would be better than having all of Xedii destroyed inch by inch."

Anketam shook his head. "Never. The Chiefs will fight to the very end.
And they'll win in the long run because right is on their side. The
invaders have no right to change our way of living; they have no right
to impose their way of doing things on us. No, Jac--the Chiefs will
never give up. They haven't surrendered yet, and they never will.
They'll win. The invaders will be destroyed."

Jacovik frowned, completely closing his left eye. "You've always been
better at thinking things out that I, Ank." He paused and looked down at
his hands again. "I hope you're right, Ank. I hope you're right."

* * * * *

In spite of his personal conviction that he was right, Anketam had to
admit that Jacovik had reason for his own opinion. He knew that many of
the farmers were uncertain about the ultimate outcome of the war.

Anketam looked around him at the several hundred men who made up the
farming force of the barony. His own crew were standing nearby, mixing
with Jacovik's crew and talking in low voices. In the cool winter air,
Anketam could still detect the aroma of human bodies, the smell of sweat
that always arose when a crowd of people were grouped closely together.
And he thought he could detect a faint scent of fear and apprehension in
that atmosphere.

Or was that just his imagination, brought on by Jacovik's pessimism?

He opened his lips to say something to Jacovik, but his words died
unborn. The sudden silence in the throng around him, the abrupt
cessation of whispering, told him, more definitely than a chorus of
trumpets could have done, that The Chief had appeared.

He turned around quickly, to face the Main Gate again.

The Main Gate was no higher than the thorn-bush hedge that it pierced.
It was a heavily built, intricately decorated piece of polished
goldwood, four feet high and eight feet across, set in a sturdy goldwood
frame. The arch above the gate reached a good ten feet, giving The Chief
plenty of room to stand.

He was just climbing up to stand on the gate itself as Anketam turned.

Chief Samas was a tall man, lean of face and wide of brow. His
smooth-shaven chin was long and angular, and his dark eyes were deeply
imbedded beneath heavy, bushy eyebrows.

And he was dressed in clothing cut in a manner that Anketam had never
seen before.

He stood there, tall and proud, a half smile on his face. It w