"-you were attacked by mouls mounted on snargs," said Snibril.

"Yes. Time and again. How did you know this?"

"I'm good at guessing," said Snibril. "How many of you are there?"

"About three hundred able-bodied, and a lot of wounded."

"I know a safe city where your wounded can be taken. It's only two days' easy march, if we spare some soldiers to escort them."

"We'll need too many," said the sergeant. "There'll be mouls everywhere."

"Not where we've been," said Snibril quietly. "Not any more. And the rest of us will go with you to Ware."

The sergeant looked down at the dust, thinking.

"I won't say we don't need everyone we can get," he said. "Where's this paradise, then?"

"Jeopard," said Snibril.

"You must be mad!"

At that moment there was a roar from the road. Both of them hurried back, to where there was now a huge pushing crowd of Dumii and Deftmenes, with the Munrungs trying to keep them apart. Snibril pushed his way through and found a Deftmene and a soldier rolling over and over on the road, punching at one another.

Snibril watched them for a moment, and then flung his spear on the ground.

"Stop that!" he shouted. "You're soldiers! You're not supposed to fight!"

Even the two combatants stopped to work that one out.

"I don't understand you!" Snibril shouted. His voice echoed off the hairs. "There's enemies all around us, and you just attack each other! Why?"

"They're closer," said a voice from the Dumii ranks.

"He called me dirty!" said the Deftmene who had been fighting.

"Well, you are," said Snibril. "So's he. We all are. Now get up-"

He stopped. All the Dumii were looking past him, to Athan and the wights, and Snibril heard the whispering start.

"They've got wights with them ... fighting!"

He looked at Athan, who looked miserable. Snibril sidled over to him.

"Don't let them know you can't remember this future," he said.

"They know the future! And they're on his side!"

"Why should we fight for them if they treat us like that?" said a Deftmene. Snibril spun around and picked up the astonished warrior by his collar.

"You're not fighting for them! You're fighting for yourselves!"

The Deftmene was shaken, but not afraid. "We've always fought for ourselves," he said. "And we were never Counted!"

"No, but the Empire was all around you, wasn't it, keeping you safe! The Dumii kept the peace over half the Carpet! All around you! Kept you safe!"

"They never did!"

"Think about it! There's Dumii towns all around you! When they defended themselves, they were defending you! They fought for real so that you could fight them for fun!"

Snibril was shaking with anger.

There was silence.

He put the Deftmene down.

"I'm going to Ware," he said. "Anyone else wants to come, it's up to them ... "

No-one left, except for a small group who were going to accompany the wounded back to Jeopard. Two of the wights went with them. The Dumii felt a lot better with wights around. They seemed to think that wights only went where it was safe. That's what they'd do ...

The rest of them marched on down the road. Snibril found that he was in command; the Munrungs wanted to follow him, the Deftmenes were beginning to think that anyone who could lose their temper that badly was probably a king, and the Dumii-well, the Dumii soldiers followed Sergeant Careus, and Sergeant Careus was riding alongside Snibril. Most armies are in fact run by their sergeants-the officers are there just to give things a bit of tone and prevent warfare becoming a mere lower-class brawl.

The sergeant half turned in his saddle and looked back at the Deftmenes.

"Nice to have cavalry on our side again," he said. "Even if they're still shorter than infantry. I've fought against them a couple of times. Tough little ba ... people. That was under Baneus. He respected 'em. He left 'em alone. They didn't like that back in Ware, but he always said it's worth keeping a few enemies around. You know. To practise on. I think he quite liked 'em. Odd little ba ... chaps."

"Baneus," said Snibril, cautiously. "Yes. Er. Whatever happened to him? Did he do something terrible?"

"You know him?"

"I've ... heard of him," said Snibril carefully.

"He killed someone. An assassin. The way I heard it, someone was trying to kill the young Emperor during his coronation. Hiding behind a pillar with a bow. Baneus spotted him and threw his sword at him. Got him just in time. Killed him grit dead. Arrow missed Targon by inches. Funny thing is, Baneus hated Targon. He was always in trouble. He said Emperors shouldn't be hereditary, but elected just like they used to be. A stickler for honesty, was the General. Oh, there were always rows. But after that, he had to be banished, of course."

"Why of course?" said Snibril.

"No-one is allowed to draw a sword within fifty paces of the Emperor," said the Sergeant.

"But he saved his life!"

"Yes, but you've got to have rules, otherwise where would we be?" said Sergeant Careus.

"But-"

"Afterwards the Emperor had the law changed and they sent someone after the General."

"Did he ever find him?"

"I think so. He was sent back tied to his horse with an apple in his mouth. I think the General was a bit upset."

The Deftmenes are mad and the Dumii are sane, thought Snibril, and that's just the same as being mad except that it's quieter. If only you could mix them together, you'd end up with normal people. Just like me.

"We could do with him now, and that's a fact," said the sergeant.

"Yes," said Snibril. "Um. What do I do now? We'll have to camp tonight. I mean, I don't know what sort of orders you're supposed to give."

The sergeant looked at him kindly.

"You say, "Make camp here"," he said.

CHAPTER 17

A scattering of campfires speckled the darkness. It was the second night of the journey of all four races. No-one had killed anyone yet.

Snibril and the sergeant had made sure that there was at least one Munrung at each campfire, as referees.

"I wish we could get some more wights fighting," said Careus. "I watched one of them using a bow just now, when the lads were practising. I mean, when have they ever used a bow before? He just looked at it for a while, then put an arrow in the centre of the target. Just like that."

"Just as well they don't fight, then," said Snibril. "Maybe it's best to leave it to people who aren't so good at it. What's the plan?"

"Plan?" said Careus. "I don't know. I just fight. Fought all my life. Always been a soldier. All I know is what the messenger said ... all the legions are going back to Ware."

"All fifteen?" said Snibril. He rubbed his head. It was feeling ... sort of squashed ...

The sergeant looked surprised. "Fifteen? We haven't got fifteen. Oh, yes. We're called the Fifteenth. But a lot got disbanded. No need for 'em, see? Hardly anyone left to fight. It's like that, empiring. One day you're fighting everyone, next day everyone's settled down and being lawful and you don't hardly need soldiers."

"So how many are there?" said Snibril.

Three."

"Three legions? How many people is that?"

"About three thousand men."

"Is that all?"

Careus shrugged. "Less than that now, I reckon. All scattered around, too."

"But that's not enough to-" Snibril stopped, and then raised his hands slowly to his head. "Tell everyone to lie down," he muttered. "Put out their fires and lie down!"

One or two horses started to whinny in the picket lines.

"Why?" said the sergeant. "What's the-"

"And they must be ready to fight!" said Snibril. His head felt as though someone was treading on it. He could hardly think. Somewhere in the hairs, an animal screeched.