I was roused by Smahil, he was rubbing unguent with firm fingers into my wounds. I cried out, moaned and shuddered; he held me gently. I began to hear; he was whispering, frantically he whispered as he rubbed into my back the unguent which first was fire, and then was soothing. “You’ll be all right, Cija. I got this from the cavalry commander in exchange for my next three months’ pay. It’s all in arrears anyway. It’s tremendously good, you won’t be scarred, you will be healed and oh, so comfortable, you’ll see. You’ll be well, I’ll make you happy, Cija. You mustn’t cry, it’s making you well again. If only I got to it in time…”

The hysteria is long over, it was not as bad as it seemed, there seems to be hope when the sun shines, there is hope—and preparations for the Atlan campaign go forward so slowly. There is something at work in the temple-palace beyond the mountain, something which wants in my opinion only to get from somebody high in the Northern army the secret of the scientific formula which is capable of filling with air the immense Vacuum; Smahil told me what Terez let him know, the reason for the infamous Southern attack on Northern headquarters.

The purpose, obvious enough to anyone who reflects for a moment if they already know as I do of the vital-formula (very few even of the Northern side know of it, I’m not sure even Smahil does)—the purpose of that attack was that someone big wants to capture the General himself. Even if he doesn’t know the exact formula, he’s important enough for those who do to give up the secret in order to get him released. And according to Terez who has access to the highest table-talk, the Hammerfist instituted the attack, on the official grounds that immorality and impurity are too rife among the Northern controllers. He has not even kept out of it; the supreme insult to us, their allies, the Superlativity has presented Hammerfist with a medal of rock-crystal veined with gold for conspicuous gallantry and foresight in “leading” an assault on impiety not to say treachery to the prevailing, pervading hospitable and holy religion of the Southern land of the most holy … etc. It is a weariness.

There is of course bloodshed everywhere in the streets. Our men are bitterly furious.

Everyone knows for which actual action the Hammerfist is being rewarded.

The officers no longer bother even to separate the forces, but instead join in when they come upon a melee, which is incessantly.

That too seems a weariness.