One by one. That's how it all started. The first froglok who had slipped away, to feel the unravelling, the reshaping found the island, and rested there. He was joined by another. And another.

They didn't speak for a long time, the first ones. They were content to rest, still feeling the newness, the strangeness, the glory of what they had become.

They had been transfigured.

They looked at each other, and marvelled. They looked within themselves, and were humbled.

How great had their god wrought! Were they worthy?

They gathered one by one, and shared the wonder of their new forms.

And, when there were enough, the older, the stronger among them began to speak.

And they spoke of war.

* * * * *

Grägok scowled at the smith, who was reshaping his helm. He knew better than to interrupt, though, and turned away to pace, instead. How long the trolls would be about their strange, foolish actions, he didn't know; but they wouldn't be at it forever.

The longer it took them to get ready, the more likely that the rest of the foul things would return from wherever they had gone. And if they returned...

Best not to think about that.

He watched the smith at work, the froglok's clever hands wielding the hammer with efficiency. He shook his head, and looked down at his own hands. His hands were large, and powerful. And not his.

He had started out the same colour as all the rest of them - a mottled and striped green, with light underbelly, and red eyes. His eyes were the only thing that had not changed. Like most of them, the first thing he had done on returning was find a mirror. Anyone who had known him before would not recognise him now. He had become a dark rust, fading to tan on his undersides, with black bands marking his back and flanks. Where he had been smooth, his skin was rough, and dry, and his shape... All of them wore it, and proudly. They had, after all, been Changed by the touch of Marr's own hand. He made a fist, looking at his knuckles. He would get used to his body eventually, he figured. He had already begun to put it through its paces, making sure that he knew how his balance worked with the changes. And it kept surprising him.

He was far from young. For more years than he had ever counted he had served his people as a war-leader, defending the home they had taken for themselves from the trolls outside, and from the Cursed ones inside. He was certainly not the only such leader, but he had done it far longer than most, and had retired at last. When he dared look at the truth, he would admit that he hadn't expected to live much longer. But the years had given him more experience than nearly any of his people. He suspected that was why he had been Chosen, in fact.

But the change had given him another gift... youth. Or relative youth, anyway. His body moved with an agility and speed that he vaguely remembered from his prime. The joint-pain that had crippled him these last years was gone entirely. He shook his head again. The shamans would figure it all out, and explain it to the rest of them. That was what they did, after all. Them and the priests.

He shook his head again. Priests. There had only ever been one or two priests, in all of Guk. The out and out worship of their god was never really of great importance, although it had been there. But now... There were quite a number who had been Chosen, who said that they had been called... and who suddenly had powers that the old priests had not dreamed of. It was strange.

But no stranger than feeling yourself change, he decided. They were all called, in a way. That he himself had heard the voice of his god... He straightened himself proudly. He would serve, as best as an old soldier could.

Or a not-quite-so-old soldier, at any rate. He flexed his hand again, watching the muscles move under his skin, then opened it, to look at his palm. His calluses were still there. He nodded. A good thing, too. It would make it awkward to hold a sword without them, when he was used to them being there.

The smith cleared his throat, and Grägok turned to him, nodding politely at the craftsman. He tried the helm on, and nodded again.

"Thank you," he said, as the other bowed. "It fits now."

"Good," the smith said, reaching up, to tug at one of the straps, with a frown. "It still needs a little work, though. These will have to be lengthened, Dar General Grägok."

Grägok shook his head. "Just Grägok, for now. It seems things are going to be changing for us." He smiled at the consternation on the smith's face. "Just pretend all of us are Vis or better. It'll be easier in the long run."

"But.. If you abandon your castes... how will you know what you are allowed to do?" The smith's face wore shock, and fear. "It would be chaos! Anyone doing whatever they wanted! Talking to anyone! It's madness!"

"We'll figure it all out," the warrior said dryly. "I'm sure we'll manage somehow." He pulled his helmet back off and fingered the straps. "And I'll see if I can't find something to lengthen these with. I've got a few rivets somewhere." He fixed his eye on the still-stunned smith, and nodded to him again in thanks before departing.

He sniffed as he hurried away. There was supposed to be a meeting soon where they would be discussing their plans. He had been worried that he would miss it. He would be leading one of the two groups that would be taking the front gate. He and the brilliant young Bok Warrior who had been...

Grägok shook his head again. He was falling into it himself. Did it matter what caste Faltip had been? Bok, Ton, Dar, Vis... castes didn't matter now. He'd just told the blasted smith that, hadn't he? Best stop thinking in those terms himself.

But Faltip was a skilled warrior, for all that he was so young. He was perfect for the position of the Commander of their army. People needed someone who inspired to lead. Faltip had that indefinable charisma that made others look to him. He also had the wisdom to ask for advice from those who had more experience when he was getting in over his head, as well as the ability to make a quick decision. Admirable traits in anyone... a perfect combination in a field marshal.

The only problem was... the field marshal was going to have to lead one of the prongs. There were only the three of them who had had the necessary experience to lead in battle. Which was why Giidib, who was more experienced, would be going alone to the back entrance by the river with his division, leaving Grägok and Faltip to attack from the front. Faltip would have the old general's experience beside him, to guide him when needed.

The warrior scratched his eye-ridge as he headed towards the meeting-place, thinking about what would await them.

The mushroom garden was the place picked for the meeting. It was one of the few places that would hold them all. They looked at each other as they gathered, and their hearts were joined as one.

Mithaniel Marr had wrought well. They would be the hand that would sweep the trolls from the swamps for good. They would be the weapon that won freedom for their people.

They counted themselves, then, when all had finally arrived, and they were quiet as they contemplated how few they truly were. But their numbers did not daunt them, for they had had visions of their success. They again turned to the talk that had begun in the swamp, of how to best compose the three divisions that would act out the plan that they had devised.

Some debate began, then, over the females. So few of them had been Chosen, although they were spread through all the castes. Many thought that they should be left behind, spared the fighting, to ensure that the fledgeling race would have a viable future. Some disagreed, saying that there would be no reason for them to continue once the trolls were driven away forever, and that the thought of founding a new race was foolish.

"We don't even know if we will breed true!" one exclaimed in frustration.
But the debate was put to rest by the females themselves. One stepped forward as a voice for them all.

"We are as much a part of this as you are. We are larger, stronger... we are equal in power where power lies. We will stand with you, and you will not deny us. We are Chosen, as you are." The pale blue female had a powerful voice. It carried through the gathered Chosen, and they listened. And they responded.

"It's only a moon - less! - before the time of breeding is on us. You are bearing, as all females are. It will slow you..." A warrior stood out from the crowd and frowned at the female.

She straightened her shoulders, and stood proudly. "Not that slow. We bear, yes. But we are not so great yet that we are unable to fight. My robes fit me now as they ever have. Even if I must loosen my sash."

Another female came to stand beside her. "And my armour fits me yet. We are not so changed that we must give up everything. The chain of our people... of our cousins... is flexible, and can be bent to our purposes. The only real problem is helms." The pale brown froglok smiled at the blue, and they exchanged nods of respect.

"In short, the only way you will keep us out of this fight is to imprison us. We are with you." The blue female's eyes shone a pale silver, and she turned them from one of the leaders up on the ledge to another.

Grägok smiled to himself as he watched her. She was strong-willed, that one. He nodded abruptly.

"Let them come," he said to the warrior beside him. Faltip turned, and looked at him. "If they all have so much spirit as this one, they will carry the day on their own."

The young warrior laughed. "Those are words of Truth, if I've ever heard them," he agreed. He raised his voice. "They will not be left behind. We will all go together. They are Chosen, as all of us are. Lord Marr did not set us to be one against another. Now, of all times, we need unity."

The murmurs of the crowd of transfigured frogloks showed that the debate was not over, but that the decision was accepted. They moved on to other things, one of the priests, an older, quiet froglok addressing the crowd.

Grägok smiled again, and found his eyes seeking out the female who had spoken. "Who is she?" he asked of the warrior beside him. "Do you know?"

Faltip shook his head, but nudged Giidib, who stood on his other side, and muttered to him as they listened to the priest. He turned back. "M'jou. Wizard. Powerful one, too. Her caste..."

"Doesn't matter," the old froglok said, grimacing. "We'd best get that sorted soon, Faltip. As soon as possible, after the fight."

The young warrior stared at him, then nodded. "That's a good point," he said after a moment's thought. "Whatever else we are, we will not be as we were. We have a chance here to shape something better." He looked back out over the people gathered before and below him. "We are all Chosen. We should stay equal, if nothing else. We're all the same to Marr."

Grägok nodded, his eyes straying back to the outspoken wizard who had championed her sex. "M'jou, eh?" he muttered, watching her. "She'll likely have some thoughts on that to help us out. I'll go chat with her, I think."

"See if you can get her to join us. I'd like a wizard's opinions on some of what we plan. These are good plans, but another mind, and another pair of eyes would be welcome."

"Excuse me? I would like to interrupt, and steal this lady away for a little while."

M'jou turned from her discussion with the priestess who had stood beside her in the meeting, and blinked in surprise at the figure who stood watching them speak.

"Which of us would you like to steal, sir?" she asked after a moment, suppressing a twinge of irritation at the interruption. It was another warrior by his stance. This would be the third that had sought her out to complain about her words to the assembly. What made males who put on a helmet and picked up a sword so obstinate, so certain that their way was the one, true way? And so willing to argue about it?

"You, if you are M'jou." He bowed slightly. "I was hoping you would be willing to answer a few questions."

"I am M'jou. You have the advantage of me." She kept her face polite, and waited to see how he would respond. Most so far had not bothered to even introd...

"I am Grägok. I would like to know if you had any advice on how to best deploy those of your skills in battle. We have some ideas, but thought it would be best to ask someone who would actually know the answers. And you impressed us earlier." He smiled slightly. "Would you accompany me?"

He made a gesture towards one of the exits. "We've found a small unused chamber to work in. Giidib will be taking over in here, and setting up the general ranks, and the healers."

She stared at him, then belatedly bowed herself. "I would be honoured," she said, and nodded to the priestess before turning to follow him.

She took the opportunity to study the warrior as they hurried through the corridors towards whatever meeting place the leaders had snuck off to, after the initial explanations were given to those gathered below. The few who had the skills to lead....

"Did you say your name was Grägok?" she asked suddenly, her step slowing as she stared at him. "Dar General Grägok?"

"I was called so. But the ‘Dar' part doesn't seem to fit well now, although it seems I'll be ‘General' again." He nodded, and there was amusement in his eyes. "There is an old saying, ‘The more things change...'"

She smiled. "I've heard that one." She quickened her pace again, as she worked to hide her amazement. She had heard of the General. More precisely, she heard that he had died some years past. He had been old when she was a novice, learning her first spells. And yet...

He doesn't look that old, she thought to herself. But the changes they had undergone were profound, and if he had been rejuvenated by it... that could mean many things. She looked down at herself as she pondered the possible meanings of this aspect of the Change.

Her changes had been bizarre, and she still did not entirely understand them all. For instance, the colouration of her people had a purpose. Their dappled and striped green made them blend into the swamps from above, while their pale underbellies made them disappear into the brightness of the surface of the water when viewed from below. Even Grägok's new colourings bore this same template, for all that his rust and tan were not so well suited to the swamp. But her colouration...! It was as if Marr had amused himself with paints. The palest of sky blues with shadings of white, and orange, and marked with spots and circles of the same hues could have no camouflage purpose. If it did, she would rather not see such a place that could make her blend in with it. And there were others more bizarrely marked than she. And that was not all...

Their arrival at the chamber where the plans were being refined put an end to her musings, and she paused on the threshold to take stock of those already within.

There seemed to be a debate going on as to whether or not it was viable to send a small squad up the stream which flowed beneath the bluff. Grägok motioned her into the room, indicating a place she could stand while the argument went on. He stood with arms crossed beside her, listening. After a time he cleared his throat.

"Needless complication," he stated, stopping the discussion. "To what purpose? We drive them out. They won't swim out that way. And we'd be better off getting as many of us in as quickly as we can, to take out what adult males remain. Drive the rest out towards Giidib and his bunch." His tone was matter-of-fact. "Getting a small team in would only separate them from the rest of us, and cost us numbers that we don't have."

One of those around the table blinked at him, then nodded slowly. That one rubbed his chin, and stared at the map in front of him, then sighed. "You were right, Guib," he admitted after a moment. "My apologies."

"Never apologise. Just make the new decision, and move on." The old general snorted. "Lesson seven."

The young warrior looked up from the map and laughed. "I'll keep it in mind. Did you...?" He looked around, and spotted her then, and she straightened. "Oh, good. Come over here," he said, beckoning. "We were hoping for a wizard's input on this..."

She drew near - the warriors making room for her - and the questioning began. How close would a wizard need to be? How good a view did they need of a target? It went on and on, and she answered as fully and carefully as she could, making certain these warriors understood before she answered the next question. Maps were studied, and distances carefully plotted, and the questioning finally ceased. They began, again, to discuss among themselves. She retreated back to the edge of the room and leaned against the wall, watching them.

The three who discussed were so very different from one another. The youngest warrior was thoughtful and questioning, and very earnest. He listened carefully to the input from the other two before making a decision. It was obvious that he was the leader, and was being instructed on it. She nodded to herself. He would be a good one, if what she saw was any indication.

The next oldest spoke quickly, his words tumbling from his mouth as he tried to explain the details of the strategy that seemed to be his basic design. The other two would listen, and try to get him to clarify himself when he went off. She knew that type well. The wizards tended accumulate such people of vision.

But it was the old general that drew her attention most frequently. With a dry comment, he would pierce through to the core of each problem that arose, laying it bare and open so that even she could see the clear solutions. She found herself waiting to hear him speak, trying to anticipate what would bring his entry into the conversation.

Her mind wandered a little as she listened to them, until the maps and lists were finally set aside and agreement was reached. The tone of the talk lightened.

She wondered if she should slip away as they seemed to have forgotten her, but before she could do more than turn her head to see the distance to the door, they broke up their meeting. The two younger warriors departed, and Grägok - who it seemed had not forgotten her after all - turned to her with a polite nod.

"Thank you for your patience," he said. "I should have spared you that last part. You had no need to be driven insane by us." He gestured toward the door. "We're going off to see what Giidib has set up. You should be there, as you will need to be assigned a position."

She nodded, and accompanied him back towards the garden. "It would look pretty bad," she smiled, "if after that speech I managed to get myself left out."

He laughed. "That it would. Let's avoid that, shall we?" He bowed to her as they reached the assembly, and hurried off towards the other leaders.

She watched him go, wishing she could have drawn him into conversation. But she knew he had more work to do than she could readily imagine. There was a battle to prepare for. She spotted several of the other wizards together, and headed over to join them. They would have their own preparations to do.

It was four days of preparation, planning, prayer, and fasting. Four days of organisation and armouring. Four short days to shape a disparate force that shared a vision into an army bent on conquest.

Four days after they emerged from the swamp wearing the Change that had lifted them from what they had been, the frogloks returned to the dark waters, to move in swift silence towards the city of Grobb.

M'jou swam smoothly, all too aware that her simple robes were no armour against the weapons of the trolls. Her best work, as she had explained to the listening warriors, was done from a distance. But the limited amount of armour that could be found was better used to equip those who would be fighting hand to hand. Her ability to stand off and attack from afar would protect her well enough.

She was certain that her skills would be well utilised. A glance ahead and to the left, between two others who swam by her, gave her a glimpse of General Grägok, who led the particular squad she had been attached to, as well as the division that followed them.

That she attached herself to. When Giidib had come to her - sent, she suspected, by the general himself - asking her aid to disperse the wizards amongst the divisions and squads, she had agreed instantly. She had studied the organisation he had arranged, and placed the others of her profession where they would best serve. When she realised that Grägok's own squad would be one of those places, she had taken that spot for herself without hesitation.

Now, thinking about it, she wondered at her temerity. Such rash behaviour was not like her. Some odd force was at work on her, and she frowned suddenly. When she realised her eyes were drifting back to catch another glimpse of the old warrior, she frowned again. Was she bespelled by him? Had he done this to her? She thought about it as she swam with the rest. No, he had not touched her with magick. She was not being coerced.

Then what was it? Whatever it was, it was insistent. She was drawn to him as strongly as she had been drawn to the swamp to feel the touch of the Change.

She thrust the thoughts back into the recesses of her mind. Whatever it was, it could wait until they had dealt with the task at hand. Once the trolls were driven forever from the swamps that they had invaded, she would have the leisure to investigate this strange phenomenon. For now she swam, keeping her eyes resolutely on the young shaman who swam just ahead of her, and prepared herself for battle.

* * * * *

The trolls at the entrance had no warning. The still waters of the swamp were empty one moment, then, the next, they were not, as the army of strange creatures arose from them and began the attack. Stunned, they stared in horror at the invaders for the precious seconds that might have saved them.

The wave of frogloks swept over them, and several fell before they could cry out. But the guards, surprised and dismayed though they were, still managed to raise the alarm.

Grobb mobilised. As few as they were, the trolls were a people based on war, and war had come to them in their own place. It was not the first time they had faced an army bent on destruction. They had shaped this home that they had built for themselves on the belief that it would be attacked.

They fought viciously. Those who came running at the alarm held the gap of the canyon, and more came to join them to repel the invaders. They braced themselves and held firm against the tide of nightmare creatures that boiled up out of the water.

They were outnumbered, and one by one, they fell. But the alarm had spread, and the people of Grobb rallied to barricade the canyon. Slowly, the thin line of trolls began to pull back.

They made each step they gave count, paid for in blood.

M'jou gasped as the soldier who had been her protector fell, an arrow in his throat. She ducked quickly, as another followed it, passing through the spot where she had been. "Healer!" she cried, as she leaned her weight on the warrior to still his thrashing before he caused more damage to himself.

"Hold still," she told the warrior, catching his hands as he reached for the arrow, his eyes panicked. "Hold your breath, you'll be all right."

She cast her eyes around the battlefield, seeing the carnage, and the figures of the shamans and priests as they tried to heal the wounded that had been dragged back from the melee.

"Healer!" she cried again, and felt relief as a head turned and a brilliant orange froglok hurried towards her.

He settled down beside the warrior, and he bent to examine the set of the arrow.

"I'm here to help," he told the soldier soothingly. "You'll be alright. You'll have to trust me. This will hurt more before it gets better..." He laid his hand on the warrior's head, murmuring a spell. "The arrow will have to come out before we can do anything else."

M'jou kept her grip on the warrior's shaking hands as the orange froglok worked, until he tossed the arrow away, and bent his will to a chant in a clear, deep voice as warm as brushed velvet. She watched him as he worked his magicks, recognising him as the shaman who had been beside her in the General's own squad. He looked up at her, and inclined his head.

"Thank you for the help. I've got him now," the young shaman told her. "I'll catch up with you."

She nodded and got up. She no longer had an escort, but she was far from helpless. She hurried a few more steps toward where the melee was ongoing.

She studied the battle to pick a suitable target. When she spotted the troll with the bow, she fixed her attention on it. It was nocking an arrow, taking aim at one of the priests. M'jou raised her hands, calling on her power, and a white-hot column of flame fell from the heavens to roast it where it stood. It collapsed into a smouldering heap.

Her eyes traversed the front line, and she felt a sudden pang of fear as she focussed on the general. He had disengaged from the fight when he had finished the opponent he had been fighting, and had stepped back to call out orders. His head was tilted back, his throat swelling as the deep tones of the ancient-tongue reverberated from him, carrying above the clash of battle.

The sound seemed to come from everywhere, but at least one troll had homed in on the source. Whether it understood the orders, or merely had noticed the swelling vocal-sac and figured out what was going on, the result was the same. Leading several of its fellows, it had made the general its target. Skilled Grägok might be, but hatred and the determination to eliminate at least one of those that led their enemies painted their faces. They pushed towards him, uncaring of those in the way.

She had to warn him, or stop them. Or both.

Her incantation was one of the more difficult ones, and she concentrated, her eyes on the leader of the group of trolls. With a sound of rushing wind, the sky above it changed, energies sizzling as they gathered in a swirling mass.

The troll glanced upwards, startled, as the storm of arcane power dropped on it and those with it, flaying skin from flesh, and flesh from bone. The trolls scattered, fleeing the magickal maelstrom. The leader was not so lucky, for it had borne the brunt of the magicks. It fell, an unrecognisable mass of shredded meat.

His commands issued, the general stepped back to survey the battlefield before him. The squads wheeled as he had directed, driving the trolls back towards the canyon that led into the city.

He turned briefly, to look back towards the wizard. Her actions had not escaped him. He had seen the wedge pushing towards him, but had concentrated on getting the orders out. Once they had been delivered, his part in this battle as leader was done. From here, it was all a push, and each one who fought was as capable of directing that as any ‘general.' His personal safety was secondary to the needs of his people.

Not that he was anxious to be cut down by a bunch of angry trolls. Grägok turned back to the battle, and frowned as he watched first one, then another of the beasts that had been coming for him turn, and begin to force themselves through the battle again.

But this time, he was not their target.

M'jou saw the trolls that had survived her spell start looking for her, and she strove to make herself inconspicuous. Not that a spotted sky-blue froglok on brown mud can be inconspicuous, she thought wryly, as two of them headed her way. She had time enough to cast a last spell before they reached her, and one exclaimed angrily as it sank down to its knees in the ground. She backpedalled to get out of range as the other grabbed for her.

It uttered words in its foul tongue, and followed, and she again ducked out of the way as it reached for her. She was brought up suddenly by the stone of the bluff at her back, and she glared up at the troll as it grinned.

It bent towards her, and she dove between its legs, leaving it to curse behind her as she made distance between them. M'jou spun, to face it again, her dagger clutched in her hand as she drew a mystic symbol in the air, muttering a word of power.

A circle of brilliant flame appeared around her, and sped outwards. Both trolls shrieked as they were enveloped by it. One covered its face, and staggered sideways, seeking a way out of the fire. The other scowled at her, as it pulled itself free of the mud, and took a step forward, only to be knocked sprawling by the blow that took it from behind.

Grägok drove his sword down into the creature as it heaved beneath him, trying to throw him off. It screamed in pain, and collapsed. He took its head off, to be sure, then whirled, looking for the wizard.

He met the fist with his chin as he turned. It was a powerful blow, snapping his head back and sending him flying. His sword fell from his hand as he struck the stone of the bluff, and bounced off, landing face down. Dazed, he struggled to rise.

He looked up as he levered himself to his knees, and saw the spear poised for the thrust that would finish him. He tried to fling himself aside, but he had not yet regained his equilibrium, and he fell again. Grägok stared upward at the troll, seeing his death written in its face.

It pulled the spear back, taking aim. Then, as he stared at it in amazement, it stopped, crying out in fear. His eyes widened as a mist rose all around it, solidifying into a block of ice. Its cries stopped abruptly as the mist rose to obscure its head and face. He gulped, looking up at the frozen troll, its spear still gripped ready to thrust.

"General Grägok?" The voice radiated concern, and he pulled his eyes from the troll to focus on the shaman that bent over him. It took him a moment to remember the healer's name.

"Arglug." He raised himself to his knees again, still dizzy. "Thank you. It was about to skewer me."

"That wasn't me." The shaman helped him to his feet, steadying him. "A suggestion: Never tick off a wizard of that lady's skill." He looked up as the wizard in question ducked under the troll's spear to join them.

"Is he alright?" M'jou asked worriedly, relaxing as she saw the warrior on his feet. "You should be more careful, General. You're too important for us to lose."

He shook his head to protest, but Arglug cut him off before he could speak.

"She's right, sir. You're a symbol, as much as a leader. People will be looking to you. Don't let them down." He touched the warrior and spoke a word of healing. Grägok's dizziness vanished. "There. I'll follow the rest of you. There are still others here who need my attention." He paused, then moved his hands again, dropping several layers of magick onto the old general, before hurrying over to where another armoured froglok lay still in the mud.

Grägok turned, to find M'jou standing beside him, offering him his sword. He accepted it with a bow. "Thank you," he told her. She smiled at him, then turned back towards the battle.

"I should rest a moment after that," she told him. "You'd best go. They're starting to retreat again."

"A good move on their part. They can hold that small space for a long time. This will be a difficult fight." He nodded to her, and sped back to the main battle, pausing once on the way to boom out another order.

M'jou watched him go, then turned her eyes to the cleft of the canyon and its funnel shape. She stared at it, then her eyes narrowed. She nodded, then searched the field for another who could assist her. She smiled grimly when she saw a familiar face. "Sergug!" she called, as she hurried over to him. "I have an idea, but it will take several of us..."

Grägok scowled at the trolls, who had shored themselves well in the narrow tunnel. The cursed things would be nearly impossible to push back. They only needed a few to hold off the froglok army. He scratched his eye-ridge, and thought about the best way to force them out. Perhaps getting Giidib and his bunch to come in from behind...

That would cost them a lot, but it could be done. The hard part would be getting up the narrow path from the river. That place, like this, could be held nearly indefinitely with only a small force. He shook his head in reluctant admiration. The trolls had planned the city well. It was made for defence. He sniffed. Maybe the idea of the squad through the underground stream wasn't such a foolhardy one after all...

He watched the melee as the quick, darting shapes of his warriors and of the Swords slipped in and out of the reach of the defending trolls. They moved with a sureness and speed that allowed them to strike, and retreat before the trolls could do more than take aim. But while the quick strikes would wear the trolls down, they, too had healers, who bent their wills to aiding their fighters. If only there had been more of the belts...

He reached down to touch the sash he wore at his waist. Conferring a speed beyond any normal movement, they were a gift from the god Himself. Two boxes had been left in the tiny chapel that the cavern city boasted. Each had held ten of the precious sashes. Ten bore the Helm, the symbol of Marr used in the worship by the priests of Guk. The other ten bore a fiery sword, a symbol which had been adopted by Marr's own Swords, the paladins who bore his touch. The strongest of both the warriors and the paladins bore them now. Most of those were below, harrying the trolls.

Grägok briefly considered passing the one he wore on to another warrior, but one or two more - if Faltip did the same - wouldn't make much of a difference. Ten or twenty... Well. The gods always preferred to aid those who aided themselves.

Another troll fell at last, and the general shook his head again. This would be a very long, very difficult fight.

The messenger found him then, and he listened to the request it carried. He nodded slowly, then added to the message and sent the runner on to Faltip. He looked at the canyon and its shape, and his lips twisted into a smile. This might not be such a difficult push after all.

Faltip's orders carried across the battlefield, the ancient tongue booming out, and the two prongs of the attack pulled back from the canyon.

There, in the widest part, they waited, while the trolls regrouped below them, rallying at the retreat of the nightmare-creatures that harried them. Into the space between the two divisions, four robed figures stepped, and together, began to craft a spell.

It took all of M'jou's concentration to shape the words, to grasp the forces and bend them to her will. Beside her, Sergug muttered, also weaving the strands of power, and Uklo gathered the magick, feeding it into the growing ball of mana that floated in the centre of their circle, contained by the final wizard, Vrukk.

An arrow flew towards the group, as a troll spotted them working, but it missed them, and they took no notice of it.

A snapped order sent a squad to protect the wizards as they worked, and subsequent arrows were blocked by the linked shields of several Swords, while the warriors with them sent their own shafts back down the canyon, forcing the trolls to keep their heads down.

"Clear away!" Uklo, the only one of the four who could spare the breath cried the warning, and the protectors scrambled out of the way, as the four turned towards the canyon.

On some unspoken signal, they released the spell, and sent it flying towards the trolls.

Devastating in and of itself, the firestorm that baked mud and cracked stone as it moved would have decimated any force that it rolled over. But the funnel of the canyon kept it from spreading and dissipating, kept the fire concentrating into a smaller and smaller area, and the wall of flame that finally struck the trolls was a blinding white-hot furnace that stole the air from their lungs and melted flesh like wax. It carried on over them, as they fell, and burst from the tunnel that led into the city proper. Only charred corpses lay behind it.

Any opposition that the trolls might have mounted melted away in the panic that ensued. It was a rout. The orders of the two war-leaders released their troops, who poured into the city in a single-purposed flood. All that stood to oppose them were cut down, and the survivors were driven out into the swamp.

The four wizards had collapsed in exhaustion. They sat, looking at each other with a measure of pride, and watched wearily as their army overran the city.

"When this is done," Uklo confided, "I'm going to find some quiet place, and spend the rest of my days doing research. I don't think I'm cut out for fighting."

Vrukk nodded. "I'll join you in that," he said, as M'jou and Sergug chuckled.

"I don't think any of us are really cut out for fighting," M'jou told them. "Settling down when we're done here sounds good to me, too."

"I'll go along with that," Sergug agreed. "Leave the fighting to the warriors."

"Well, this warrior wouldn't have been able to do his job without you. So I, for one, am glad you are with us."

They looked up, and blinked as Grägok came to join them. "Well done," he told them. "I wanted to be certain you heard that from me, before I go make sure the others aren't ransacking things they shouldn't. Faltip went in with the rest, but he'll be making sure the trolls are all gone, not watching our people."

"We should come with you," M'jou told him, as she pulled herself to her feet, staggering slightly. She wavered, on the brink of unbalancing, and found a hand offered in support. She used it to steady herself, and stood, blinking for a moment, staring at the general, before she shook herself and continued. "The trolls have dark magicks, and may have left... surprises. We should be able to find those, and disarm them."

Grägok released her as soon as he was sure she wasn't about to pitch over. He rubbed his hand surreptitiously, as he listened to the mutters of agreement from the other three wizards. They were as exhausted as M'jou was, and he extended his hand to the next to help him rise, although he had second thoughts about it. M'jou had given him a good jolt when she touched him. His fingers were still tingling. He glanced at her, but she seemed not to have noticed anything. He was relieved when there was no such reaction from touching the dark green froglok who accepted his assistance.

"That sounds like a good idea. Would you like me to find a squad to accompany you in case of trouble? That little show looks like it came with a price."

Sergug nodded as he, too, hauled himself to his feet. "Took everything I had left. I couldn't light a candle at the moment," he said wearily, "and I doubt any of the others can either. But we still have our senses, and magick has a feel to it. So long as we don't need to actually cast spells, we should be alright. I'm looking forward to a chance to rest, though."

"We all are," the warrior told him. "Soldiers don't like to fight any more than you do. We just do it so you don't have to." He nodded to them, and turned to make his way into the city.

The city was a stinking, foetid morass of refuse and blood. As he emerged from the tunnel into the protected city, Grägok surveyed the bodies that littered the mud, and swallowed hard against the stench.

The tang of blood mixed with the sweet odour of burnt flesh, and the result was nauseating. He moved forward, away from the charred bodies left by the wizard-fire. A stream ran through the courtyard, and he followed it with his eyes, scowling when he caught sight of the cage.

There were more dead here, but they were of lesser interest than the cage of lashed poles that stood up against one wall. It held two frogloks, one who pressed up against the bars, eyes huge and clinging to the general, with an expression of hope so pure that his gut twisted. The other sat with dull eyes, staring at nothing. He took a step towards them, but stopped suddenly as a movement caught his eye. He stood still, eyes sweeping the mud and moss of the courtyard, his nerves on edge, seeking the source of the tiny movement he had seen. It came again, and he focussed on one of the trolls. Slowly, wary of a trick, he approached it.

It was badly burned, and had taken a sword thrust through the thigh. The wound bled, but the mud that had coated the creature when it fell had saved its life. He studied it for a moment. The style of helm it wore and its cuirass marked it as one of the guardsmen that had fallen in protecting the city. He stared at it for a moment, until its breast heaved again as it took a ragged breath.

He drew his sword, and set the point in the hollow of its throat. One thrust, and it would be out of pain...

"If you do that, General, you lower yourself."

He looked up, and frowned as the sky-blue wizard approached him. She studied the unconscious guard. "What do you propose to do with it, then?" he asked her. "Killing it is mercy."

"Take it prisoner. Heal it. Learn from it. We are not like them." She reached out, to touch his hand, and he slowly lifted the sword from the creature's throat. "If we kill their wounded, we become like them. Do we not serve Mithaniel Marr? Does he not treasure honour? Where is the honour in killing the helpless?"

He looked at her, meeting the eyes that shone a startling silver. She held his gaze steadily, waiting to see his response.

"Very well. I'll send a team to take it prisoner. And a healer. Although that will wait until we have treated our own, first." He shook his head. "I must be a fool."

"No. You are a true servant of Marr, General." He looked back up at her, feeling a strange stirring within as she smiled at him. "I am glad to know you."

She turned, and a look of sorrow touched her face as her eyes found the cage. "Here is a thing for me to do, while you find your men." She indicated the slaves. "I'll see to them." She began to pick her way across the courtyard. He watched after her, then turned towards the nearer of the buildings, where the sounds of froglok voices suggested that those who were within were in need of something to do.

M'jou reached between the bars to touch the face of the slave. He stared at her as if she were a vision, or a Messenger of Marr. She smiled at him, as he pressed up against the bars. "Do you know where the key is?" she asked, as she examined the chain and the lock that secured the door. He made no reply, but pointed at one of the corpses that littered the area.

"He has the keys?" she asked, and the slave nodded. She frowned. "Can you not speak?" she asked softly, straightening again, reaching through the bars to touch him once more. In response, the slave opened his mouth, and she swallowed hard as she realised his tongue had been cut out. "We'll get you out of there," she told him. "And get you home. The shamans and priests might be able to help." She looked down at the second slave, but it sat still on the floor of the cage, eyes huge and staring at nothing. It flinched from her hand as she reached out to it.

"The shamans should be able to help him, too," she told the first, sadly. "They are gifted mind-healers."

The slave nodded again, and remained pressed against the bars, watching her, as she crouched down beside the dead troll. After a few moments of searching, she found the keys on its belt, and stood up.

She turned back to the cage. "I've found them," she said, and took a step towards the slave, frowning as she took in his expression of terror. She turned as he pointed.

It came as a blow. Something within him vibrated, as if a bow-string had been plucked.

He had never felt such a thing. He frowned, as the odd resonance began to fade, being replaced by a wrongness, a stretching and fraying, as if something was being torn away from him. He turned, somehow knowing where to look

Horror and denial swept over him, as he focussed on the troll. It stood, the hatred and anger in its face directed at the crumpled figure at its feet. It was wounded, and the smears of blood and mud upon it made it one of those they had thought safely dead. It raised the sword it held, taking aim again at the froglok it had just struck down.

A haze as red as the blood that stained its blade crept over his vision, and he screamed a challenge as he charged the monster.

It looked up in surprise, startled, as he crossed the space between them, then smiled as it set itself to meet him.

It was over twice his size, and wore armour of solid plate. The confidence in its stance was a warning. This was no terrorised guard. But the orange shaman's magicks were still upon him, and the sash he had been given to wear still bound his waist.

The troll was so slow. Even set to meet him, prepared for his attack, it almost died in the first instant. But some instinct had it duck sideways as it brought its weapon across in a vicious slash that would have cleft him in two had it connected.

He wasn't there. At the last instant he had leapt, his own great blade swinging scythe-like through the space where the creature's neck had been. He landed behind it, and spun to face it again.

A flicker of something - could it be respect? - touched the creature's eyes as it whirled to face him. But Grägok was not waiting for an invitation, and even as it turned, he was already moving.

Another leap, another swing, but this time the troll was ready, and the sword caught Grägok in mid-air, where he could not dodge. The force of the blow sent him tumbling, and he careened with a crash into the cage imprisoning the slaves.

Wood splintered beneath him as the force of his landing broke through the barrier. He began to pull himself out of the entangling remnants of the broken poles.

The troll didn't wait for him to free himself. With a lunge, it pressed him back again, bringing its weight to bear down upon him. Its sword was poised, ready to thrust. The warrior lashed out before it struck, kicking with all the force his powerful legs could muster, his toes balled tightly into fists. He caught it just below the belt, and it let out a great whoosh of air as he connected.

Hands from behind him pulled the splintered wood from him, and he surged to his feet. A lunge of his own allowed him to drive his shoulder into it, throwing it off balance. His sword flicked out, to score again, and it staggered back a pace, anger in its eyes.

Grägok edged sideways, and the troll moved with him. The warrior smiled grimly, as he drew the troll away from the shattered cage. From the corner of his eye, he could see the slave that had aided him lift the other to its feet, and guide it cautiously out the of the prison. It paused beside the wizard, then hurried away towards the tunnel and the freedom of the swamp, dragging its companion with it.

The general took stock. He seemed to still be in good shape, although pain lanced through his side as he moved. He clenched his jaw against it. There would be time later to see what damage had been done. Whatever it was, it was not incapacitating. Yet.

As he paused there, the strange sense that something was tearing away from him came again, and once more his attention was pulled towards the source. It was coming from the wizard.

He felt the rage that filled him fuelling his strength as he moved to renew his attack.

The troll's hand flicked out in a gesture, and it mouthed a word in its foul tongue. Grägok's attack faltered, as he stumbled. Dark strands of magick entwined themselves about him, catching at him, making movement difficult, and his heart sank as he realised he faced one of the trolls' dark Swords.

The troll grinned as it fell upon him, and he struggled to repel its attacks. It was strong, and each blow that he met jolted him through to the core. He would not be able to stand up to this for very long.

But it was still so slow that he was able to strike back in between blocking its blows. As tough as its armour was, if it wanted to move, it had joints exposed.

He drove his sword through the side of its knee as it swung at him, and he ducked beneath the slash. It roared in pain, and twisted away, staggering back from him.

He followed. His blade flicked out to find a place at the ankle, and the troll roared again, then flung another of its foul magicks at him.

Grägok felt the wave of fear that the troll had summoned roll over him, but from deep within came an answering surge as the strange vibration that had filled him gave him an inner strength that the fear could not lessen.

The troll's eyes widened as its magicks passed over him harmlessly. An expression of uncertainty touched its face, and it took another halting step backwards. Its eyes narrowed, and it shifted its grip on its sword.

He lunged, for the strands that had bound him had finally dissipated. As he moved, the troll did likewise, reaching out towards him as he came, with a hand that was surrounded suddenly by a swirling darkness, shot through with lightning of a sullen red.

Instinctively he knew that if it touched him, he was finished. If it touched him, it would kill him, leaving it free to finish off M'jou, and go on to wreak more havoc before it was brought down, or it fled. Knowing this, he knew he had to slay it, whether it took his own life or not. It could not be left alive.

He, too, changed his grip on his sword.

He flung himself at the troll, then tumbled, making it seem as if he had tripped. Some part of his brain that watched dispassionately told him he was a fool, but he did not listen. The troll bent towards him, the hand with its dark aura moving with an inexorable slowness towards him.

He tucked himself low, and it bent still further, reaching. And the sword he had released as he had thrown himself at it buried itself in the hideous creature's throat. He slammed into the leg he had damaged and it gave way, the troll toppling over. The grasping hand with its dark aura missed him by the barest margin.

It hit hard as it fell, driving his sword deeper, and to his amazement, it struggled to rise again. The darkness about its hand had vanished, however. He stepped forward, and yanked on his sword.

It came free, followed by a fountain of blood, and the troll finally collapsed, its eyes fixed on him, its lips moving soundlessly. He took no chances, and drove his sword through it again, feeling the shudder that passed through it as it finally died.

"Regenerate that," he told it as he straightened up. Turning his back on it, he hurried to see to the wizard, who was moving feebly where she had fallen. Icy tendrils of fear traced his spine as he saw the blood that had soaked her robes.

He dropped to his knees beside her, and took her into his arms. A cry of dismay fell from his lips as he saw the wet coils bulging from the great slash that had laid her open. Deep, and long, it had sliced upwards diagonally, and the hand she clutched to it could not hold inside what spilled out as she moved. Blood, fluids, and clear jelly flowed between her fingers.

"M'jou!" The scene around him seemed frozen and distant, as if there were none left in the world but the two of them. "M'jou! No!"

Her eyes opened, glazed with pain, and her lips shaped a word. His name.

"Healer! I need a healer!" A distant part of him heard his voice shouting, but his eyes were locked to hers, and there was nothing else more important than being there with her.

"Don't leave me," he whispered, as her eyes closed, and she went limp in his arms. "M'jou!"

And then there were hands on him, trying to pull him from her, as his arms and soul clung to her.

"No. Let him be. He holds her here," the voice of the young shaman Arglug took on tones of authority. The shaman dropped himself down beside the pair, and the clear blue light of healing spread from his hands to the wizard.

Arglug's mellow voice rose and fell as he worked his magicks, the chant somehow soothing to the warrior's ears. Grägok closed his eyes, and held the wizard close. A wave of love so deep it frightened him poured into his soul, welling from depths he had been unaware of. The movement of her breath on his cheek was a caress. Again, the world shifted, and all else faded to the edge of his awareness. She was breathing. She was alive.

Arglug's voice rose again, his chanting done, and commanded with a strange urgency for water to be brought. Quick footsteps hurried away, and back, and muttered voices rose and fell, but the general paid them no mind.

"Grägok?" A hand shook him from the distant place his soul had gone, and he blinked up at the shaman. "Grägok. This is important."

"Will she...?" he began, as the edges of fear prickled at him. The shaman's hand squeezed his shoulder.

"She'll be fine. She's going to need a rest, and there are better places than here for that." Arglug's eyes lowered to M'jou's face. "But there's another problem. There are things we can't heal."

The warrior stared at the young froglok, and it was a moment before he could force himself to speak. "She..."

"Not her. I told you, she'll be okay. But... we couldn't save her eggs. They are ... both part, and not part of her." The shaman shook his head. "The magick doesn't see them as part of her, and forced them out as we healed her." He indicated a huge helmet that sat propped beside them. "What would you like us to do with them?"

"What... would I like...?" He stared at the shaman in disbelief. "Why me?"

"Well," Arglug's voice was dry. "I suspect that under other circumstances you would be doing something about them sooner or later anyway."

Grägok shook his head. "Arglug, I haven't felt the mating frenzy in years. Besides, it's weeks before the season even begins. I don't think I can..."

"I can help with that. That's the easy part." Arglug muttered something, and rested his hand on the warrior's head. A tingle passed through him, and he blinked. "We've always been asked to help with fertility. That's one of our jobs." The shaman pointed to the helmet. "And you still have a decision to make."

Grägok released the wizard reluctantly, laying her down gently on the moss. She made a soft noise as he did, as if she knew he was letting her go. He stood up slowly, and looked down into the helmet.

Built to fit a troll's head, it was huge, and bucket-like, more than large enough to hold the six small lumps of jelly, and the water they floated in. He frowned as he studied them.

"Only six?" he asked worriedly. "There are normally 30 or more!" These looked as large as any that had been scattered across the swamp in the days he had worn his old shape.

"It's a month before mating season. These would have gotten a lot bigger. We don't know, yet, what will happen when mating season comes. I have a feeling it will be different than the way we knew." Arglug watched the warrior. "These may be too small, too unformed to give life. If you wish, we can send them with the fallen who are beyond any restoration. They, too, are casualties of battle, and are deserving of honour."

It was on his lips to agree to that, but he looked again at the face of the unconscious wizard, and knew that she would not agree. How he knew, he could not say. But he knew. He pulled his armour and breechclout aside, and let his seed fall on the eggs.

"How long until we know? Will they take the same time to hatch?" he asked, then shook his head. "I don't know why I asked. You don't know anymore than I do." He stared down into the helm. "We'll have to see what happens."

He turned to the shaman, all business again, although his heart yearned to stay beside M'jou until she awoke. "We have a lot to do before this place will even be fit to camp in. Can I leave her with you?"

Arglug nodded. "We'll take care of her. And the eggs." He watched as the warrior spun on his heel, and marched away.

He wasn't fooled.

* * * * *

To say that there was a lot of work to do was an understatement. Cleaning out the city was easy, in comparison. That was only simple labour, and all pitched in, in one way or another. The larger common areas were cleaned, and sheltered places found for the wounded. Shamans and priests were found to tend them, while the city was scoured to see if any of its erstwhile inhabitants had hidden within it. The lesson of Guk had been hard learned.

It was scoured again, as the filth the trolls had left behind was removed and burned. Great bonfires lit the islands just outside the city gates as the caverns and buildings were emptied of accumulated refuse. Some cleaned, some carried, some guarded those who tended the fires, others guarded the gates and mounted the heights to keep watch, lest the trolls regroup, and try to take back the city.

While this was going on, another sort of shaping was being done. That they had been changed was clear. That the changes were more profound than they had anticipated was becoming more clear by the moment. All had heard of the organiser of the wizards, and what had happened to her. Many had made sure to pass by where the eggs that had been torn from her were floating in a large tub that had been found for them, and stared at them in worry, before they went on with their business.

Those who had become leaders made a tally of the castes and skills of those who had been Chosen, those who had survived the battle. And they, too, set to work, to shape their people into something more than a diverse group of strangers.

It was not easy. Each had their own ideas of what would be right for their people. And the arguments grew, at times, bitter. But perhaps the touch of their god was still upon them, for they listened, too, to the others, and slowly, decisions were made. The wrangling went on late into the night. And through all of the next day.

M'jou had spent that first day or so recovering. She had woken at last to find herself lying on a pallet, with a young priest bending over her. She had been aware that something was wrong, something was missing, but she lay in a daze, unable to set her mind to the task of figuring it out. She had fallen asleep again before long, to dream of flashing swords and loving arms that held her close.

When she next awakened, shaking off the strange dreams and sitting up blinking, it was the following day. Her robes were gone, and she looked down at her nakedness and stared at the wide scar that marked her from hip nearly to collarbone. She traced it with her fingers in wonder, then, realising, clutched her belly in horror.

She was empty. Flat. Her eggs...!

"M'jou."

She looked up at her name, and stared at the brilliant orange froglok who came to sit beside her. His face wore signs of strain and exhaustion.

"Arglug?" she asked, a tremor in her voice. "Where... what did they do with them?"

To her wonder, he smiled, and pointed at a large tub that stood nearby. "In there. We'll see how they do. It's still very early for them, and I can't promise they will develop. But I asked Grägok to fertilise them for you." He reached out and set an arm around her, and she leaned on him, shaking. "You've had a close call, M'jou. You should take it easy for the next few days."

She nodded, trying to calm herself. She let the shaman help her to her feet, and went to peer into the water at the floating blobs of jelly there.

At least she now knew what the sense of something missing was. It did not recede, however, and she tried hard to set it aside. "General Grägok fertilised them?" she managed at last.

"He did. He seemed very worried about you," Arglug told her. "You should talk with him. I think he'd like to know you're well. He saved your life."

She nodded again, still looking down into the tub. "I need to thank him," she said quietly. "He has done so much more than I could ask, with this." She looked up, to find the shaman studying her with an odd expression. "He's a good leader, to care so much for his people."

Arglug squeezed her hand. "You should tell him so. I think he's at the gate right now, if you wish to go find him." He turned, as his name was called. He excused himself and hurried off, and M'jou became aware of the other pallets that lay around the area. Some lay close together, and the faces of those who lay upon them were covered. Others held those who lay wounded.

Arglug had bent over one such, and was comforting the one who had awoken there. M'jou swallowed, realising her good fortune. She was still whole, not missing limbs like the dark green male the shaman was murmuring to. She understood the exhaustion on his face. He must have been up all night, tending the injured. She glanced again into the tub, then set off to find her way to the gate.

Grägok sniffed. For now, at least, gate-duty was an honour, and the warriors he had set there stood proudly and alertly. He wondered how long that would last. Guarding anything was a pain, and he made a mental bet with himself that within two months, he - or whoever had the job of tending the warriors - would be snapping at them to shape up. He shook his head. One month, not two. He finished his inspection, and stood with them awhile, looking out at the swamp that spread in such deceptive peace before him. Somewhere out there, the trolls could be regrouping. Whatever else happened, they would never leave their conquerors in peace. He anticipated guerrilla raids, at least. He began to pace as he thought. With luck, they might have some breathing space before it began. The foul creatures had been nothing if not demoralized. The sheer terror Giidib had described in those he had let flee was satisfying.

Grägok sniffed again. Good. Let them have a taste of it for a change. He still vaguely disagreed with Faltip's decision to allow them to go. The trolls had tried long enough to kill them off. Why not return the favour?

It was with reluctance (and pride, for had not Faltip then shown what he had in him of a leader?) that he accepted the pronouncement that the trolls that fled would be allowed to leave unhindered. The females and their offspring, the young, and the old would receive no opposition... unless they fought. The Children of Marr would not commit genocide. They were better than their foes, and had need to remain above such things.

Grägok smiled at the memory. Yes, he was proud of the young warrior. And if he disagreed with him, that was well enough. It wasn't the first time he'd disagreed with a commander. He was made of sterner stuff than to disobey. His support was important. Undermining the chain of command was always a bad idea. Not to mention that the young warrior wasn't the only one who held those views.

The old warrior sighed then. M'jou had echoed Faltip's sentiments, and used nearly the same words to him, when she had stopped him from killing the wounded guard, calling upon Honour. He shook his head. If they had been diligent in ensuring the fallen trolls were dead, she would not now be lying under the care of the healers. He stared out at the swamp, his thoughts remaining with the captivating wizard, until he realised that he had taken a few steps to head into the city to find her.

He stopped, then shook his head again, forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand.

A squad would be arriving momentarily, detailed to go do a search of the immediate area. There were still some missing after the battle. However much he doubted that any that had fallen out in the swamp had survived, it still required a search. If it had been him lying out there, wounded and alone... He continued pacing.

Grägok frowned, stopping midstep, as the odd inner vibration he had felt once before began again. The last time he had felt it, it had meant danger. He looked around, seeking the cause. It pulled him, and he turned to face the narrow canyon that led to the city. He blinked as the figure appeared, moving towards him.

For a moment, he was startled. This was the danger? A single, unarmed froglok?

Then, he realised who it was, and a wave of longing so strong it nearly brought him to his knees swept over him. He took an involuntary step towards her before he brought himself under control. He watched her come, his eyes clinging to the slim figure, and taking in the orange and white markings on her belly and legs.

And taking in the great jagged scar that ripped across her torso. An anger and hatred of the trolls who had marked her arose in him, and again, he struggled for control as the fury of his emotions swept through him.

By the time she reached him, he had himself under tight rein, and he managed a polite bow as she stopped in front of him.

"General Grägok." She bowed in return, then straightened again, and he gazed into her eyes, feeling the vibration strengthen. He swallowed, and tried to ignore it. Evidently, it was showing him danger of a very different sort...

"I'm glad to see you on your feet," he told her awkwardly. "Is there something I can aid you with today?"

She shook her head. "As I told Arglug, you've aided me more than I could ever ask. I came to thank you for your kindness yesterday. I owe you my life, and more." She studied his face, and her own changed as well, as she seemed to draw herself up, and in.

"No, you don't owe me anything. I'm glad to have been in the right place to help." He again forced the strange vibrations down, and turned abruptly to look out at the swamp. "Arglug suggested I take care of your eggs for you. I hope they do well."

She remained silent for a moment. "Thank you," she said again. "I must get back, I think. Arglug told me I should spend the day resting. I should follow his instructions."

He turned back to her, as she stepped away, bowed again, and turned to head back into the city. He took a step after her, reaching out, about to call to her, the love he had felt before rising like a tide within him. But the squad he had been waiting for - curse them! - appeared around the corner and approached him, coming to attention before him. He sighed, feeling a powerful disappointment that seemed to echo in the corners of his soul.

"Right, you lot. Come over here, and I'll explain what I want you to do."

M'jou hurried back into the city, hearing the general's voice growling at his soldiers behind her. A crushing disappointment had settled inside her. She had seen the anger he had tried - poorly - to hide. She didn't think it was truly directed at her, just at the situation that necessity had thrown him into.

Perhaps, if she could find a way to talk to him she could get to the bottom of the strange spell he had cast on her. It would take time, she thought. Time they did not, at this moment, have. Too many things remained to be done, if what she had seen in the streets as she explored had been any indication. They would be busy. Maybe, when it was done, and they had settled themselves - either here, or in Guk, or wherever Marr led them next - she could find a way to reach him. A strange sense of loneliness crept over her, and the wizard stopped, leaning against a wall.

She barely knew him. They had spoken only of business, and had fought together in a battle, and yet...

There was a void in her heart. She had felt the pull when she stood beside him. She had finally identified what it was that she was missing, and it wasn't her eggs.

She shook herself, and gathered her dignity about her like a shield.

Somewhere, in this city, someone had to have found some fabric of some sort, to replace her robe. She headed off to see.

* * * * *

The wrangling was done. The word spread swiftly that there would be a grand assembly. The largest courtyard filled, for no one wished to miss this meeting. This was where they would shape their future.

All who were not standing guard were there. They stood in silence, gazing up at the raised stone in the centre, as Faltip, the young charismatic warrior who had led them in battle, climbed it and faced the waiting crowd.

The whole circular courtyard was packed shoulder to shoulder, from the foot of the stone to the walls of the bluff that rose high above them. The bridges and doorways that opened onto the courtyard were filled as well. The people had gathered in groups, as the more powerful of each profession were joined by those they had led.

Faltip stood for a moment looking out at the crowds, pride on his face, before he addressed them. His first words brought cheers. They would be keeping the city. They no longer fit in with the people that were now being called their cousins. He waited for the cheers to subside before he spoke again. The stratified caste structure that had marked their people was the first thing stripped away. All would be equal, he proclaimed. No more would caste determine who could speak to whom; no more would caste determine who could do a task, or take up a trade.

There were murmurs, but this had been anticipated. For were they all not touched by the hand of Marr? Were they all not Chosen? Surely, they were all equal. This shift in perceptions had been begun before they had ever left the cavern-city of Guk.

The castes were reformed as those who followed each of the life-paths - warrior, priest, shaman, Sword, and wizard - were asked to choose one among them to lead them. Most choices were clear. "We will have Grubbus!" the Shinta cried, nearly in one voice, and the older Sword nodded gravely as he accepted. "Gloorg is our choice," the priests spoke. "The first of the Korta! The Master of the New Kor!" Gloorg blinked, then looked down humbly, and bowed before their acclaim. "M'jou leads us," the Jinta declared. "She will be our Master." The pale blue froglok started, and stared at the others around her, who cheered her. She lowered her eyes, but said nothing.

The Yunta were in deep discussion, and the object of their attention shook his head in denial. "We will have Perrit!" they proclaimed, but the older shaman stood up, still shaking his head. "No. I will not. There is another call for me. I am not to be your Master. Choose another." He turned towards the one who stood on the stone.

"You are not done yet. There are at least two castes that must yet be." His wise eyes held those of the warrior, and Faltip nodded slowly.

"You are correct. And we, too, know that you are called. You will not wear the title of Yun Master. You are the first of the Talta. And you alone will choose who will join you on that path." The new Yun fell silent, as they absorbed this.

Perrit nodded. "I will. I have had a dream of where our young will be born. It will not be finished this year, but by next year, we will have a good start on it. For now, I will choose a few to come with me, to help me prepare. There less than a moon before the time of mating is on us." He climbed the stone beside the leaders, and pointed, calling out names. Slowly, they moved to gather below him. "You are the new Tal. And it will be you who shape the lives of our children." He nodded to the leaders behind him, and climbed down again, to join the ones he had chosen.

"Who will lead you, Yunta? Who will be the new Yun Master?" The discussion had begun again, and Faltip waited patiently. At last the shamans reached a decision, and stepped apart. "We will have Arglug. Arglug will lead us." The young shaman started, and stared at the others, who nodded at him. "He has wisdom beyond his years." Arglug bowed slowly, still stunned, but accepting of the choice of his peers.

"What of you, Darta?" Faltip asked the warriors. "Who leads you?"

"You do!" the echoing cry returned. "Faltip leads us!"

Faltip shook his head. "I, too, have another calling. As do several others here. We must maintain a standing army. We must keep vigilant, for the trolls will return, and we must be ready to defend what we have taken." He looked out at the suddenly silent crowd. "You all are the army of Gukta. New Guk. So we have named this place, so will it remain... so long as you stand strong. This Outpost of Marr will not fall again into darkness!" Murmurs arose, and Faltip looked over the crowd. He smiled at what he saw. "To this end, we will create another of the castes that must be. We will be the Gaz, taken from the leaders of the army of our cousins. As the Gaz led there, so will we lead here. And I will lead the Gaz here... with the aid of Giidib, who will be my co-leader. We will also need some others." Like Perrit, he pointed out at the crowd, and called names. "Glooso. Lonnip. Foppis. Nosigg." One by one, they came to join him, as he scanned the crowd for the final face he sought. "And Grägok."

Grägok straightened, and stepped forward proudly to join them. He was pleased, and yet, some part of him was disappointed. He had hoped that he might be chosen to lead the new Dar. He had been of the Dar, in old Guk. His old caste. He shook his head. At least he was still a part of the army. He didn't know what he would do with himself if he ceased to be a soldier. It was all he had known. He was much older than the others, though, and suspected that his duties would become mostly administrative, as well as advisory.

He would certainly be busy, though, as they tallied their stores and worked out strategies to defend what they had conquered. His own eyes swept over the crowd, and he nodded as he found the figure of Guib, the strategist whose plans had shaped their attack. Guib would be busy, as well, he predicted.

Perhaps when these first weeks were over, when they had begun to settle, he could think of other things. Involuntarily, his eyes sought the Jinta. The wizards were in the midst of another discussion, and he picked out the graceful form of M'jou. Almost, he took a step towards her, but caught himself in time.

Not now. When they were done, there would be time to talk. Time to see if she felt as he did. He turned resolutely back to watch the Darta, as they proclaimed Griblok as their leader. Grägok nodded. Griblok was strong, and would make a good Master. And Griblok was much younger than he was, and would be able to hold his position for a great deal longer, before needing to retire. That would be good for the warriors. They needed consistency.

M'jou looked up as she heard Grägok's name called out, watching the warrior square his shoulders, and step forward. His expression was one of pride that he was so called, and she smiled to see him happy.

The smile faded, as she thought about her own position. She had no real aptitude for leadership, and worried about what would come. She looked around at the faces of her peers, and sighed to herself.

She would do the job for now. She did have a good organisational ability, and she could bring that to bear until they were set up, and another wizard could step in to replace her. If she were lucky, she could get away with only a few months in the position. She looked around at the others, and nodded to herself. Sergug was every bit as powerful as she was, and far more able at leading. He was very young, though. It would be a trick to make the others see him as a leader. She would have to think on it. Perhaps a gradual shift towards him would work.

With only half an ear, she listened to the discussion that was beginning around her, for the others of her new caste - was it truly a caste, or were they calling it that for convenience? - were already thinking on to the sharing of magicks. She shushed them, for Faltip had begun to speak again.

She nodded as the crowd grew silent at his next words, then cheered. For the others, all those who did not fall into one of the specific professions or other, were proclaimed as one people, one caste. And no caste, no matter its profession, would be higher than another. All were equal, truly. A council would be set up, with each the leader of each caste - each profession - being a part. All would have their say, and the council would rule the new city. With that proclamation, the assembly was done, and the people - the Zok - began to talk amongst themselves as to how to select a body that would represent them.

M'jou was not interested in those discussions, save as an intellectual exercise. The council, however, would fit well within her plans. She turned, and spoke to the wizards gathered around her, exercising her new authority, and proclaimed Sergug her proxy to the council. She would have enough to do for the next while.

Murmurs of agreement followed this decision, and Sergug bowed low before her. She nodded to him, and turned again to look towards the raised stone platform, but the Gaz that had stood at its foot had disappeared.

M'jou turned to scan the crowd, and felt a pang of disappointment. She had hoped to be able to speak to Grägok. She stifled the loneliness that swept through her again. It was already becoming all too familiar.

She scanned the crowd again and sighed. With Grägok being one of the few who were of the new-made Gaz, the general would no doubt be as busy - or more - as he had been when preparing for the battle. Even if she managed to catch his attention, he would likely have little time to socialise.

She turned back to the wizards - now beginning to argue - and squelched them. With a firm voice, she herded them off to a convenient empty building, to hold their meeting there.

* * * * *

Grägok hurried through the streets, his eyes scanning the crowd for a particular face. It wouldn't be hard to spot the shaman; he was one of few who bore colouration similar to Grägok's own. The warrior's dark rust, and the shaman's bright orange were rare among the people, who seemed to have been gifted with every colour under nature. And some that seemed distinctly unnatural, as well. They had already made jokes of deciding to name themselves family, and be done with it, before people started asking.

When the general realised he was scanning for more than just Arglug's face, he cursed to himself, and picked up his pace. Whatever was happening to him was interfering with his work, and he couldn't have that. He forced himself to continue towards the building that the shaman had picked for himself.

The trolls were not entirely without skill. The city they had built was crude, but serviceable. And if the doors were too large, and the windows oddly set, that was survivable. There was more than enough room for the conquerors to move in.

Add to that the fact that close friendships had sprung up, and pairs and groups of friends chose to remain together, sharing the large-for-them houses, and there was a surfeit of living space available. One could live nearly where one chose, although some of the more popular areas were filling quickly.

Arglug, for whatever reason, had picked a spot on the edge of the city, nearly to the river. It seemed the shaman liked his solitude. A few others - mostly wizards - had joined him there, away from the bustle of people.

The shaman was home, and answered his door when the warrior pounded on it.

"I thought you would be coming around, sooner or later," he said mildly, and stepped aside to let the other in. "Come and sit down."

"What is happening to me?" the warrior demanded, as he was led to the main room. Several large cushions sat on the floor, and Grägok collapsed onto one. "I have this strange feeling, all the time... like I'm vibrating inside. Like..." He waved his hands in the air.

"Like something is missing?" Arglug sat down facing the general, and smiled slightly. "Do you know where she is?"

Grägok blinked, then thought about it. As he did, he felt a pull, and turned his head. Arglug chuckled.

"Well. That would be a ‘yes'. We knew about this, although it has never happened to one of our people before, that we know of." Arglug shook his head. "And you seem to be one of those who can sense through it, too. That's rare, from what our teachings say."

"What is ‘It', and how do I make it stop? I can't work like this, Arglug. It's driving me insane!" Grägok thumped his knee with his fist. "Make it go away."

The shaman shook his head, sympathy in his eyes. "It won't go away. You have to accept it. You can keep as you are, and banish it to the back of your mind. The teachings say that you can do this, it just takes practice. Or... you can embrace it."

"Embrace it! What the Hate does that mean? Embrace it. What nonsense." Grägok sniffed. "And you still haven't explained what it is!"

"I don't know, precisely. I told you, you're the first. I don't think that we, as we were, were capable of that kind of bond. It's a sharing of souls, of sorts. Yours, and hers. You're joined." Arglug rubbed his chin. "We've been changed, and I think the change has done much more to us than alter our bodies." He nodded as the warrior stared at him. "It's as if our souls were shaped as well. Tell me, have you ever felt anything as deeply, as strongly as you feel now?"

Grägok shook his head slowly. He had worried that he was growing weak-willed, as these unfamiliar emotions raged within him. It never occurred to him that the others were in the same position.

"We have been talking, we shamans, with the new priests. They are learning their paths, and shaping things that will be traditions someday. But we have our own long-held traditions, and have touched the souls of our people for many long years. And what is happening to us is new." Arglug got up, and paced back and forth. "It's as if... we were empty boxes, suddenly flung open, and filled. It will be a great deal of learning, from all of us, to find out what we truly are now." He smiled suddenly at the gaping warrior. "And you will be teaching us, Grägok. You and the strange bond you have made, that we have heard of only in tales."

The shaman crossed his arms. "So you will, again, have some decisions to make."

He watched the warrior's gaze grow distant as he pondered, and smiled to himself.

Five days. It had been only five days since they had driven the trolls from Grobb. Five days since he had touched her, since he had held her close... He shook his head. He was doing it again.

He had been in council all day. The new council was shaping rules, laws... and he was exhausted. Faltip had so much on his plate that he'd asked Grägok to sit on council, and ensure that the military concerns were addressed properly. A task he was well suited for, truth be told. The administration seemed to come naturally to him. Faltip had even given him a title. Gaz Administrator Grägok. He rolled the words on his tongue. A fitting tribute to an old soldier.

Not that he felt old, anymore. He sniffed. He wasn't old anymore. According to Arglug, he was just over middle aged again. How the shamans had determined what had happened, he didn't know. Truthfully, he didn't want to know, either. Their rituals often left him feeling uneasy.

But what had happened was simple. Their lifespans had changed. He could look forward to many more years of vigour before age took him again.

He grimaced. Well. He may not be old, but he certainly was tired. In council all day. Hunting down Arglug in the evening... It had been a long day.

He sighed and looked up at the stars overhead before setting out homeward. Homeward... He still hadn't picked a home of his own. He wasn't sure why, but none of the ones he had investigated had been right. For now, he was staying in what was being used as a barracks.

While much - most - of the army was reshaping itself to civilian life, some had remained, led by the Gaz. They were organising themselves further than the simple structure that had formed to the task of sacking Grobb. The Dar, too, were reshaping themselves into the defenders and guards that the city would need. He was pleased and proud that they were consulting him for help in the set up. Griblok had come to him, to ask him his advice. That one would be a good leader for them, but he was young, and didn't have the depth of experience yet. He had the drive though, and was already shaping the Dar into a force to be reckoned with.

Shaping the Dar. He felt a twinge of envy, then laughed it away. Hadn't he said it to himself before? Better for a younger warrior to do that. In his own way, he was shaping all of Gukta, sitting on the council for the Gaz.

He looked up suddenly, as he found himself slowing and stopping, then frowned as he recognised the place. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. No matter how hard he tried to fight it...

He turned to walk away. He was haunting her door, as if he were a young tad about to join his first mating, waiting to catch some female in amplexus. He shook his head, and made to leave. One step, then another.

He stopped, as he felt the strange resonance within him again. It was as if he felt an echo of his own longing...

Hadn't Arglug said he could sense through it? Was it her he felt? Her longing? He turned back, slowly. There was light in the window.

Direct action was often the best course, and in more things than just war. At least he could talk to her. Apologise for acting like a fool.

He stepped up to the door, and raised his hand to knock. He was startled when the door opened before he touched it, and she was there. She stared at him for a moment in surprise, then nodded slowly.

"Come in. Please." She opened the door wide, and stepped back. What could he do but bow, and step inside? He looked around at the home she had chosen. It still bore the scars of the trolls' occupancy, but much of the rude furniture had been removed. One of their benches had been transformed into a table, and a long, low chest of some sort had been covered with fabric. The addition of several cushions made it into a seat. Beside it sat a wooden tub liberated from somewhere, filled with water. He took a step closer, and looked down at the floating eggs.

"Five?" he asked in surprise.

"One withered." Her voice held sorrow, and she went to sit, to look down into the water. "Arglug - Master Arglug - said he thinks that it had been damaged by the sword." She fell silent again for a moment, before she closed her eyes. "We set it with the fallen, on the pyre."

He lowered his head. She, and several other of the more powerful wizards had taken it upon themselves to see that the dead were honoured, and that there would be no replay of Guk. Each who had been lost had been blessed by one of the priests, then cremated by wizard fire. No troll seeking to reprise the Curse would find fodder for their magicks. No ghouls would arise here. The ashes had been scattered in the swamp.

When he looked up, she still sat in silence, her own head bowed. The wave of love he had felt before rose in him again, and he reached out and touched her cheek. Her skin was smooth beneath his rough fingers, and she lifted her head slowly, and looked into his eyes.

"M'jou," he began, but as her pale eyes met his, whatever words he had meant to say were forgotten. Once again, there was a feeling that he was being pulled - and this time he went willingly. One instant, he stood before her, and the next, he was on his knees, with her in his arms. She lay her head upon his shoulder, her own arms encircling him.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, in an unconscious echo of his own words to her, what seemed a lifetime ago. "I love you."

"Never," he promised, resting his cheek against hers. "Never again. Not so long as I have will."

* * * * *

How long they had spent that night talking, he didn't know. When he finally stumbled off to find his bed, it was with a deep reluctance, despite his exhaustion. Even knowing he would return the next day, to be with her again, it was the hardest thing in the world to say goodnight and walk away from her door.

He knew he was useless in council the next day but, fortunately, there seemed to be little that concerned him, or the Gaz. He did his best, however, and was blissfully unaware of the smiles that followed him. His visit to the wizard had not gone unnoticed.

Grägok's steps seemed to fly as he made his way to her again, at the end of the session. As before, the strange link trembled as he neared her, and he felt her joy as he knocked on her door. She had been waiting for him.

Once again, time moved strangely, and they spoke of whatever came to mind. Their work. The weather. The hopes and dreams they held for their people. When words ran out, it didn't matter. Just being together was enough. With that realisation came the knowledge that he didn't want to go again that night.

And so he stayed. He fell asleep there at last, watching her as she sat at her table, writing some list or other. She was leaning forward, her slight form perched on a stool with her toes curled around the rungs. He carried the image of her into his dreams.

M'jou looked up from her page at an odd sound, and turned. She smiled, feeling a rush of warmth, for the warrior had begun to snore, his chin touching his breast as he slept. She set aside her pen and slipped from her stool.

She meant to ease him to a more comfortable position, but Grägok roused as she touched him, and she sighed. He smiled at her, and her heart ached with her love of him.

"It's been a long day," he told her, apologetically.

"It will be longer if you don't get some sleep," she told him. "Why don't you go to bed?"

The warrior looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "I have work to do tomorrow," he said, a note of reluctance in his voice. "May I come by again, after the session?"

She opened her mouth to tell him how stupid a question that was, then stopped. He didn't want to go, that was obvious. She didn't want him to go, either. Why were they being fools? She looked into his eyes as he waited for her answer.

"After the session, and every day, and always," she said softly. She reached out to trace his flaring eye-ridges gently with her fingertips. "Starting now. The bed is through there." She indicated the other room with a tilt of her head. "You'd best go use it, before you get a crick in your neck from sleeping here. I'll join you when I'm done. There's only one bed, so we'll be sharing." She smiled, seeing the joy rising in his face, and felt her own heart leap with the same wondrous emotion. "It's a troll-bed, though, so there's lots of room."

He rose slowly, and reached out to catch her hand. He held it, and bowed over it, as if she were some great high-caste lady demanding obeisance.
"I'll see you in the morning, then," he replied. They were simple words, but so much lay behind them, and she smiled again, then drew him close, brushing her cheek against his.

"Goodnight," she whispered, and released him again. She watched as he made his way to the bedroom, then turned back to her unfinished work.

He transferred his few belongings over from the barracks the next day.

Home finally took on a meaning to the warrior, as he found the place he had been seeking. She made the difference. She had been what was missing. With her, he was whole. He felt the resonance within him now always, the flow of the love that they shared, the sense of her own joy in his presence.

And yet, beneath it, he felt also a lurking sorrow. A sorrow she tried to hide from him, and from herself.

M'jou bent to her work with a will, using it to distract herself. She was organising the Jin, seeing that those who knew magicks that others did not shared that knowledge, so that all gained thereby. She began a coding of all that was known, by all of them, and began to work out the rules that would govern their caste, and what they would one day teach.

It was every bit as difficult as the work he did in council, and he was glad that she had chosen another of the Jin, the young wizard Sergug, to take her place there. Sergug seemed well able to take care of that duty, and the two spent many hours in discussions.

The work kept her occupied, kept her from dwelling on the source of her pain.

Or it mostly did.

Grägok looked up at her, as she set her pen down, and rubbed her face, before going to look down into the tub of water. He sighed as she crouched down beside it, to inspect the eggs carefully. He should have had them taken to the pyre, not prolonged her pain this way. Every evening, she...

"Grägok!" He looked up, and the urgent note in her voice drew him quickly to her side. "Look! There are changes!" She pointed with a trembling finger.

Two of the eggs had quickened. Perhaps it was the light that had made it difficult to tell, or perhaps the initial changes were more subtle in the eggs made by these new bodies, but the two had progressed to the point where tiny shapes were visible in their hearts.

He held his breath as she knelt down to examine the others more closely. But their hearts held only the single dark speck that they had always had. They held no promise of life.

She sat back slowly, joy and sorrow both warring in her face.

Two lived! But... only two lived.

She rose slowly, and turned to him, and wordlessly, he found an earthenware bowl, and extended it to her. She took it from him, and with shaking hands lifted the three lifeless eggs from the water. She covered the bowl with her mantle, and clutched it to her.

"I will return," she said softly.

"No." He lifted it from her hands, and put his arm around her. "We will go together."

The bluff-top was where their feet led them. It was the place where the dead had been borne, and sent to the side of Marr. A cleared space, down to the bedrock of the bluff, was all that marked the place. Perhaps someday a memorial would be raised here. But for now, it was an empty place, high above the sounds of the city below.

The white-hot flame M'jou summoned with a word licked the bowl, vaporising what it held instantly. Not even ash was left behind to show that something had been there.

The two stood in silence for a time, sharing the weight of a loss that they could not explain. All of their lives, the mating frenzy had left egg-masses scattered through the swamp. They were unguarded. Untended. The tads that sprang from them were left to their own devices until they grew legs. Then, and only then, were they taken into Guk, and raised as children.

Neither of them had ever taken notice of the fruits of mating. And yet... this time it was different. Each tiny seed held a promise, a hope for something greater.

"We are so fragile," she said at last, moving to the edge of the cliff, and looking down at the city. "We know so little of ourselves." She made a gesture at the bustle below. "There is something new in us. It is... as if we were sleeping, and are now awake. We see differently, woken from dreaming." She looked up at him. "I don't know what our future will hold; what the time of mating will bring; but I will tell you this. Every child will matter. Every one. We will not be as we were."

He shook his head. "What we are is what we are. I don't care to dwell on things that I can't change. Best to use that energy to change the things we can." He joined her in looking down on people below. "And making sure the children that will come have a place of safety and freedom is one of those things." He reached out, and caught her hand. "Come. Let's get back down below." He drew her back, and led her off down the path, leaving behind the bowl and the troubling thoughts it brought him.

* * * * *

The city thrived. Save for some half-hearted attempts by the trolls to rally, and strike back, the first weeks were uneventful, and the frogloks were shaping the city to their liking. It, like the frogloks themselves, had been transformed.

Another sort of transformation was taking place within it. The females were swelling, bearing the eggs that would be the hope of their people. Any doubt that they would breed true was gone, by the time the first was led towards the river, where, into a waiting pool dug for the purpose, she deposited the first eggmass of the breeding season. If three eggs could be called an eggmass. The males were dumbfounded. No instinct had driven them to follow her, and catch her, and hold tight. There was no impulse to repel other males, to lay claim... There was a discussion, before one finally stepped forward, to fertilise the eggs.

The second female to be ready made sure she didn't have that problem. She approached a male, and told him - in no uncertain terms - that he would be going to the pool with her. He agreed, and that ended any confusion, as they now knew what to expect.

By the second day, the people were ready, and the new way was known by all. Those chosen felt honoured that they would father the next - the first! - generation, while those who were not were glad that at least their work was not interrupted by some instinctual need to fight.

The eggs were large, much larger than the eggs of the people that they had been, of their cousins. These eggs looked much the same, but for their size, as well as for the fact that there were so few of them. No female laid fewer than three, but neither did any lay more than a dozen.

M'jou became a centre of interest, as other females came to her, to question her about the development of the eggs she had cared for. She answered as best as she could, but it soon became apparent that her heart wasn't in it, and they would depart again, warning off others, leaving her to gaze down into the water where the single tadpole waved its feathery gills weakly.

The other had never hatched. They had awoken one morning, to find that it had ceased to struggle in its gelatinous prison. A healer, summoned immediately, had shaken her head sadly. It had been far too late.

It seemed the city held its breath, as the life of the final one hung in the balance. But it had hatched, and sank to the bottom of the tub, resting from its exertions in freeing itself from the egg. A great yolk-sac still clung to it, and it had no need to feed, and would not, for several days, while it gained strength.

Grägok was stopped in the street as he went to and from the council chambers, and had questions put to him. He was surprised, it seemed everyone had come to care what happened to the tiny tadpole.

But that wasn't the thing uppermost on his mind. M'jou was. She had sunk into despair, and for all that he had tried, she had not responded.

He pondered, as the session closed, and turned to catch up with the Master Shaman, who had become a close friend through the trial.

"Arglug?" He shifted in embarrassment. "Can I ask you a favour?"

"Of course you can," the shaman replied. "How can I help? It's the little one, isn't it?"

Grägok nodded. "It is. But more then that... it's M'jou." He looked up, and nodded politely as the High Priest joined the two, as he exited the council chambers.

"M'jou? Is she alright?" Gloorg's kindly face took on an expression of concern. "She has been in my prayers."

"Thank you," the warrior said, with a slight bow. "But the answer is no, she isn't." He frowned. "It's as if the life has been sucked out of her." He lowered his head. "She hasn't eaten for days. She doesn't speak unless you ask her a question. I've tried to tell her that there will be seasons beyond this one. That we will try again, if hope fails us. But she... I..." He swallowed. "I love her, Arglug. I'm afraid for her. I don't want to lose her. If it dies..."

The two holy-men stood, listening, and they looked at each other.

"Come on, Grägok," Arglug said kindly. "Let's go see her. We'll talk to her. Perhaps our blessings will help. And maybe I'll try a scrying, to see if Lord Marr might have something to show us."

She looked up from her work as they entered, and nodded politely, but it was apparent to both the cleric and the shaman that Grägok's worries were not misplaced. The despair she tried to hide was all too clear.

They sat down with her, and Grägok reached out to take her hand. He held it between his own tenderly. She looked at him, and the resonance he had come to treasure vibrated with her pain. His own heart ached in response. No words were adequate enough to give her, so he kept his silence and let his eyes speak for him.

"M'jou." Arglug smiled warmly at the wizard. "The little one hatched two days ago, now, yes?" She nodded, as he bent down to peer into the tub, and studied the small life within it. He held his hand out, and it glittered blue for a moment. "It's healthy," he said quietly. "Very small, though. I imagine it'll do a lot of growing. Those extra weeks, before the others begin to hatch, will come in handy, won't they, little one? You'll need them to catch up with the others. They'll all start out bigger than you, I think." He dipped his hand into the water, and smiled as the small shape wiggled away from his touch. "I'll have one of my Yun find some good algae-covered rocks for it. To make sure it has something to eat, when it needs it. From the size of that yolk sac, you've got another day before then. Would you like me to find out if it's male or female? It might help with choosing a name." He looked up at the wizard's stricken face.

"M'jou?" Gloorg reached down to take her other hand. "I think that's an admirable idea, myself. Find out if you have a son or a daughter."

She shook her head, and closed her eyes. "I don't want to know... I can't bear to love it, not when..." Her face twisted, as she struggled to hold her emotions tight within her. "Not when it will be taken from me too."

"Oh, my dear lady," Gloorg whispered, and settled his arm around her. "Don't you see that it is that self-same love that will give it strength? You have so much to give, do not withhold it for fear. If the worst should come, would you rather have given that infant life some joy in knowing it was loved, and treasured, or have it never know the touch of your hand or the feel of your love?"

"Master Gloorg..." She bowed her head. "I don't know if I have the strength..."

"Of course you do," Grägok told her. "Your children will grace this city, and we will be proud of them. They will be strong, and beautiful, as their mother is." He stroked her cheek. "Where there is life, there is hope."

"Do not lose your hope, M'jou," Arglug said gently. "This little one shows no sign of illness, no weakness that time will not cure. It just needs to grow." He rubbed his chin. "Perhaps a scrying is a good idea, after all. At the very least, I'll find out if you have a son or a daughter."

He settled himself down beside the tub, watching the movements of the tadpole. He rubbed his chin again, as he thought. "Well, then. Let us see..." He reached out a finger to touch the surface of the water, whispering an incantation. A single drop clung to his fingertip. He lifted it, and touched it to his eye. A second drop was lifted to his other eye, and he blinked them deliberately, then leaned over the tub, and gazed down into the water.

For a long time, he sat motionless, waiting, and M'jou stirred, about to speak, to tell him to stop, that it wasn't necessary. But she froze, as his eyes widened suddenly, and he leaned closer, nearly touching the water as he stared. He opened his mouth to speak, once, but stopped, and sat silently, watching images only he could see.

After a time, he raised his head, to look at the faces of the three who sat waiting.

"He will live, M'jou," the shaman said, finally. "He has a destiny. He will be..." Arglug's mouth worked, and a strange expression flicked across his face. He tried again, then shook his head. "He will do great things." The Yun Master looked to the priest, whose own eyes had widened. "I can't say more than that."

"You can't say...?" Grägok frowned, and looked from the Yun to the Kor, and back. "But...?"

"He cannot say, because he is prevented," Kor Master Gloorg said gently. "Some things are not for us to know. But your son has a destiny, Grägok. Arglug speaks true. And he will do great things. There is no lie in those words. And if Lord Marr wishes to keep secrets, that is surely his right."

"My... son?" Grägok blinked. "I have a son..." He turned to M'jou, who was still staring at the shaman. "We have a son," he told her, as she looked at him, her eyes veiling themselves.

"And he will live," she said, her voice breaking "He will live!" She leaned on him, letting his strength support her as she wept. "I have been so afraid. I could not bring myself to hope again..."

He wrapped his arms around her, and held her. "We should think of a name," he said to her, stroking her cheek. "A name for our son."

Arglug stood up, a little shakily, and looked back down into the tub at the tadpole that hung there, then reached down again, dipping his hand into the water. He touched the tadpole with a gentle finger, and spoke a word, and a shimmer of light shone from the water. "Be strong, little one," he said. "Lord Marr bless you, and protect you."

He waited in silence as the priest did the same, then led the way outside, looking back to see the wizard and the warrior still clinging to each other. He smiled sadly, and waited for Gloorg, who closed the door, and joined him.

"He will have a hard time of it?" the priest asked, as they set out together.

Arglug nodded. "It will be a long, hard path. And we will not be able to help him. Outwardly, at any rate." He shook his head. "And yet, if he holds true..."

The cleric sighed. "I was afraid of that. I will see what I can do. It will be interesting to see if we can be both sneaky, and honourable." He walked in silence for a time. "How long do we have?"

"Not that long. He leaves us young." Arglug sighed. "It will be hard on them. We'll have to be ready for it."

Gloorg nodded. "Will it end happily?" he asked at last.

Arglug stole a glance at the cleric, and smiled a little. "Now, that would be telling," he said. "You'll have to wait and see."

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