Two hours later, Sumbavu was ready to depart. He stood with MacKinnie at the camp gate, watching the sky. “In an hour the moons will be gone. You have not seen the enemy?”

“No, Father,” MacKinnie told him. “But they will have men out there.”

“There is less chance they will attack me at night than by day,” the priest said. “In the dark they will not know that I have only the Temple soldiers, and they will be afraid.” He watched the setting moons in silence until darkness came over the plains.

“I leave you my blessing,” Sumbavu told MacKinnie. “Perhaps I have misjudged your intentions. May God accompany you.”

“Thank you, Father,” MacKinnie said. He ordered the gates opened and watched the guardsmen and wagons leave. Each swordsman carried a bag of grain on his back in addition to his weapons, and the carts were creaking under the load. Convicts and slaves, lured on the expedition with promises of freedom and now sent back toward the city with staggering loads on their backs, old oxen, carts with creaking wheels, all filed out with the proud guardsmen. A thousand soldiers and three hundred bearers left the camp before the gates were closed. MacKinnie returned to his tent. After a few moments, Stark and Longway joined him by his fire.

“They’ll never make ten kilometers by morning,” Stark said. “Not the way they loaded themselves.”

“I thought the priest gave them reasonable loads,” Longway said. “They did not seem excessive.”

“Sure, but the Trader gave them the pick of the loot before they set out. Wasn’t a man there wasn’t carrying five, ten kilos of junk stripped off the dead or picked up in this camp.”

“That was generous of you,” Longway said. “Extraordinarily so.”

“There will be other loot,” MacKinnie told them.

“We’ll have plenty chances to get rich, but they won’t. They’ve earned their share.”

“Or will,” Stark muttered. MacKinnie looked quickly at him, then stared at the fire in silence as Mary Graham joined the little group.

“Best get some sleep,” MacKinnie told her. “We start early in the morning, and it’s late enough now.”

“I don’t really need it,” she laughed. “I ride a cart, remember?”

“Lady, you can sleep in that cart under way, you’ll be the greatest soldier’s wife ever lived,” Stark observed. “I’d rather walk, the way those things fall into every hole in the ground.”

Mary laughed, looked around furtively, then said, “You wouldn’t think the Empire would fall if we told them how to put springs in the carts, would you? But I guess it’s too late now.” She looked around her at the camp. The spear and shield troops were asleep in place around the perimeter, their shields propped up behind the palisade, pikes and spears ready at hand, while guards patrolled outside the perimeter. “I suppose I should start the breakfast fires. No rest for the cooks.”

“Don’t bother,” MacKinnie said. “There won’t be breakfast in the morning. Another hour and I’ll roust out the men I’m taking with me. You can feed the rest when we’ve gone if the enemy gives you time. I’ll leave MacLean in command here.”

“You’re dividing your force, Trader?” Longway asked. “That seems unreasonable. How long will you be gone?”

“One day should do it, one way or another. Don’t worry about it, Academician, we won’t leave you for long.”

“What is all this?” Mary asked. “There’s something strange going on here! I don’t think I like this at all.”

“Just get some rest,” MacKinnie told her. “Or if you can’t do that, please excuse me while I sleep. We’ll have to be up early, Hal. Have the guard call me an hour before first light. My apologies, but I can’t think clearly when I’ve had no sleep, and the enemy is still far too dangerous for my mind to be fogged.” He strode to his tent and closed the flap. After a few moments, Longway went back to his quarters.

“Hal, what is wrong with him?” Mary asked. “There’s something going on, isn’t there?”

“Freelady, he doesn’t like what he’s had to do. I can’t say I like it much either, but we didn’t see any other way. Now do as he says and go to sleep. I reckon I’d better lie down a couple of hours myself.”

“Time, Colonel.”

“Uh.” MacKinnie struggled to wakefulness.

“Hour before dawn,” Stark said. “Here.” He gave MacKinnie a steaming cup of tea.

Nathan drank gratefully. “Thanks.” He regretted again that there was neither coffee nor chickeest on Makassar. It might have been worse, he reflected. At least there was tea.

The night was dark. Both moons had set, and low clouds obscured most of the stars. The camp was invisible, but MacKinnie heard the men quietly coming awake. They spoke in whispers, with occasional louder curses and orders for silence breaking the low hiss of conversation. Nathan pulled on his boots and went to the cook area. His officers and noncoms were already gathering there.

He spoke to them in low tones. “I’m concerned about Father Sumbavu’s group,” he said. “We’ll take First and Second battalions and the knights out to cover them. The rest will stay here to guard the camp, with MacLean in charge. Be ready to march in ten minutes.”

“ Is it wise to divide the force?” MacLean asked.

“Wise or not, I’m doing it,” MacKinnie snapped. “I’m not accustomed to discussing my orders, Mister MacLean.”

“Sir,” MacLean answered.

“All right, move,” Stark said. He waited until the others had left. “Pretty good troops,” he said. “Not much protest at all. ’Course winning a battle yesterday didn’t hurt. Does wonders for discipline.”

When the troops were assembled, MacKinnie sent half the spearmen to the walls. The other half, with the knights, were marched out the camp gate. Once outside they turned due east, a right angle to the road to the city. There were mutters from the ranks, but no one questioned him.

When they were a kilometer from the camp MacKinnie turned the detachment toward the city, forming them into two columns of four with the cavalry inside. They marched in silence without drums, and Stark moved up and down the line to see that each man kept his equipment from rattling.

The sky turned gray, then crimson. When it was light enough to see men fifty meters away, Hal Stark caught up to MacKinnie at the head of the column. “They move pretty fast without wagons and junk,” Stark said. “Ought to be able to keep up this pace all morning.”

“We’ll need to,” MacKinnie said. He found it difficult to judge the capabilities of the native troops, and he couldn’t use his own abilities as a guide; months on Makassar had softened them, but the Samualites were generally stronger than the natives, and nearly all tasks seemed easier, exactly as Midshipman Landry had predicted.

The sun was nearly up when Stark sent for MacKinnie. When Nathan joined him at the point, Stark showed him deep tracks left by Sumbavu’s baggage carts. “Hard to tell how far they are ahead of us,” Stark said. “No more’n an hour, I’d say.”

“Loaded as they were, they can’t be too far,” MacKinnie said. “Okay, I want flankers out to both sides. They’ll slow us down, but this is good ambush terrain. And let’s make time.

They swung on in silence, now and again changing positions to send fresh men to lead the escorting flankers. It was hard work to break trail in the waist-high grass-like vegetation. The low hills of the plain closed around them, and MacKinnie rushed forward each time they topped a rise. Then, as they approached one low hill, they heard shouts from the other side. When they drew closer, the sounds resolved into the din of a battle.

“Deploy the troops,” MacKinnie said softly. “Columns of fours to each side.”

The parallel columns split apart, angling out to form two lines, then continued their advance up the hill in silence. The men readied their weapons and helped each other sling their shields properly.