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 Primus Pilum - Part 3

   "What do you mean he isn't one of the command cadre?" asked Thurus,
eyeing the newly-arrived commander.  They stood over Verus as he lay in the
cot, sleeping soundly.  Morlani had said he would sleep a day or two but
would awaken mostly well and ready to rise.

   Ghurian stood beside Thurus and shook his head.  "I've never seen him
before, and at his age, I would have met him long before now," he said. 
The old ranger rubbed a hand over his balding skull.  "This man is NOT one
of our commanders."

   Thurus blinked a few times.  "Then who is he?"

   "You said his name is Critus Tanverus?" asked Ghurian.

   "Yes, sir," replied Captain Thurus.  "He had a half-elven aide with him,
named Lemovaur of clan Velithar."

   The old ranger pondered this for long moments.  "You are certain the aid
was of clan Velithar?" he asked.

   "Yes, sir," repeated Thurus.  "Is that significant?"

   "It may well be," said Ghurian.  "Clan Velithar was a clan that left
Windir eight centuries ago to live in a deeply forested section of what was
then the Northern Extents of the Western Realms."

   "What is it now?" asked the captain.

   Ghurian paused a moment.  This was a thing that he did, which drove
Thurus, and other junior commanders quite mad - his theatrical pauses. 
"The Senmarch region of Abia," he said.

   Thurus quickly forgave the theatrical pause, as it was quite called for,
in this instance.  "His aide was an Abian half-elf?" he asked.  He then
turned toward Verus, sleeping on the cot.  "That means, he's Abian?"

   "It would seem," said Ghurian, a hardness coming to his old gray eyes.

   "Still," said the captain, suddenly perplexed, "why, then, did he
deliver to us a victory over the Abian legions?"

   "Are you certain he did?" asked the commander.

   "Yes, sir, he did.  Believe me when I say: Without his leadership, we
would be routing toward the capital right now with three cohorts of
legionnaires on our heels," pronounced Thurus.  "His plan was genius.  We
even had a good laugh when he arrived, that his name sounded like the old
Centurion from Abia, Verus.  I'll be damned if he didn't deliver us a
victory like Verus would have, were he an Islander."

   The commander thought a long moment again.  Command was reinforcing the
garrison even now, by more than a hundred rangers and two hundred more
militia.  It was in the best defense that the High Command could manage for
it, presently.  "Load him onto a wagon, one with a decent ride, and prepare
for us to remove him to Rondall, we will sort out his identity there."

   In under an hour, soldiers transferred Verus to a wagon, with an
attendant healer, and Commander Ghurian's contingent left Rennik, bound for
the capital.  Verus slept through the trip, the wagon, true to Ghurian's
request, rode smoothly, even over ruts and muddy road.  It was one of the
wagons formerly used by merchants to haul fragile goods and fruits.  A
suspension of leather straps, which reduced the movements to those similar
to a ship on water, supported it.  Sea sickness was a possibility, and the
healer succumbed to it twice, but the ride was smooth enough to allow a
recovering, wounded, old soldier to sleep.

   On the eve of the second day, they rolled into the beleaguered capital
of the Windy Isles.  A city of fewer than ten thousands, now swelled to
nearly thirty with refugees and military units drawn from throughout the
islands and even beyond.  Elves were in great evidence, dozens of them, as
they felt, in large part, responsible for this invasion, and were freely
giving of themselves to reinforce the troubled and invaded nation.

   They formed the core of the healer cadre, as their natural ability to
mend wounds could well count for more during a battle between men than even
their keen aim and skilled swords.  Every Islander military unit had at
least one elf with it, attending to the duty of being the commander's aide
and, secondarily, as the unit's healer.  Some units, those expected to see
more activity, had many elves in their ranks, both bolstering their numbers
with skilled scouts and provided added insurance of healing.

   However, the war was going poorly.  It seemed that no matter how many
galleons the valiant navies of the Isles and Windir sank, more legionnaires
were constantly streaming forth from their three beachheads on the Isles.
In the last week, the Abians had taken one of the precious trimarans,
further demoralizing the Islanders, and terrifying the elves.  Until then,
the trimarans had represented a form of invulnerability to the Abian
threat. They were bulwarks that, while not utterly a wall, represented a
massive hindrance to the reinforcement of the Abian camps.

   The remaining trimaran captains were now cautious, and the number of
ships they were sinking reduced.  Scouts reported that the Abian legions
were reinforcing strongly now, and they would soon be at full strength. 
Rumors from spies within Abia also confirmed that four full legions were in
the west of the empire, near port cities.  The fear was that these legions
were poised for a massive assault upon the Isles and all indications were
that this was true.

   Commander Ghurian meant to find out who this man was, this Critus
Tanverus, and discover his part in things.  His mind dwelt upon the
unpleasantness that an intense interrogation might involve, and looked at
the wagon that contained the old man.  He did not wish to do what he knew
he would probably have to.

   However, the decision was not his to make, he discovered.  As his
company moved through town, they were stopped by a, for elves, massive
formation of elven troops.  They wore the silver and green livery of the
elven king, and were the guards of the ranking elven representative on the
Isles, Lord Ambassador Levethan.

   "What is this about, commander?" asked Ghurian as the leader of the
elven company stepped forward, a grizzled elven soldier named Rethas.

   Rethas stood tall, despite his rather diminutive stature, and his
presence was palpable.  He watched as the old ranger dismounted, and then
said, "The Lord Ambassador believes that you are escorting a prison to whom
he wishes very much to speak." His Syrisian was clipped and precise, and it
carried the unmistakable accent that an elf was speaking.

   There was some murmuring among Ghurian's company, but the commander
silenced it with a mere glance.  He then turned back to Commander Rethas.
"He holds no official jurisdiction within the Windy Isles, Commander
Rethas. This is my prisoner, and I will not yield him up to a foreign
dignitary to be spirited away to sovereign land within my own nation."

   The elf considered his words for a moment, though Ghurian could see him
controlling a small measure of wroth with care.  "Then, Commander Ghurian,
honorable veteran of many battles by mine own side, will you not consider a
joint custody on your own terms?"

   The elves had been prepared for his refusal, and this worried Ghurian
more than their mere insistence on taking the captive for their own
holding. He put one of his great hands on Rethas' shoulder, in a
traditional greeting among warriors of elves and men.  "Let us speak in
private, my old friend, and perhaps we can make a more reasoned decision,"
said the old ranger.  He looked toward his second.  "No one moves until we
return."

   The captain nodded and began issuing orders.  Rethas and Ghurian walked
to the side, and, spying a tavern, they walked inside.  The innkeeper
cleared a side room for the two of them and brought them a bottle of wine
and two glasses.

   "Now, Rethas, what is this about?" said Ghurian, taking a small sip of
the wine.  He winced at the sourness of it.  The wine had been poor since
the start of the war as most of the best vineyards were in the south of the
isles.  Two of the best areas were now beachheads for the Abians.

   A minuscule narrowing of the eyes was the only reaction the ever-polite
elf granted to the poor quality of the wine.  "The man you are carrying is
more important than you know, friend."

   "I know he is a very accomplished spy, is what I know," said Ghurian. 
"One so highly valued that the Abians very likely suffered a major defeat
to simply to allow him to gain trust."

   The old elf, and he was an old elf, bearing gray hair and many lines on
his face, very unusual for elves in general, focused his silver eyes upon
Ghurian.  "We do not believe that was the case," he said.  "We believe that
the man you transport, and mean to interrogate is none other than Verus,
the retired Abian Centurion."

   Ghurian barked out a laugh.  "I believe the much-vaunted elven spies
have, for once, failed you, friend," he said.  He took another sip of the
sour wine.  "Verus retired ten years ago from the service of the Empire, it
is well known, for most of their enemies breathed a deep sigh of relief. 
Hell, I studied his battles at the academy, under your own tuteledge, I
might add."

   "Be that as maybe," said Rethas, "we believe that you bear him now into
Rondall."

   Commander Ghurian blinked at him a few times, then asked, "Why do you
believe that?"

   "I tell you this only as a friend, and it may sour that friendship,"
said the old elf.  "The Lord Ambassador was secretly working on a peace
agreement with the Abians to get them to leave the Isles in exchange for
certain concessions from the elves."

   "What sort of concessions?" asked Ghurian, suddenly very worried.

   "We were to agree to training a legion of their forces to ranger status,
for the agreement of peace and withdrawal from the Isles and two hundreds
of years of non-agression," said Rethas.

   "You were going to train rangers for them?" asked the old ranger,
stunned.  "And you believed they would abide by their half of the
agreement?"

   "No," said Rethas, "we did not." He looked out the window at the two
companies standing, and facing toward one another in the road.  "But we
figured they would at least withdraw for a while and give your people the
respite needed to rebuild and train your own defences."

   "Then be set upon by rangers under the enemy's banner!" screamed
Ghurian, slamming his fists down on the table.

   "The proffered agreement is now moot, friend, please calm yourself,"
said Rethas.  "There will be no training, and no peace.  As a matter of
fact, there will only be our ultimate defeat, if that man is Verus, and you
try and execute him as a spy."

   "Wait a moment," said Ghurian.  "You never explained why you thought
this particular man was Verus.  So far, you've only shown me that elves can
be as sneaky and foolish as men."

   "Old friend, I am not certain if that was an insult or a compliment,"
said Rethas, chuckling.

   Ghurian's expression softened a bit.  "Okay, I apologize," he said. 
"But why do you think that was Verus?"

   "Our spies reported that Verus was to escort the Abian negotiator for
the cause, a half-elven noblewoman from a clan living in Abia," said the
old elf.  "The Lady Emogen, who is still regarded as trustworthy by our
folk." He sat back and regarded the wine still in his glass dubiously.  "We
have heard that a half-elven aide was at the side of this `commander' when
he arrived in Rennik.  She matches the description we have of Lady Emogen."

   "I heard her description, as well, and it would cover about a quarter of
all the half-elven women who have been on the Isles," said Ghurian.  "You
must have more to go on than that."

   The elf shrugged.  "There is also the matter of the trimaran," said
Rethas.  "We only recovered the crew that was set adrift two days ago, and
they say that it was Verus who bested them."

   "Well, a crew would at least hope that a worthy opponent was victorious
over them, for certain," said Ghurian.  "But it was bound to happen that a
trimaran would eventually be overwhelmed by superior numbers."

   Rethas laughed.  "That is exactly the point, friend Ghurian," he said,
"they were bested by a single galleon, and not even a troop transport, at
that."

   "What?" asked the ranger.  "One galleon?"

   "One," repeated the elf, holding up a single digit to reinforce the
concept.

   Ghurian peered out the window again and stared at the wagon with the man
aboard.  Was that man Verus, the terror of all who faced Abia for nearly
thirty years?

   "Why would they send their most treasured commander, ever, into harm's
way like this?" asked the old ranger.

   The elf looked at him levelly.  "So we would kill him," he said.

   Ghurian blinked a few times, then shook his head.  "That makes no
sense," he said after the pause.

   "Think, if you will, like the Praetor, commander," said Rethas.  "You
are conducting an unpopular war.  Your armies are only barely following
your orders, and they refuse to commit further legions to a cause you need
at least two more legions to complete.  Your finest commander, who would
hand you victory easily, refuses to help, and stays in retirement.  So,
what do you do?  You find a way to get the armies to fall into line. 
Conveniently, that same obstinate leader is also unbelievably popular with
the legions.  You talk him into a mission to the enemies land, a peace
mission, a treaty offering.  When the enemy treacherously kills him, your
legions immediately fall into lockstep and are more than willing to extract
revenge upon the offending nation."

   The old commander sighed.  "You get four legions, which are conveniently
positioned to move quickly, to attack a few days later," he said hoarsely,
almost wheezed.

   "Seven legions, friend, would crush us like a vintner would crush
grapes," said Rethas, setting down his glass.  "Though I wager we would be
a finer vintage than this rotted fruit."

   "I will release the prisoner to you," said Ghurian.  "On condition that
I can remain with him at all times."

   "You, of course would have unlimi.. . ." started Rethas.

   "At all times," the commander restated, interrupting the elf.  "I do not
leave his side."

   The elf smiled.  "Acceptable," he said.

   - - - - - - - - -

   "You, sir, had better damn well be who we think you are," said Ghurian
as Verus blinked at the dim illumination in the room.

   He looked around slowly, taking in the surroundings.  Wood-paneled walls
and finely wrought tapestries met his gaze.  He immediately saw the hands
of elves in the decor, the delicate scrollwork on the moldings and the
intricateness of the tapestries attested to fingers far mor nimble than
those of men.

   Lastly, his eyes fell of Commander Ghurian, sitting in a chair nearby,
sliding a war sword over a whetstone.  "If you are not Verus, then you will
be very dead shortly."

   Verus gave him a weak and resigned smile.  "I am Verus," he said.  The
wave of relief that overcame the old Centurion was like a ton of lead
ingots being lifted from his neck and shoulders.  He was no longer skulking
and was himself again.  Verus was a soldier, not a spy, and he discovered
that he would rather face death than be deceitful again.

   "Good," said the old commander, who looked to be about the same age as
Verus, himself.  "Though you will excuse me if I seek proof of that claim."

   Verus sighed and laid his head back onto the pillow.  "If I can prove
it, then I shall," he said.  He was not even trying to project the Islander
accent onto his Syrisian anymore, and spoke plainly.

   "Right, then," said Ghurian and stood.  He walked to the door and poked
his head out, then returned to his seat.

   A few minutes later, Commander Rethas entered the room, with a
adolescent elven girl with him.

   Verus blinked at the two of them and could not help but smile at the
girl, who looked very nervous and exceedingly tiny.

   "He says he will submit to proving his identity," said Ghurian.

   The old elf nodded.  Verus noted the war sword on the elf's hip, so he
was another soldier.  The young girl, obviously, was unarmed.  The elf
spoke to the girl in his own language, a melodious babble that soothed
Verus' ears with its softness and beauty.

   The girl answered in a soprano reply, the sound even more soothing than
the old soldier's.

   She smiled weakly and turned to Verus.  "I am called Revandis," she
said. "I am the means by which you will prove yourself." Her face was
nervous, as was her body language.  However, her golden eyes were steady as
she regarded him.  "You will have to trust me."

   "I do," said Verus, his mind drifting to two of his granddaughters, who
looked to be this girl's age.  He had to remind himself that she was
elvenborn, and was probably in her forties.

   She nodded again.  "Then relax your mind, and think of that trust," she
said.

   Verus was not quite sure how to do that, but did what he thought was
relaxing his mind.

   A moment later, he felt something inside his head.  It was as if part of
his psyche had become like clay, and was being molded.  Her eyes dominated
everything that he saw.  As a matter of fact, her eyes were all that he now
saw.  A small place in his mind was now empty, his own thoughts pushed
aside from that area.  Then there was something there.

   She was there.  He could feel her soft and warm mind inside his skull.
It was not as if he were being invaded, though, and a part of him felt
ashamed to have such intimacy with such a young woman.  His breathing grew
short as she filled the void she had created.  Her own breathing was short,
as well, and her face was shining with sweat.

   He thought, incongruously of his mother's cooking, of cinnamon-spiced
biscuits.  The scent came from the girl, from Revandis.  Her smile grew
broader.  "I am within him," she said, finally.  "Ask what you will."

   Verus found he could break the intense gaze now.  She had left a part of
herself within him, he could feel her peering through his mind.  It was not
enough of her to make him feel occupied, if felt more like a stray thought
that was not entirely his own.

   Is that you, Revandis?  He asked the thought.

   There was a brief pause as he felt part of his mind being prodded, then
he heard, it is a part of me, Verus, yes, it said.

   "Are you, indeed, the Abian Centurion, Primus Pilum Verus?" asked
Ghurian.

   "I was," Verus replied.  Revandis nodded at the same instant.  Not only
was part of her mind within his, part of his mind was within her.

   The old commander's eyes widened a bit at the confirmation.  A few
moments passed as he thought on this.  "Primus Pilum, why have you come?"
he asked.

   "I came to assist the Lady Emogen in reaching this city to negotiate
with the elves for peace," said Verus.

   The young elven girl nodded agreement.

   "You aren't spying?" asked Commander Ghurian.

   "No," said Verus.  "If anything, I've committed treason upon my own
nation, by aiding Windy Island forces in the defeat of three cohorts of
legionnaires."

   Again, Revandis nodded, a smile upon her face.  "He thinks we should
win," she added.

   Verus turned quickly toward her.

   "Revandis!" said Rethas, then began speaking harsh words in elven.  Gone
was the soft, melodious tones, and tears welled in the little girl's eyes.

   "Stop it!" yelled Verus, with such vehemence that both Ghurian and
Rethas took a step back and the elf even reached for his sword, so sure was
he that the human would attack him.  "She didn't mean to read past my
answer, It was my thought, not her doing."

   Revandis smiled at him and her golden eyes glittered.  "Thank you,
Verus, but Commander Rethas is correct, I betrayed the trust you gave me in
letting me into your mind, I will try to refrain from doing so again," she
said.  Her voice was amazingly reasonable for coming from a little girl. 
She turned to the elven commander.  Her auburn hair caught the light and
reminded Verus of Emogen's hair.

   "Continue the questioning, and I grant Revandis permission to repeat any
thoughts I have, even if they do not directly pertain to the question
asked," said Verus, straightening again and placing a hand upon the young
elf's shoulder.

   "Very well, and noted," said Rethas.  "Did you intend to aid in the
victory in Rennik?  If you did, why?"

   Verus smiled.  "I did intend it," he said.  "And the why of it is
simple: I've never lost a battle, and did not intend to start there."

   Revandis looked up at him with worried eyes.  "He did intend it, but he
is being evasive about the reason, sirs," she said.

   Verus' grin broadened.  "I wanted to see how good she is," he said.  "I
gave them the victory because the Abian cause here is unjust, and the Abian
governor over this travesty is a criminal, even by our loose standards."

   The young elven girl grinned playfully.  "He speaks the truth now," she
said.  Her eyes then flicked over his features again.  "He wishes to help
us defeat the Abians, he thinks that they killed or kidnaped a woman he
loves." The words were pouring out of the young woman she relayed his
thoughts, thoughts he placed there for her to repeat.  "He does not trust
his own people anymore, especially the Praetor.  He only asks that we get
his family to safety and that we retrieve Lady Emogen, if she lives."

   The expression on the two commanders' faces were stunned.  "Can her
interpretations be trusted?" asked Commander Ghurian.

   The elven commander nodded.  "So far as we know, one can only evade a
mental joining, they cannot lie to it," he replied.  "Unless this man is
insane; the mentally unsound oft deceive themselves.  I do not think this
is the case." His wizened elven face was encroaching on a smile without
quite achieving one.

   "We must think on your - offer - Verus," said Ghurian.  "Can they stay
joined?" he asked Rethas.  The elven commander, in turn, turned to Revandis
and asked her a question in elven.

   The elven girl nodded.  "We can easily stay joined if we stay within a
few paces of one another," she said.  "The connection will fade if we go
farther from one another."

   "We cannot leave a young girl alone with a man we are not sure of,
Rethas," said Commander Ghurian.

   Revandis looked at the large man with an even stare.  "He will not harm
me, I trust him," she said.  She held up her hand and placed it against the
palm of Verus.  "Just as he trusts me." Verus wrapped his still powerful
fingers about her tiny hand and held it gently.

   "Do not leave the elven compound, then," said Rethas.  "Revandis is
unused to humans, and is only here because her entire family is on the
Isles.  They will be wroth to hear how we have abused her gift, but I will
weather that storm when it comes to me."

   The young elven maiden smiled gently at Commander Rethas.  "I offered
it, commander, you did not force me," she said.

   Verus was again startled by the remarkable maturity in the girl's voice,
despite his knowing she was far older than she appeared.  He could not
shake the automatic assumption that she was less than thirteen years of
age.

   The two commanders left the chamber and left the door open.  "Would you
like to take a walk?" asked Revandis.

   Verus was very tired, but wished to humor the girl.  "Yes," he said.  We
really don't have to talk in words do we?  He said mentally.

   She shook her head.  And you do not really wish to walk, but you will
serve yourself poorly if you lie abed, she said reasonably.  You will need
to exercise to regain your vigor.  Her tiny hand tugged on his and he
followed her out the door and into a forested meadow.

   He had expected the elven embassy to be beautiful, but had no idea how
well they could blend the landscape and the various things needed into a
harmonic whole that formed a work of art, when viewed from almost any
angle, when looking any direction.  Great, green trees towered over the low
buildings, which seemed to emerge from the earth like boulders, rather than
built structures.  The stonework was cleverly contrived to look akin to the
strata lines found in jutting rock outcroppings.  There were many elves
about, wearing either short skirt suits like Emogen had worn, or, in the
case of men, loft, tailored pants with open-necked shirts.

   Revandis wore a skirt set, which he thought rather revealing for a girl
so young.  I am thirty-eight years old, Verus, she thought, smiling.

   You're still a little girl, responded Verus.

   Another voice pierced his thoughts: If you only knew, Primus Pilum, what
little girls were made of.  The expression on Revandis' face was one of
shock and upset, and she cringed at those words.  I am sorry, that will not
happen again, thought the young elf to him.

   Verus had a distinctly unclean feeling in his mind when that thought,
with the more powerful voice, had finished rebounding off the inner walls
of his skull.  He turned his wide eyes to Revandis.  "Just what was that?"
he asked, suddenly very uncomfortable with their mental link and desiring
to use it as little as maybe.

   "It was nothing," replied the elven girl, "please forget it happened."

   "I'm not sure I can, but I will not pry into your mind," said Verus.

   She giggled.  "Unlike other folk you know?" she asked.

   Verus shrugged.  "If the shoe fits.. . ."

   They walked the glades of the elven compound.  It was surprisingly large
and spacious, though he suspected much of the sense of space was created by
careful use of the landscaping.  As they neared the wall of the compound on
the south side.  She asked, "Why do you say the governor is a criminal?"

   "He breaks even our laws, much less those of honorable battle," replied
Verus.

   Revandis blinked at him.  "Laws of battle?  I thought all was fair in
battle," she said.

   The old Centurion laughed.  "In some ways, it is, but there are certain
rules that must be adhered to, unless you seek genocide on one side or the
other."

   The girl nodded and pointed out a flowering bush.  It had massive red
blooms upon it and he could smell it even at ten paces.  "That bush I
planted, three years ago," she said.  "It was a gift of the ambassador of
Niliwan to me."

   Verus sniffed it softly, "It has a distinctive and powerful scent," he
said.

   The girl giggled again.  "That is what the ambassador said of me," said
Revandis.

   Verus sniffed the air again and could definitely smell the young elf
beside him.  "You smell of cinnamon," he said.

   She nodded.  "Most elves do, but my odor is said to be a bit more
powerful, because of - well - because of my abilities."

   A warning tripped in his mind that she was lying, so the link is two
way, he thought.

   She gave him a pleading look and he knew it was to not pursue the truth
in her words, so he did not.  There was far too much of his granddaughters
in this young and peculiar elven girl.  Something in his heart told him
that the answer would be more painful for her than the lie.  He also knew,
instantly, that this poor, young, nearly-woman was already something of a
pariah among her own folk.  He would not further her alienation by adding
his name to the list of people who judged her.

   In an infinitely sad state of mind, Revandis said, yes, it works both
ways.

   They walked the perimeter of the compound, which, as Verus had suspected
was smaller than it felt.  The entire time, Revandis did not let his hand
go.  "Where are your parents?" asked Verus.

   Revandis said, "You may have seen them, they are in Rennik, aiding in
the effort there."

   Verus nodded.  "I spoke with a few elven folk there, perhaps I did speak
to them," he smiled.  "I will know when I meet them again."

   Heavy footsteps sounded from behind them, and they turned to see
Commander Ghurian approaching with Commander Rethas.

   "We've decided to trust you, Verus," said Ghurian.

   Verus' expression did not change at all.  "And my terms?" he asked.

   "If they can be met without compromising our military actions, then they
will be met," said Rethas.  "We will need a complete listing of your family
to be extricated."

   It did not surprise him that they would comply with that request. 
Having his family here, by his own request, would effectively make them
hostages, against which his loyalty could be leveraged.  It was funny, in a
way, how he was willing to give his family into such a state with these
folk, but not with his own native land.  He looked down at Revandis,
standing beside him and giving him an odd look, which, even without the
joining of their minds told him that it was right to trust these people. 
He envied her simplicity of thought in good and evil.  Then he was
inordinately proud of the fact she thought him good.

   "I will compile one immediately," said Verus, nodding.  "What of Lady
Emogen?"

   Rethas looked at him sternly.  "We may not be able to retrieve her," he
said.  "She is already en route to Abia, under heavy guard."

   "You have good intelligence," said Verus.

   Rethas walked part way into the glade, examining the trees across the
open field of green.  "We use magic to communicate with many of our
scouts," he said.  "It is how we found out about your coming to us."

   Verus chuckled and looked at Ghurian.  "The Abians suspect that, in all
honesty, but they've never been able to confirm it."

   "The Abians?  They?" asked Ghurian.  "You say that as if you are not one
of them."

   "When I commanded Islander forces against Abian legions, I ceased being
one," said Verus.  The self-loathing in his features was obviously echoed
in his mind as Revandis cringed away.

   "He hates what his people have made him do," said the elven girl.

   The two commanders nodded.  "We've all done things we wished others
wouldn't make us do," said Ghurian, closing his eyes.  "That may well be
the epitaph of all soldiers."

   "The ambassador and the Island High Command are being summoned, and you
will speak to them before this is finalized," said Rethas.  "Have your list
of relations ready, and be sure to have your wits about you."

   Verus nodded and looked down at Revandis.  "Show me to the library,
please, Revandis," he said.

   She nodded immediately, and pulled him into motion, leaving the two
commanders standing on the path.  She showed no inclination to release his
hand, until they had entered the library.  "Hello, Revandis," said the
elven woman who was sitting near the entrance, obviously the curator.  "Who
is your tall friend?" She spoke in Syrisian, out of deference for Verus, no
doubt.

   "His name is Verus, and he is here to help us drive off the Abians,"
said the elven girl unabashedly, smiling up at the elven woman.

   The librarian adopted a wide-eyed expression.  "THE Verus is here to aid
us in our fight?" she asked.  She looked at the old Centurion for a moment.
"Surely, this is one of the Isles who bears his honored name." The
librarian did not wait for an answer, and moved to along the long rows of
books.  For an embassy library, this one was a well stocked, thought Verus.

   Verus and Revandis looked at each other for a moment and exchanged a
smile.  They, however, let the librarian go to what it was that she thought
she was doing.

   The elegant elven woman returned a moment later, seeming to glide in the
cream-colored silken gown she wore.  She bore a sizable tome, which was
marked plainly in Syrisian script.  "I will show you a picture of the Abian
Verus, Revandis, so you will know who is who."

   The elven woman flipped through the heavy parchment pages and finally
came to what she sought.  Laying the book upon the desk, upside down to
her, so that the elven child could see it.

   Revandis looked at it for a moment, then looked up at the librarian. 
"As I said, This is Verus, and he is here to help us."

   The librarian's expression shifted to one of mild annoyance and she
looked down at the book, Verus also examined the hand-penned illustration
of himself.  It was a good likeness of him, twenty years ago.  A half a
moment passed and the librarian looked up at the tall man, her jaw somewhat
slack.  "By the Spirits," she said.  "You are the Primus Pilum."

   Verus smiled.  "As the Lady Revandis has said, ma'am," he said, bowing
his head slightly.  The elven girl flashed a thought into his mind: How did
you know I bore a title?

   I did not, until you just told me, replied Verus through his thoughts,
though I should have guessed with such a well-mannered and intelligent
young woman that you were someone special.

   Revandis blushed slightly at the compliments.  In a traditional elven
way, she replied in kind with a compliment of her own: You are a good man
to help us, Verus, we sorely need it.  Then her mental voice changed
slightly, again deepening: You are a very dignified and handsome man, as
well, Primus Pilum.

   The blush on the little girl's face deepened, but she kept her mouth
still.  "What brings you to the Isles and specifically to my library,
Centurion?" the librarian said, now recovered from the initial shock of
meeting someone straight out of the pages of her texts.

   "I need parchment, a quill, and ink.  I've been asked to make a list,"
said Verus, as Revandis nodded.

   The librarian quickly provided the requested items and stood quietly at
her post, watching the pair as they walked to one of the writing desks.  "I
will pen it for you, if you wish, Verus," said the girl.  "I write well."

   Verus nodded.  "Very well," he said.  An image flashed in his mind of
the time he had spent teaching his own grand daughters to write, and a warm
feeling came over him.

   Revandis sat upon the seat and Verus seated himself upon a stool beside
the desk.  She took a moment to carefully arrange her materials and then
looked at the old soldier expectantly.

   Verus listed off the names of the family members he felt needed to be
evacuated from the empire, prior to his defection being known.  His sons,
daughters, their spouses, and their children.  He also listed his surviving
sister, all his other siblings were now dead, as was her husband.

   He watched as Revandis wrote out the words he spoke in flawless script.
It was a marvel how fast her little fingers could move, and with such
precision.  She made no mistakes as she wrote out the thirty six names, and
their locations, so far as Verus knew.  He, once again, was forced to
remember that she had probably been writing for fifteen years.

   They walked from the library, having returned the writing materials to
the keeper.  The girl guided him back to the building in which he had been
housed.  Around from the entrance to his room was a long, low-ceilinged
room, which she said was the dining hall.  This caused Verus to chuckle, as
it looked more like a root cellar to his eyes.  A long shelf was covered in
fruits and vegetables.  Only a very few cured meats were present, in clay
jars.

   "We do not partake of much meat," said Revandis, responding to his
thoughts and selecting a small platter of fruits, vegetables and one strip
of cured deer meat.  "Not that we do not like a good steak, when one is
offered," she amended, smiling.

   Verus assembled a platter for himself, as well, trying to follow her
lead, and only taking one strip of the meat.  They sat at one of the long
tables.  Few others were in the dining hall, he noted, scanning the
half-dozen or so other occupants.

   It is not really a mealtime, Revandis thought to him.  Most have already
eaten, and we will probably be having a cooked supper, this night.

   "Is that unusual?" asked Verus.

   The girl nodded.  "Only one or two meals a week are usually taken warm,"
she said.  "Except during cold months, where a chill needs be warded off,
and then stews are the standard meal."

   Verus nodded.  The elven ways were surprisingly easy to comprehend, and
he had thought they might be a bit - well - odder.  Revandis fetched them
each a large mug of some sort of mild ale and they sipped it.  It had a
spicy taste, but was not strongly alcoholic.  "Normally, we take water with
our food, so as not to dull the inherent tastes," the girl informed him. 
"But drinkable water is scarce in Rondall these days, from the overcrowding
of men."

   The old man understood completely.  In many of the larger Abian cities,
the water was unfit to consume without boiling it.  Most folk made do with
beer and wine.

   As they worked their way through the meal, Revandis kept up a steady
stream of innocuous questions about Abia.  How many people lived there? 
What was the climate like?  Things of such a nature as to be
non-informative from a military standpoint, but enough to sate a child's
curiosity about a place.  He suspected that she was intentionally avoiding
asking him any questions which he might be inclined to skirt in answering.

   After a dozen such questions, he began to think that these were simply
the things a little girl would be interested in, and chided himself for
thinking too much like a old soldier, or worse, a politician.

   I am avoiding asking you some things, Verus, she said into his thoughts.
I do not want to be an interrogator - do you mind telling me the
disposition of troops on the western coast?

   This last thought caused Verus' eyes to widen.  He stared for a moment
at Revandis, who was stuffing a large hunk of melon into her mouth and
studiously looking toward the doorway.  There was a mischievous gleam in
her eye, though, and she could not keep up the charade for long before she
broke into giggles that set his heart to weeping at sheer joy in them.

   She looked at him and said, "I once heard one of the commanders ask that
of the ambassador, and thought it sounded superbly military."

   Verus noted, unlike the other elves in the dining hall, Revandis ate
with a energy and fervor that rivaled that of Abian legionnaires after a
hard march.  Now that he was watching, he noted she had an appalling
tendency to stuff another mouthful of food into her mouth before fully
swallowing the previous.  Do all elven girls eat so hastily?

   The girl stopped and looked at him sheepishly.  "Sorry, I do not mean to
bolt my food," she said, shame creeping into her thoughts.  "I usually have
something else I simply must get to, and cannot wait to get to it."

   Verus nodded, having only learned the art of more sedate dining in the
last ten years of his life, himself.  "I won't hold it against you," he
said.  "To a young person, the world must seem as if it is in dire need of
exploration, and the sooner the better."

   She nodded sagely, and smiled at him.  "You are a very wise man," said
Revandis.

   A young elf, only a few years older than Revandis approached them and
bowed to the table.  "The ambassador seeks your presence, Primus Pilum
Verus, and asks that Lady Revandis accompany you," he said formally.