“Draw swords,” MacKinnie ordered. “Double time.”

They trotted up the final ten meters to the top of the rise. The sounds of battle grew louder. Then they could see the low valley beyond.

A thousand barbarians had swarmed over Sumbavu’s column and destroyed it. There were so few survivors that at first MacKinnie saw none at all, but a few Temple swordsmen were huddled in knots of ten or twenty around the makeshift protection of the baggage carts. The maris swept toward them firing arrows and leaping on them with their swords. Even as MacKinnie and Stark watched, another tiny group of scarlet livery vanished beneath a wave of plainsmen.

“Make your charge straight through them,” MacKinnie told Vanjynk. “Cut through and go past, then wheel, dress ranks, and charge home again. Don’t stop to play with them, stay together as you’ve been taught. Now go.”

Brett and Vanjynk waved the knights forward. The heavily armored horsemen gathered momentum as they rode down the gentle hill, changed from trot to canter, building speed as they rode toward the enemy.

As soon as the knights were in motion the infantry shield wall began its advance. Drums sounded quickstep, then double time as fuglemen shouted frantic orders to dress ranks and keep in line. The wall moved forward.

The maris saw the wave of horsemen plunging toward them and leaped for their mounts, scattering the loot they had been so anxious to gain, but it was too late. The lances came down, and now that they had been seen, MacKinnie waved to the trumpeters. The notes carried easily over the dewy plains as the knights charged home. Lances shattered, swords were torn from scabbards as the knights shouted in triumph. A few remained to fight, wheeling about until they were pulled from their saddled by the lassos of the maris, or their mounts were shot from beneath them. The rest galloped past, riding the enemy down, thundering down the entire line of barbarians before wheeling at the top of the next rise.

The horsemen had broken the enemy when the shieldsmen arrived. Once again the wings of the shield line closed inward, trapping the enemy between ranks, while the knights charged home again, throwing back into the trap any of the barbarians who had attempted to escape, the momentum of their charge crushing all resistance. The plainsmen caught between the lines had no chance. They could impale themselves on the spears of the shield wall, or wait to be trampled by the knights. This time the slaughter was done quickly, for no one attempted to attack the infantry from behind. The plainsmen who escaped were glad of their lives.

They found Sumbavu at the head of the column, a group of swordsmen dead around his body. He clutched a sword with one hand and a crucifix with the other, and his eyes stared at the heavens. There were no more than fifty survivors in his entire command.

MacKinnie grimly formed his troops into columns and marched back to his camp, the carts rattling over the rutted plains, the groans of the wounded sounding over the creak of their wheels.

MacKinnie rested his men through the next day. In the late afternoon, a small party of plainsmen approached, wheeled outside arrow-shot, and waved feathered lances above their heads.

“He wants to talk to you,” Brett said. “It doesn’t happen very often with city people, but they do have ways of ending wars between clans. He’s treating you as the chief of a very powerful clan. The men behind him are family heads.”

“How do I meet him?” MacKinnie asked.

“Go outside the gate with a group of retainers. I doubt if he’ll trust you not to shoot him if he gets in close range. It’s what always happens when they deal with city people.”

“Can you talk to him? Do you speak their language?”

“You know I do, star man, and you know why. I’ll come with you if you like.”

MacKinnie took Brett and young Todd, leaving Stark and MacLean in command. Longway puffed after them, insisting, and MacKinnie invited him along. They walked out from the camp until they were near the extreme range of a crossbow, then halted, still barely within covering fire if it were needed.

Three figures detached themselves from the group, dismounted, and strode purposefully toward MacKinnie. A few feet away they grounded their lances and spread their arms wide. One spoke swiftly in a musical language MacKinnie had never heard.

“He says he comes to speak,” Brett said. “He says you fight like a great chief. He says never before have the robed fools fought so well.”

“Tell him he has fought well and we admire the courage of his men.”

Brett translated. Before the mari chief could answer, MacKinnie said, “Now tell him I am a great prince from the south, and that I have come in a ship. Tell him a thousand more ships full of men like mine are coming, with many horses, and we will cover the plains. Tell him his brave people will kill many of us, but more will come, and soon there will be many dead on these fields.”

“It is customary to exchange more compliments.”

“Give him a few. Tell him how brave his men are, and how well they fought. Then tell him what I said.”

Brett spoke at length, waited for a reply, and said, “He says he is honored to meet a great prince from the south. He says he knew you could not be from the city. He asks how you will catch him.”

“Say that we will come to his home in midwinter. We will burn his food and kill his beasts. But we do not wish to do this, for many of my strong men will die, and many of his brave warriors, and all for nothing.”

“That ought to impress him,” Brett said. He chattered to the plainsman.

This time there was a long pause, then a longer reply from the mari.

Brett listened carefully. “You’ve impressed him,” the singer said. “He’s afraid of that walking wall of yours. He can imagine your troops pounding along in the snow, and it bothers him. They don’t like to fight in the winter, and he doesn’t think you would like it much either. He wants to know why you would go to so much trouble.”

“Say I’m a madman,” MacKinnie said. “Or will that work?”

“It might. They’re familiar with fanatics.”

“Good. Then I’m a fanatic dedicated to saving the Temple.”

Brett spoke again, listened, and said “He’s about ready to believe anything about you. He asks you to speak again. That means he hasn’t any reply.”

“Tell him any way you want to,” MacKinnie answered, “but here are my terms. They can have two days to get out of here. They burn nothing else, but they may carry away whatever they can. At the end of that time, we’ll kill every one of them we find. And if they make any more hostile moves after today, we’ll follow him to the end of the continent and burn all his villages and kill all his livestock. Make sure he knows that’s not an idle threat.”

“He’s not responsible for all of the maris,” Brett said.

“Just his own clan. He can’t promise for the rest.”

“Is this the leader of the biggest group?”

“One of the largest clans, yes.”

“Then he’ll have to figure out how to drive the others out. He ought to be able to do it, but anyway that’s his problem, not mine. Tell him that.”

Brett looked pale for a moment. He seemed about to say something to MacKinnie, but Nathan’s look stopped him. He turned to the mari chief and spoke at length.

The sinewy chief answered, then another of the attendants shouted. Brett shouted back and their voices rose angrily before the chief spoke again more calmly. Finally Brett turned back to Nathan. “He’ll try. Some of the others have already left. He’ll get the rest to go along. They wanted more time, but I told them you really were a madman, that you’d taken an oath never to end the war if it didn’t end now. They’re still arguing about it, but it’s obvious they’re afraid of your army. I think they’ll go.”