Chill touched me, lightly. He looked tough, but not tough enough to negotiate the Plain of Fear alone.

First order of business would be to stall. Otto was due out to relieve me soon. The fire would alert him. He would see the stranger, then duck down and rouse the Hole. "Hello," I said.

He halted, exchanged glances with his mongrel. The dog came forward slowly, sniffing the air, searching the surrounding night. It stopped a few feet away, shook as though wet, settled on its belly.

The stranger came forward just that far. "Take a load off," I invited.

He swung his saddle down, lowered his case, sat. He was stiff. He had trouble crossing his legs. "Lose your horse?"

He nodded. "Broke a leg. West of here, five, six miles. I lost the trail."

There are trails through the Plain. Some of them the Plain honors as safe. Sometimes. According to a formula known only to its denizens. Only someone desperate or stupid hazards them alone, though. This fellow did not look like an idiot.

The dog made a whuffling sound. The man scratched its ears.

"Where you headed?" "Place called the Fastness."

That is the legend-name, the propaganda name, for the Hole. A calculated bit of glamor for the troops in faraway places. "Name?"

"Tracker. This is Toadkiller Dog." "Pleased to meet you, Tracker. Toadkiller." The dog grumbled. Tracker said, "You have to use his whole name. Toadkiller Dog."

I kept a straight face only because he was such a big, grim, tough-looking man. "What's this Fastness?" I asked. "I never heard of it."

He lifted hard, dark eyes from the mutt, smiled. "I've heard it lies near Tokens."

Twice in one day? Was it the day of twos? No. Not bloody likely. I did not like the look of the man, either. Reminded me too much of our one-time brother Raven. Ice and iron. I donned my baffled face. It is a good one. "Tokens? That's a new one on me. Must be somewhere way the hell out east. What are you headed there for, anyway?"