Careus was looking at him as if he was ill. "What's the-" he began.

"Please! Can't explain! Do it now!"

Careus ran off. He could hear him shouting orders to the corporals. The Deftmenes and Munrungs didn't need telling twice.

A moment later, Fray struck.

It was away to the south ... not far. The pressure built up so that even the Dumii could feel it. The hairs bowed, and then whipped furiously as a wind blew clouds of dust through the Carpet. The soldiers who hadn't been quick enough to follow orders were picked up and bowled over and over in the dust.

And then there was the thump.

Afterwards, there was that long, crowded pause in which everyone decides that although they are very shaken, and possibly upside down, they are, to their surprise, still alive.

Careus crawled around until he found his helmet under a bush and then, still not standing up, shuffled over to Snibril.

"You felt it coming," he said. "Even before the animals!"

"The mouls can, too," said Snibril. "And they're better at it than me! They don't summon Fray! They can sense when it's going to happen! And then they attack afterwards, when everyone's shaken-"

He and Careus looked around at the hairs.

"To arms, everyone!" the sergeant yelled.

A Deftmene raised his hand. "What does that mean?" he said. "We've all got two arms."

"Means you've got to fight!"

"Oh, right."

It was only seconds later that the mouls attacked. But seconds were enough. A hundred of them galloped into what should have been a camp of bewildered, wounded and unprepared victims. They found instead bewildered, wounded and extremely well-prepared and moreover enraged fighters.

They were surprised. But their surprise didn't last long. It was, very accurately, the surprise of their life.

The moul attack changed things. Deftmenes and Dumii had always fought, but never on the same side. It's hard to feel so bad about someone when last night he was stopping other people hitting you with axes and things.

The little army swung down the road to Ware, singing. Admittedly there were three different marching songs, all to different tunes, but the general effect was quite harmonious if you didn't mind not being able to make out any of the words.

"The lads sing one about me sometimes." said the sergeant. "It's got seven verses. Some of them are very rude, and one of them is actually impossible. I have to pretend not to hear it. Have you noticed the wights ran away in the night?"

"Not ran away," said Snibril. "I don't think they've run away. That doesn't sound like them. I think ... they've decided to do something else."

"They went into a huddle after the fight," said the sergeant.

"Perhaps they've got a plan-" Snibril began.

He stopped.

They had been passing through the area that had been right under Fray. Hairs were bent and twisted. And over the road was an arch. Had been an arch.

There were some dead soldiers nearby, and one dead moul.

The legion spread out in silence, watching the hairs. A squad was sent off to bury the dead.

"That could have been us, without you," said Careus. "How much warning do you get?"

"A minute or two, that's all," said Snibril. "Perhaps a bit longer if it's quiet."

"What does it feel like?"

"Like someone's treading on my head! What is this place?"

"One of the gates to the Ware lands. The city's further on."

"I've always wondered what it looked like," said Snibril.

"Me too," said the sergeant.

"You mean you've never seen it?" said Snibril.

"No. Born in a garrison town, see. Done all my soldiering around and about. Never been to Ware. Heard it's very impressive, though. A nice place to visit," said Careus. "We should be there in a few hours."

"Ware!" said Snibril.

CHAPTER 18

Ware had been built between and round five giant hairs. There were really three cities, ringed one inside the other. Inside the thick outer walls was Imperial Ware, a city of wide avenues paved with wood and salt, lined with statues, a city of impressive vistas and magnificent buildings, and at every turn monuments to old battles and glorious victories and even one or two defeats of the more glorious sort.

Few people actually lived in Imperial Ware, except a few caretakers and gardeners and dozens of sculptors. It was a city for looking at, not living in.

Outside it, separated by a wall of sharpened hair stakes, was Merchants' Ware, the city most people thought of as the real city. Normally its narrow streets were crowded with stalls, and people from all over the Carpet. They'd all be trying to cheat one another in that open-and-above-board way known as 'doing business'. All sorts of languages could be heard, often very loudly. Ware was where people came to trade.

The Dumii had built their Empire with swords, but they kept it with money. They'd invented money. Before money, people had bought things with cows and pigs, which were not very efficient for the purpose because you had to feed them and keep them safe all the time and sometimes they died. And suddenly the Dumii turned up with this money stuff, which was small and easy to keep and you could hide it in a sock under the mattress, which hardly ever worked with cows and pigs. And it could be cows or pigs. Also, it had little pictures of Emperors and things on it, which were interesting to look at. At least, more interesting than cows and pigs.

And, Pismire had once said, that was how the Dumii kept their Empire. Because once you started using Dumii money, which was so easy and convenient and didn't moo all night, you started saving up for things, and selling things in the nearest market town, and settling down, and not hitting neighbouring tribes as often as you used to. And you could buy things in the markets that you'd never seen before - coloured cloth, and different kinds of fruit, and books. Pretty soon, you were doing things the Dumii way, because it made life better. Oh, you went on about how much better life was in the old days, before there was all this money and peacefulness around, and how much more enjoyable things were when people used to get heavily-armed in the evenings and go out and make their own entertainment-but no-one was anxious actually to go back there.

"Economic imperialism!" Pismire had once said, picking up a handful of coins. "A marvellous idea. So neat and simple. Once you set it going, it works all by itself. You see, it's the Emperor who guarantees that the money will buy you things. Every time someone hands over or accepts one of these coins, it's a little soldier defending the Empire. Amazing!"

No-one understood a word of what he meant, but they could see he thought it was important.

And then, off to one side of the bustling city, was a tiny walled enclosure, about the size of a village.

This was Ware. The first Ware. The little village where the Dumii had begun. No-one really knew how, or why Destiny had picked this one little tribe and then wound them up like a big rubber band and sent them out to conquer the world. Hardly anyone went into old Ware these days. Probably it'd soon be pulled down, to make room for some more statues.

Snibril didn't see Old Ware until much later. He saw the walls of the city, stretching away on either side. He could see the glint of armour on the walls, too, as the sentries marched sedately along. Everything looked peaceful, as if something like Fray had never existed.

Careus took off his helmet and surreptitiously gave it a bit of a polish. "There could be trouble if we try to take the Deftmenes in," he whispered to Snibril.

"Not could," Snibril agreed. "Would."

"So we'll camp outside for now. You better come on in with me."