Your enemy always has a plan too, the swine. That?s why we call them?the enemy.? ?Thanks again,? he said to Jack, as they shook hands one last time before they buckled their gear.

The other man?s hand lacked much of the little finger and the tip of the next; he?d gotten that putting it between a Sioux tomahawk and Ingolf?s face. ?Hell, Captain, you saved my life a lot more often than I saved yours, back when. Mainly because you knew what you were doing and I didn?t.?

Ingolf shrugged.?It was my job. But you?ve got family responsibilities now, Jack.?

The Iowan cinched his sword belt and shrugged to settle it on his hips; he was wearing a jointed two-piece breastplate and flexible tassets to protect his thighs. Iowa had the best metalworkers in this part of the world, and his family could afford the finest. ?That?s really why I?m here,? Jack replied.?My kids are going to be around for the next sixty years, God willing, and by then they?ll have grandkids. These Cutters… they may not get to Iowa soon, but if they aren?t stopped now they?ll be here in force someday.?

Ingolf nodded.?Christ, Jack, why aren?t there more who can see that??

Jack grinned.?You?re expecting people to be sensible now, Captain? How you?ve changed!? ?Point. I wish Mary and Ritva would get back here,? he said. ?What?s going on out there??

Ritva Havel raised her head, slowly, leaving just her eyes above the ridge of the roof and brought the night glasses to them; beside her Mary used a monocular.

Their heads and most of their faces were covered by a knitted cap of wool made in the irregular very dark taupe color that faded into an urban background better than black. It was full night-the moon was down-and from above the gaslights at the corners of the streets hid more than they revealed, killing much of her night sight no matter how carefully Ritva squinted and looked aside. The building where the Cutters were quartered was unlit… which was significant in itself.

She took a deep breath, feeling her blood pump and senses extend themselves outward. It wasn?t particularly nice air in itself-this town burned coal too, like most in Iowa, and it was heavy with wet and still too warm for comfort. Sweat trickled and ran down her flanks, making the coarse dark linsey-woolsey and supple leather of her Dunedain working garb cling and chafe.

But at least I?m doing something instead of sitting and worrying! she thought. Real Ranger work.

The door opened. There was only a moment?s gleam of muted light, noticeable because it caught at the edges of honed steel. The Cutters? armor was partly metal, but mostly lacquered leather the color of dried blood, not very conspicuous in the dark. They came out in disciplined silence, with only a very slight clatter of harness and bootheels on pavement. A rough count showed forty or fifty; not all the survivors of the troop Graber and the Cutter magus had brought east with them, but well over half.

And unless Denson lied to us, about now he?ll A brighter light flickered and then steadied. Edgar Denson of the State Police strolled forward, half a dozen of his men behind him, their shetes drawn. According to the plan he?d insisted on he was going to hold the Corwinites in conversation for a few moments, enough for the two Dunedain to flit back and put the rest into motion. She wouldn?t put it past him to have some elaborate triple cross in mind, but so far, so good.

She glanced aside and met her sister?s one eye above the face-covering mask-hood. Their thoughts ran in perfect harmony:

Just a moment more, to make sure Mr. Denson is doing what he promised. ?Halt,? the Iowan said to the Cutter party.?Care to explain why you?re all out at night, and armed??

Graber was in the lead, but the red-robed Seeker pushed past him before he could do more than clap his hand to the hilt of his blade. ?I-see-you,? the Cutter priest said.

Fingers of icy slime caressed her at the sound. Memories cracked open like a too-fresh scab, although it had been a year since that encounter in the snow-thick forests of the Teton slopes. It wasn?t fear that made her want to flee the Cutter priest?s presence, exactly. More an elemental disgust. This was something that shouldn?t be in the world, and it made everything around her suddenly seem alien, alien and slightly decayed. Some part of her expected to smell rot from her own flesh. ?What?? Denson said. ?I-see-you,? the Prophet?s man said again, staring into his eyes.

The voice sounded suffused, as if it was swollen with freight beyond what words could bear, as if meaning itself would tear apart at the weight and leave words to rattle empty through human skulls. ?You-are-mine. Eternally. For-a-beginning.?

Ritva could hear Mary?s breath hiss out, a slight sound in the night. It had been a Seeker who cut the eye out of her face. And Ritva who killed him, which had been like a battle in a bad dream, against an opponent who wouldn?t die. Denson had courage. He cleared his throat, but when he spoke his voice was calm and sardonic. ?Hey, don?t you guys know voodoo only works on people who believe in it??

The Seeker laughed. There was no joy in the sound; listening to it made you doubt the possibility of joy for a second. But there was considerable satisfaction. ?Does your sword only cut those with faith in it?? he said, in tones more human.?You have pledged and taken the fruits. Now all is demanded.?

Sorta human, Ritva thought. Sorta-kinda.

Denson bristled.?I never took anything from you!?

The laugh sounded again, and Ritva fought an impulse to drop the glasses and jam the heels of her hands over her ears. ?We have no need to buy men?s souls. You give yourselves to Us. And you have listened to our counsel for a very long time.? ?Fuck you, you lunatic!?

The Seeker shrugged.?What is that you wear around your waist, man?? he asked. ?It?s what I use to hold up my pants and for my shete, when I?m not pointing it at some asshole I?ve suddenly decided needs killing,? the secret policeman said, his voice gone hard.

He waggled the long curved horseman?s weapon, the point rising until the razor-edged six inches on the back of the blade hovered near the Cutter?s throat. ?You may have lost the concept out in Montana along with regular baths and brushing your teeth, but it?s called a belt in this part of the world,? he went on.?Anymore questions about civilized fashions?? ?You lie,? the High Seeker said casually.?It isn?t a belt; it is a giant rattlesnake. What a fool you are, to wear a deadly serpent around your body!?

Denson started to laugh himself. Then Ritva saw his face shift, as one hand dropped to his midriff. He gave a single high shriek and dropped his sword. He struck convulsively at himself before the steel rang on the pavement, scrabbling and pounding… and then pitched to the ground, twitching. Her own breath caught as she saw his purple, distended face and the foam on his lips. Then her throat clenched tighter still, as her eyes dropped to his right hand.

It bled, where the palm was pierced by the loosened pin of his belt buckle. ?Thiach iluuvea gail, Heru Denson,? Mary observed, dropping back into Sindarin. ?No, he isn?t very bright. Wasn?t.? ?He wouldn?t listen to us, and now look what it got him. And us.? ?And there goes our crucial delay. Well, maybe Denson?s retainers will attack them-?

The men behind Denson wavered, got a good look at their commander, then threw away their weapons and took to their heels. From the sounds they were making, the State Police troopers didn?t intend to stop until they hit the Mississippi-or Nebraska, if that street led west. She very much doubted they planned to stop and inform the authorities of what had happened… not that anyone would believe them in time if they did.

I don?t know if I believe it myself, she thought in some corner of her mind. There are stranger things in the Histories, but this is the Fifth Age of the World. Or maybe the Sixth!