The pass hung silent and silver under the fitful moon and somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.

Sybilla hefted her heavy rifle to her other shoulder and glanced at her communicator's luminescent dial. Only two more hours till her relief. She sensed rather than heard the intruder and the hairs rose on the back of her neck. "Halt! Who goes there? Identify yourself, or I'll shoot."

"Tonight's password is White Wolf 707, and hello to you too, little sister."

Sybilla had all she could do not to drop her weapon into the snow and hug her older brother. Instead, she came to attention and dutifully presented arms. "Commander? Isn't it a little early for inspection?"

Carlo chuckled. "I got done earlier than I'd expected. Call up your relief, because we've got some talking to do."

"Talking? As in social visit?"

"Not exactly, but I'd just as soon get out of this wind if you don't mind."

As he entered the wooden guard hut, Carlo shucked his battle helmet, gloves, and heavy greatcoat. He stamped his booted feet and then stood warming his hands at the black iron stove. Fine strands of dark hair were plastered to his pale forehead and his dark blue eyes looked tired beyond belief.

After placing her rifle in the rack, Sybilla shook the snow from her brother's dark green coat and hung it up.

When he smiled, she was struck anew by how handsome he was.

"Quite the little mother, aren't you, love?"

"There's not much space in here, and that's our only chair."

She unsnapped her chin strap and removed her bulky headgear. After neatly placing the night vision glasses and helmet on the shelf above her bunk, she thankfully took off her bandolier and heavy jacket.

"Phew! I need a shower!"

Carlo eyed her sweat-stained green wool shirt and heavy fatigue pants with some sympathy. With all the extra bulk, Sybilla still looked no bigger than a mouse and much as he loved his baby sister, even he had to admit that she would never be a beauty. Her heavy glasses perched on the end of her reddened nose, her pale blond hair had been flattened by the heavy helmet to the point of virtual non-existence, and her tiny ferret-like features were even paler than usual.

"Momma sent me to bring you home, because the war's over." "The war's . . . what? Oh, come on Carlo, this is no time for jokes!"

"No joke, little sister. The war is well and truly over."

"But what about Port Moriah?"

"Momma's made a treaty with the Illyrians. In return for peace and the Synod's protection, she's given up all claims to the port. From now on, it's to be neutral territory."

Sybilla's mouth dropped open.

The exquisite white-walled city of Moriah was their country's only outlet to the sea. A bone of contention between Illyria and Lodebar for over a thousand years, the bustling seaport had changed ownership every hundred years or so, as regularly as clockwork. In this latest go-around, Daniel had kicked the Lodebarians out in a daring midnight raid, and then he'd denied them access to their fishing fleet. Queen Sidonia of Lodebar had fled to the safety of Aretz, or Old Earth, where she'd appealed to the Interplanetary Synod Assembly for help. She'd returned a month ago, and that was when she'd ordered her youngest daughter, Sybilla, up to Great Bear Pass for her regular tour of duty.

"The Synod? As in troops? You mean they actually came through?"

"Yup. As of now, Lodebar's under official Synod protection, and an allied detail should be coming up the pass any time to take over this guard station."

"But what about Daniel? Don't you tell me the Mountain King is gonna to give up a thousand years of tradition with one stroke of the pen? Oh, I don't believe it! This has to be some dirty Illyrian trick to get our guard down!"

"No trick. Illyria's Crown Prince Darius was captured by Synod troops four days ago. They caught him on our territory, and it seems he's been the one behind the Masked Death raids. That's how the Synod Assembly forced Daniel to the treaty table."

"That little bastard was behind the Masked Death raids? And they didn't execute him on the spot?" Sybilla shuddered.

Men, women and children, the Masked Death hadn't cared. They came and went like shadows in the night, and left their calling card at the scene of every slaughter: a razor sharp silver dagger bearing a snarling mountain lion's head on its handle.

"Actually, our people had him first, along with his little squad of terrorists."

"Alive? Then why didn't they . . . ?"

"First of all, they didn't realize who he was, and secondly, they just hadn't gotten around to him yet. He was behind the wall of some farmhouse where his squad had taken cover. When one of our half-tracks came over the wall, he was underneath it. Our men had just finished cutting the other prisoners' throats, and were pulling him out of the rubble when the Synod troops arrived. He was fighting like a wildcat, and even with the extra troops' help, they had one hell of a time subduing him."

"And they let the Synod take him, just like that?"

Sybilla handed her brother a steaming mug of broth, and he sipped at it gratefully. "Ah! That's good!"

"It's what's left of a hare I trapped the other night. But go on. What happened next?"

"The Synod commander said he needed a prisoner for interrogation, and our captain saw no reason why not. The Illyrian was badly hurt and he probably wouldn't live long anyway. But if he'd had any idea. . . !" Carlo cursed softly under his breath.

"Well, do you think the Synod commander knew?"

"Sure he did, and it was almost as if he'd been tipped off. I found out later that they whisked him straight off the planet, and where he is now is anyone's guess."

"That's how they got Daniel to the treaty table?"

"His queen was killed in battle a couple of years ago, and that murdering brat's his only son. If it were up to me, I'd string him up right now, but the Synod has other ideas. Right now, they're holding him hostage to Daniel's good behavior."

Sybilla sank into the chair. "I can't believe it! What does Momma say about all this?"

"She demanded Prince Darius's surrender to her custody so that she could put him on trial. At the moment, she's probably madder at the Synod than Daniel is."

"But you said she's signed the treaty, and she's given up Port Moriah as well?"

"Apparently, she's made some sort of a deal with the Synod in return for economic assistance."

"She sold us out for money?"

Carlo shrugged. "It seems that way. But what choice does she have, Sib? Our people are starving! With their housing and crops destroyed, half of them are living in cotton tents with hardly enough blankets and food to keep body and soul together! And the winter's only just getting started! I mean look at you. Except for what you've been able to trap or forage, you'd be starving too."

"That's true. We haven't seen a supply shipment for weeks, and as for pay, forget it. We aren't even getting that worthless paper scrip any more. Not that it was good for anything anyway, outside of a firestarter."

He sighed. "Yeah, I know. I don't even care to ask what's in the commissary stew any more. Rat, probably."

The hut door opened to admit a blue-helmeted Synod captain and five warmly clad men.

Carlo and Sybilla returned his salute.

The captain's accent was that of a Seiran. "Your Highness! We've a supply truck and a couple of half-tracks outside. Will you be requiring an escort down the mountain?"

"Supply truck? As in real food?" Sybilla couldn't help herself.

White teeth flashed in the visitor's dark face. "Well, we could have dinner first. It seems to me I even saw a bottle of brandy in one of the packs." He signaled to one of his men. "Mischa here is a fair cook, even with the dehydrated stuff our quartermaster has the nerve to call a meal. I would be honored to have you as my guests."

Sybilla looked down at herself in dismay. "If you gentlemen will excuse me . . ." She grabbed a change of clothes from the locker at the foot of her bunk, and disappeared into the hut's tiny bathroom.

"Well, at least the solar heater still works," remarked Carlo, "I'd offer you something, captain but all we have is some hare broth. And not much of that."

"We got here none too soon, then. The situation's been the same with every guard post we've visited, and how you folks have held out this long is beyond me."

The prince smiled, but the weariness in his face wasn't lost on the captain. "We were closer to the end of our rope than Daniel knew. Another week or two . . ."

"Just as well we're here then. Ah, Mischa, bring that brandy over here with a couple of mugs. Your Highness, to your very good health."

Carlo raised his mug. "And that of Lodebar! Speaking of Daniel, what's the status with his son?" The Seiran's eyes hooded. "The kid's where Daniel won't find him."

"He's alive then?"

"As of my last report."

"Will you turn him over to my mother for trial?"

"The Assembly's Executive Committee has voted no."

"Who's got him?"

"That's a fair question. He was shipped to Nublis for medical treatment, but their emperor Janus says he wants no part of this hot potato. Nobody else wants him either: not with Daniel rampaging around. They've got far too much respect for Illyria's commando forces, and they know his father will stop at nothing to get the kid back."

"Umm. Maybe Momma's better off the way she is, then."

"That's the way the Assembly sees it. They're trying to stop the carnage, not renew the hostilities."

Sybilla emerged from the bathroom amid a cloud of steam and the fresh scent of soap. The captain gallantly kissed her hand, and she blushed. "Princess! Mischa is preparing a fine dinner, and in the meantime, would you care for a drink?"

"How is Momma better off? You mean the Synod's not surrendering that monster for trial?"

"It seems not."

"Where is he, then?"

"On Nublis, apparently. But for how long is anyone's guess."

"They're not returning him to Illyria? Carlo, tell me they're not!"

The captain shook his head. "The Synod won't execute him, but they'll do the next best thing. And it's unlikely Illyria's Crown Prince will ever see his homeland or his father again."

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