Sir Hunnar Redbeard squinted hard, but they were still too far away to make out the number of figures standing next to the mass of odd shaping.  It truly seemed to be made of metal.

When Eer-Meesach had come running into the Great Hall babbling his hysterical tale of a fiery thing of metal falling from the sky, Hunnar had been one of the skeptical ones.

The wizard had insisted that his telescope told him the outside of the thing was at least coated with solid metal that shone like a dancer's tiara.  And on top of that, he'd insisted he'd seen two creatures emerge from the metal and walk onto the island.

Now he could see it for himself and he momentarily forgot about the creatures.  So much metal!  If it were as good as steel it would be a valuable prize indeed.  They would need every scrap they could gather if the Longax's plan to contest the Horde were to pass in Council.

It would be crucial to deal correctly with the strange beings.  It would also be nice merely to chivan up and lop off a few heads.  But not necessarily practical.  For one thing, Eer-Meesach would never forgive him.  Hunnar made a Sign.  He didn't want his bed turned into a rollicking Gutorrbyn in the midst of a mating.

Also, any beings who could make that much metal stay up in the sky might be able to do unpleasant things to a person.  No doubt they knew the value of their metal.

One thought had troubled him all the way out from Wannome.  Could they be gods?  Gray-maned, omnipotent, immortal gods?  It could not yet be ruled out.

However, the wizard's description of the way in which their craft had descended implied lack of control by infallible immortals.  Rather it sounded more like cubs caught on a runaway sled.

But he would reserve his final judgment until after viewing.  That would please his teachers.

But so much metal!

He stared at the fallen thing.  One fact seemed certain.  Whatever they were, their eyesight seemed as good as his own.  A group of them appeared to be assembling just outside the ship - he'd reluctantly come to consider it a vessel of sorts.  They were standing on the edge of the island.  This in itself was an odd thing to do.  But by voluntarily restricting themselves to land, they might be making a friendly gesture.  Hunnar had the right idea but the wrong reason.

He grinned ferociously.  It might mean that these strangers were afraid to do battle with him.  Otherwise they would have come out to meet him.

There were five... no, six of the beings.  It looked like only one was built along warrior lines.  Better and better.

"Suaxus!" he shouted to his first lieutenant, "break left!  Vasen, Smjör, with him!"  He turned, eating air.  "Budjir, break right with Avyeh and Hivell!"

The nine tran immediately split into three groups.  They would make a three-pronged approach.  Not only was it a sensible precaution, it should also impress their visitors.  He'd given Suaxus the left and slightly less wind.  The squire was impatient and something of a problem, but basically one of the soundest in training.

And you, Hunnar?  Whose grandfather are you, eh?  Maturity, he reminded himself, was not necessarily a function of age.