something nudged him in the back, just hard enough to make him
stumble a couple of startled steps forward--south. He looked around,
not really surprised to see nothing behind him, and remained standing
where he had stopped. Moments later another nudge, more insistent,
propelled him several steps further.

Bitterly sure it would be useless, that he was as much a prisoner as if
he were surrounded by armed guards, Kranath stopped again. What had he
done to deserve captivity? Madness at least brought no disgrace to the
victim; why should his accidental trespass be any worse than anyone
else's, that he should be humiliated and dishonored?

The next prompting he got wasn't a nudge. The pressure at his back
became constant, gentle but irresistible, and it forced him toward the
hill at a steady walk.

It was over, Kranath thought. Captive, with no hope of escape from
whatever was wielding enough power to compel him this way, he would
die. The only chance he had to regain honor now was to kill himself
before the continuing knowledge of captivity exhausted his will to act
and, within a few days, his will to live.

Grimly determined to at least die in what honor he could, Kranath
reached for his weapons. Either gun or dagger would be fast and clean.
He touched them, got his hands firmly on the grips--and was unable to
draw either. Whatever held him had left him his weapons, but made them
a useless mockery. That didn't mean he was completely disarmed, though.
He still had his hands and claws; he might still avoid the
incomprehensible doom he was being forced up the slopes of Godhome to
meet. Claws fully extended, the veteran fighter reached for his
throat.

That effort, too, failed. He found that he was no longer simply being
pushed; instead, his body had been taken over, its actions controlled
by the unknown invisible other. He could observe, but could no longer
control his movements. This wasn't the prisoner-despair, not yet--
Kranath's will remained intact, but his body did not respond to even
the fiercest exercise of it.

(Sharing Kranath's emotion, Tarlac understood completely. A human
would have feared for his life, but Traiti valued that less than honor.
And the Traiti had been forced to Godhome as surely as he had been
forced to the Hermnaen.)

Kranath was at the top of the hill now, standing where no Traiti in
history had ever stood. In any other place, that would have been cause
for rejoicing. Not