal. "We'll see how the Lady Vydys likes running her estates without the Baemae!" Vydys--! Dark loveliness, rising from a dead guard's corpse with her knife still dripping blood. Craig shuddered. Only then they were rising, circling, and there was no time for thoughts or shudders. High through the emerald sky they flashed while the hills fell away and the village vanished. Koh's green ball sank from sight beyond the horizon. Roh climbed afar, tinting Lysor's fields all blue and purple. And still they raced north, the night wind whipping at hair and garments. Then, far below, a black line scarred the grasslands. Craig caught a faint shout: "The barrier!" Again, he was above the land of the Kukzubas barons. Ahead, the stocky Bukal waved a sweeping signal. Discs slipped earthward. Another signal. They dropped lower ... lower ... came at last to ground in the shadow of a grove of great sefopp trees. Out of the murk, the dim figure of a burly man hurried towards them. "Thank the gods, you've come!" Craig could see Bukal stiffen. "Why? Is there trouble?" "Is there anything _but_ trouble?" the other shot back, hoarse-voiced. "Someone betrayed your contact man to the Lady Vydys when she arrived back from Torneulan this morning. He died by her own hand in the torture chambers." Bukal cursed. "Did he talk?" "Would I be here if he had?" the burly man snarled back. He scrubbed his palms on the front of his loose Baemae tabard. "The others are waiting for me to bring the word of your coming." "Then get them!" The burly man vanished into the shadows. Bukal pivoted back to his helpers. "Hurry! Unlash the saucers!" In seconds, the cargo of discs was spread out. Already, more men from the estate shuffled from the grove's blackness. Then the burly man, too, returned. "All here," he grunted. Bukal shot a quick glance around. "No women--?" "No." The man shifted. "We thought you'd want fighters." "Fighters--?" Bukal stiffened. "What do you mean? Why would we need fighters?" The burly one fumbled. "Why ... to meet Zenaor's raiding party...." "_Raiders--!_" "Yes. Had you no warning?" The informer choked on his own spittle. "Vydys herself brought the word. Last night an alien from another system stole Zenaor's daughter and disced south with her. Now Zenaor swears--"