“Soldiers for who, Colonel? You owe Haven any more’n you owe Batav? If it wasn’t for them peasant kids we trained we’d never have beat the maris. Them boys would follow you to hell, and what’s goin’ to happen to ’em if we pull up stakes and leave? And when we get back to Haven, that Dougal’s likely to slit our throats to shut us up. What use are we to him after we bring back them books or whatever it is Kleinst has got? There’s not much for us back on Samual, and that’s the size of it—” Stark turned quickly and grasped the hilt of his sword. “Watch out, Colonel, there’s somebody comin’ up the stairs.”

“Go see who it is.” There were guards posted at the foot of the stairway to MacKinnie’s penthouse, and from the sounds there was only one person approaching. Hal could deal with any single man. Nathan turned back to the battlements.

The revels continued in the city below. Drunken apprentices staggered from shop to shop, demanding that lights be placed in all dark windows on pain of having the building itself burned to provide light. Barrels of wine and ale stood at street corners, open to all comers. But through the drunken reveling MacKinnie’s peasant pikemen stood in grim, disciplined knots at the strategic points, waiting for their relief before joining the festivities …

Follow me to hell, MacKinnie thought. Why not? I found them not much better than slaves and now they’ve just defeated the worst threat this city’s ever faced.

Why the hell shouldn’t I be king? Because of another duty …

All his life MacKinnie had lived under a soldier’s code and like most dueling societies Prince Samual’s World held honor higher than life … but what was the honorable course now?

Who owns my loyalty? he wondered. Dougal, who had a dozen men and women killed to protect the secret babbled by that drunken Imperial officer? Casteliano, who’s Ultimate Holiness courtesy of my pikemen? Or those lads out there? It’s obvious what Hal thinks.

“It’s Freelady Graham, Colonel,” Stark announced.

Mary Graham had taken off her armor and had let her long brown hair fall in waves and curls to below her shoulders. A blue linen gown with tight bodice set off her small figure, and she was much lovelier than she’d been the first time MacKinnie had seen her.

“Nathan, you’re missing the party,” she said accusingly. “Can’t you ever relax, even for one evening? Let’s have some fun!”

MacKinnie was surprised by the possessive tone in her voice. Had he imagined it or — Great Saints, he thought. She’s a real beauty tonight. And with her hair let down she looks a lot like Laura. Nearly as headstrong, too. And she’s twenty-four, you’re fifty, and she’s your ward. But—

Unwanted the memories poured past his guard. There had been another girl, once. A freelady, not one of the innumerable camp followers any military commander would know. She was no more than thirty, and it was no more than three years ago …

A bleak picture formed in MacKinnie’s mind. Haven, defeated at Blanthern Pass, was on the march again, invading Orleans with inadequate troops and a dangerously thin supply line. And Iron MacKinnie’s

Wolves were ready, this time ready to end Haven’s threat to Orleans forever and aye. When this battle was done, the Orleans Committee of Public Safety could dictate any terms they wanted to David II!

The Wolves lay in ambush at Lechfeld. Two battalions waited, enough troops to force Haven’s invading force to deploy and fight. Lechfeld couldn’t be bypassed or the Haven army would be without any possible supply line. Twenty kilometers away, in dense forest, a regiment of Orleans Dragoons moved swiftly through the forest gullies, leading their horses until they reached open country. Above, behind rolling hills overlooking the Lechfeld plains, MacKinnie waited with the balance of his Wolves to close the trap — and the Haven army was moving into it.

The Committee had protested the battle plan. Converging columns were too dangerous. There was no reliable way to communicate between them, even if the University professors did believe they would have reliable wireless soon. The timing of the battle needed great precision or the Orleanists would be defeated in detail.

The Committee had protested, but MacKinnie had won that fight. He knew the capabilities of his troops to the last small unit, and his scouts would cover the battle area. There would be no surprises for Orleans; only for Haven — and the Wolves would not fight at all until Haven was in the trap.

And now they were marching in, and they were doomed.

Freelady Laura waited with him in the hills above Lechfeld. He had tried to send her to the rear before, but she came back — and except for Stark there wasn’t an officer or a noncom in his command who’d disobey the colonel’s lady even on his direct orders. Still, it was safe enough. The losses today would be Haven’s! But she was in a place of danger, and that wouldn’t do.

“Go to Lechfeld while the road’s still open,” MacKinnie had told her. “Major Armstrong is well dug in and his position won’t be exposed until the battle is over. Meet me in Lechfeld.”

She protested, but he needed a message carried, and finally she agreed to go. “We’ll be riding at the charge all the way, Laura,” he’d said. “You can’t keep up with that! We’d be separated anyway. If I can’t make you go to the rear — damn your father for letting you out of the house! — I want you safe.”

“All right. I won’t have you worrying about me when you should be directing the battle.” She sat proudly in the ambulance. The escorting cavalry saluted. Cornet Blair mounted with a flourish, proud to be chosen as protector of his colonel’s fiancee.

“And we’ll see the chaplain when the battle’s ended,” MacKinnie promised. “Ride out, Blair.”

“Sir.” Ambulance and escort rode away in a thin cloud of dust and MacKinnie gave his attention to the Haven forces below. In an hour their advance units appeared. They weren’t surprised to meet resistance at Lechfeld and fell back to wait for the rest of the column.

The Haven army deployed skirmishers, then formed a main battle line for attack, their artillery moving forward at the gallop. Trumpet calls rang across plowed fields as Haven’s last army prepared for a set piece battle.

It worried Nathan. Haven had better soldiers than that! They’d walked into a classic military trap, and they hadn’t even put out guards to their flanks and rear! But MacKinnie’s hard-riding scouts, their horses lathered with flecks of white foam, had circled the enemy. They had seen nothing. There was no significant reinforcements, no support at all for the forces moving so blindly into MacKinnie’s trap. Haven was doomed.

Why? MacKinnie wondered. It hardly mattered. Perhaps they had planned some clever counter-coup, but there was nothing, nothing at all that they or anyone could do now …

The Orleans Dragoons took the field within minutes of the time MacKinnie had set for them. They advanced and dug in, closing off the Haven column’s escape route, forming a solid anvil against which the charging Wolves would crush their enemy, and now, now it was time! “Mount ’em up, Hal! Move ’em out! Fox and Dragon troops will charge those batteries on the right flank. The rest dismount at five hundred meters and advance on foot. We’ve got them, Hal, we’ve beaten everything Haven can put into the field!”

The Wolves charged down the hill, whooping like South Continent barbarians, while the youthful trumpeters blew every call in the book. It was done. The Wolves were in perfect position to roll up Haven’s flank — and death fell from the skies. A sleek black shape roared overhead and, as it passed, Lechfeld was turned into a blackened cinder.

And again, again that thing passed overhead, and blinding beams of light stabbed out to burn the Dragoons! Now it hovered over the battlefield, playing its deadly beams across MacKinnie’s army.