The musician's parade snaked its way through the teeming square, heading for the space in front of the dais. There was much singing and shouting as they passed, with lots of shouting and hearty back-slapping. One man nearly responded violently to an exuberant thump on the back but was restrained by his companion, with a hissed warning. "No! Remember why we're here. Lighten up."

Grudgingly, the man returned a wicked grin to the back-slapper and nodded at his enthusiasm. The two men pushed their way gradually through the square, following the musicians toward the dais. They knew the others were positioning themselves as well for the moment they would spring their attack.

Holden West couldn't maneuver his cart any further. The streets were too clogged with revelers, wagons and tethered horses. The group climbed down, gathered their goods and began forging their way into the square. With a parting thank you to the West family, Marc placed his arm around his grandmother, holding the precious box between them, and elbowed a path toward the Gothag house.

Outside on the edge of the dais, Tugby attempted to raise up on tip-toe, searching the crowd for the young wood carver, his fingers, damp with sweat, plucked uncertainly at the medallion around his neck. After a bruising yet good natured trip through the crowd, Marc appeared at Tugby's feet and had to yell out his name to get attention. Visibly relieved, Tugby began flapping his arms, waving directions and issuing orders to the crush of bodies blocking Marc's path to the household steps.

"At last!" Tugby exclaimed, pulling Marc and his grandmother through the last few people surrounding the steps. "And you have the carving I see. This must be your grandmother. How do you do Miss, uh Mrs. uh, uh. I'm Tugby, advisor to the Gothag family. Welcome."

"My grandmother is Mare Dwellen of Altan."

"Well welcome again Mare Dwellen. Welcome to the Gothag household." Tugby urged them up the steps and inside.

As they passed through the huge entrance into the great hall, Kress and her mother appeared, both wearing their festival gowns and shining radiantly. Eyeing the package, Kress stepped forward confidently.

"I see you have kept your promise Marc of Altan. This is my mother." She announced, placing her hand on her mother's arm. "Marra. Mother, this is the wood carver Marc, of Altan, and you must be Marc's grandmother." She said turning a brilliant smile on the elderly woman.

"Marra, may I present to you the most important lady in my life," Marc beamed. "Mare Dwellen." The women bowed pleasantly to one another. "And to Kress, her daughter with the silver voice."

Kress strained to keep her smile, as she greeted Mare, while shooting daggers at Marc's teasing grin.

"I apologize for my unworthy appearance." Mare began, "I-I . . ."

"Nonsense." Marra cooed, leading the old lady away by the elbow and casting an impish smile at her daughter. "Come with me and we'll find a pretty shawl to make you feel more comfortable."

Waving her on with the back of his hand, Marc turned and extended the package to Kress who was glaring after the two women. "The finished work. Delivered to you personally as agreed."

She accepted the box curtly and handed it over to Tugby who was bouncing around in a near fit.

Unable to control their amusement, they both watched as he hustled down the hall, his wide bottom rolling like a ship on the ocean.

"The daughter with the silver voice?" Kress challenged, turning back to Marc.

"Well of course! I wouldn't enter into such a transaction without expecting the best in return." He chided her, admiring the spark in her eyes, as he did so.

She spun on her heels and indicated for him to follow. "You shall have your payment of a personal song - after the ceremony."

"Not too long after, I trust." He admonished, following her down the hall to the family's quarters.

*****

Dyn-Ryka and Viktor stood unnoticed near the musician's site. Hoods from their cloaks were pulled up over their heads, although not enough to make them look suspicious. They picked out their soldiers circulating through the crowd and felt satisfied that none of them had been detected.

The main group of three, the ones designated to seize Gothag's daughter, stood with several other celebrants near the steps behind the dais. Their job was to grab Kress at the first opportunity and apply the stunner, which would render her unharmed but unconscious. The remaining five men would then leap to the platform and surround the rest of the family keeping them at gunpoint.

When the situation was in control, Dyn-Ryka would take the stage and state his demands, threatening death to the Gothags if he was not obeyed. Only he and his men knew that the death threat was going to be carried out anyway when they had full control.

*****

The Gothag family and their guests emerged from the household and descended the steps to a loud roaring cheer. As they took their places on the dais, the musicians struck up the stirring Azwan anthem and the crowd noise ceased, each citizen gazing proudly at the planet's flag fluttering above the household roof, their own miniature flags clenched over their hearts.

When it finished the roar went up again, the music changed to a medley of lively tunes that prompted more singing and dancing until the sound of the festival gong rang clearly above the noise. Tugby struck it once again and a respectful quiet fell over the proceedings. He paused for the echo to die out then moved to the centre of the dais.

"Citizens of Azwan, welcome to the Festival of Reb. As you know," his voice creaked in the silent air, "in the past, we have begun the ceremonies with the Gothag's tribute to our extraordinary good fortune in the Fornax constellation." Waiting a beat for his last words to finish reverberating across the square and down the narrow streets, he continued. "This year, in homage to that good fortune, we are going to take a moment to reiterate the highlights of Azwan's proud history."

Tugby bobbled around on the dais, glancing back at the family behind him, "I ask you to attend to our lovely Kress, daughter of Gothag and Marra of Tor, who will read this brief chronology of events." He bounced back to offer his hand to Kress, who stood gracefully and accepted the gesture.

A cry of shock and confusion quelled the beginning applause as two men leaped onto the stage and grappled with the surprised Kress. Both Marc and Gothag sprang to their feet, halted immediately by the snarl of one of the attackers holding a stunner to their captive's side.

"Stay. Stay where you are or she will feel the pain of this weapon!"

Three more soldiers jumped onto the stage and waved guns at the rest of the family, threatening them in the same manner. Gothag's military had been slow to respond but now ringed the stage in front of the crowd, holding up their effective but inferior shock sticks. From the vantage point by the musicians, Viktor looked on in livid anger, barely restrained by the equally upset Dyn-Ryka.

"The fool," Viktor hissed, "he was to use the stunner immediately."

"Let's see what happens," Dyn-Ryka whispered, "we have the upper hand at the moment."

"What treachery is this?" Gothag roared, his face filled with rage.

"The treachery was yours old fool when you exiled Karl-Ryka to Belgar." This stunning announcement, delivered with a sneer from the man holding Kress, drew an astonished gasp from Tugby, who collapsed in a blubbery puddle on the stage.

"I'll tear out his heart!" Viktor fumed, hearing his idiot soldier deliver the words reserved for Din-Ryka. An astonished roar went up from the crowd drowning out the threat.

All eyes were drawn momentarily to the heap on the stage, and in that instant several things occurred. One of Gothag's soldiers reached up to the stage and jabbed his shock stick into the calf of one of the invaders, who fell howling in pain in front of his companions. Kress swung a mighty back-handed blow to the nose of the man gripping her and yanked herself free when he dropped his gun, screaming and clutching his bloody face. Viktor's soldiers panicked, firing their stunners at those around the foot of the dais, their whirring sound drowned out by the screams of stampeding onlookers.

Marc sprang over Tugby's inert form as one of the men swung his gun around on the Gothags, and ramming him with his head and shoulders, carried the two of them off the edge of the stage and onto the brick courtyard. Gothag struggled with another, wrenching the gun from his hand and firing point blank into the man's chest.

Quickly, he turned to see his daughter thrown to the floor and kicked toward the edge of the stage. With a blood curdling yell, he sprayed both the attacker and his bleeding companion with the stunner's rays. The two men flopped down unconscious. As the bedlam in the crowd continued, Viktor lunged forward and wrestled the screaming Kress off the stage and into the melee below. With a sharp, practiced blow Kress went limp, and Viktor hoisted her over his shoulder, fleeing with Din-Ryka through the terrified spectators.

"After them!" Gothag screamed, joining the few soldiers who had escaped the stunner's wrath.

Marc staggered to the edge of the dais, his head bleeding from a gash above one eye, and glanced back at the crumpled form of his opponent. Marra knelt before him, fussing with her scarf at his wound while Mare gently patted Tugby's cheek, trying to revive him.

Marc moved her hand away and looked about. "Where's Kress? Is she . . ."

"There were two more in the crowd." Marra stood shakily pointing after them. "My husband and some men have taken pursuit."

"Gran? Gran are you ok?" He moved around the front, supporting himself on the rim of the stage.

"I'm fine Marc. And I think this gentleman will be too." She soothed, helping the pale Tugby into a sitting position.

Marc leaned on his elbows and faced what was left of the milling crowd. "C'mon you people! Start helping this lot." He shouted, indicating the unconscious bodies strewn about. "Some of them need medical attention." He leaned down and retrieved a stunner from the ground, hefting it in his hand and searching for direction to follow.

"Which way Marra?"

She pointed again. "But you're in no shape . . ."

"I'm fine. Can you take charge here?" He said, beginning a slow trot up the street.

"Yes. Yes. We'll be fine. Be careful." She called after his retreating form.