“Dismount! All troops fire on that thing! Troop Commanders, fire troops in volley! Trumpeter, orders to artillery! Where the hell are those field pieces? Gunners, get those goddam cannon in action!”

Somehow they’d done it. The black shape fell from the skies, settling hard into the cornfields, and when the gray-coated troops in the sky machine came out, the Wolves cut them down and howled in triumph!

Too late. Haven’s army was still intact. The Dragoons were dead or running. Lechfeld was gone, and the Wolves had taken terrible casualties. The Haven force wheeled to face right, and for the first time in his life Nathan MacKinnie had known defeat. When the trumpeters sounded recall it was the end of his career, and the end of everything else. Laura had been in Lechfeld …

“Colonel.” Stark took his commander by the elbow. “Colonel, it don’t do no good to think about it.”

“Uh?” The bright fields of Prince Samual’s World faded. Awkwardly he turned away from the battlements and let his hands relax. The knuckles were white. “Your pardon, Mary. I was — somewhere else. You’re right, let’s go join the revels.”

Mary Graham watched the mad light fade from Nathan MacKinnie’s eyes. I know, she thought. I know what he saw. When Hal tells that story, it’s like being there.

MacKinnie’s voice came from the bottom of a well of emotion. Mary tried to smile reassuringly, but that was impossible.

What must it be like, she wondered. To feel that much for someone? And what was she like, that girl he was thinking about? Hal wouldn’t say much about her. I don’t even know her name. What was she like, to make a man like MacKinnie feel that way? I’ll never have that kind of devotion from anyone.

Have I that much to give?

Yes. I do. I’ve always been sure of that, that somewhere, somehow—

A little girl’s dream.

No. Not that at all. When I was little I thought of a handsome, rich lord and now, well, yes, I’ve usually thought of him, whoever he’ll be, as rich and handsome, but mostly he’ll be a man who’ll let me be more to him than my father ever let Mother be.

She stared up into the star-studded darkness. That tiny dot is my sun, she thought. One dot among thousands, tiny, insignificant, and yet it was my whole world for all my life until just last year—

A world she no longer cared for. She had resented the restrictions Haven society put on her, but that had been a formless resentment, almost unconscious. Now she knew better. There were other ways to live, other cultures on other worlds, worlds without end, worlds after worlds, and what was Prince Samual’s World, or anyone on it?

We are what we make ourselves. And we can change whole worlds. We’re doing that now. Isn’t it enough?

She had felt the magic touch of command, of knowing that others depended on her judgement. MacKinnie had won the battles, but without her cooks and supply wagons he couldn’t have taken the field. He’d known that, and he’d trusted her, trusted her with the lives of all his men, and his troopers were more important to him than his own life-

“Your turn to be in a blue daze,” Nathan said. “What we need is some company.”

She nodded and let Nathan and Hal lead her down the stairs to the streets below, but still the pensive mood pursued her. Do we need company? she wondered. Maybe we have too much already. Hal would be happy enough to go join the revels without us …

She almost laughed aloud. A year ago that thought would have shocked her. Or at least she would have pretended, even to herself, that it did. Properly brought up young ladies didn’t have any doubts about what was proper.

Proper young ladies had dull lives.

The streets were alive with people. Where there had formerly been beggars and empty shops there were shouting throngs drowning the bitterness of months of defeat in wine and ale. The barbarians were driven from the gates!

Those who hadn’t pawned their finery during the siege now wore it. Several pawnshops had been looted, so that many others were gaily dressed in bright woolens, silks, even cotton prints. A riot of color wove complex patterns through the streets. It seemed the entire city had turned out. Even the saffron-robed members of the Temple minor orders, the gray deacons, and the black-robed full priests joined in the revelry. Only MacKinnie’s on-duty pikemen held aloof, and many of them quaffed hastily offered beakers of wine and beer.

“Seems different without them Temple swordsmen,” Hal said. “I see the Temple people are already recruitin’ more to replace the ones we lost out on the field—”

“Yes.” MacKinnie would rather that subject were dropped.

“It was terrible,” Mary said. “Father Sumbavu and a thousand swordsmen killed after our victory … I can’t understand how it happened.”

“It always happens,” MacKinnie said. “There’s always a price.”

But what really did happen? she wondered. Had MacKinnie understood Sumbavu so well that he could deliberately use the priest to destroy the Temple army? That was a bit frightening. If he knew Sumbavu that well, how much does he know about me?

What if he did send Sumbavu and all his men out to die? Was there any other way to get control of the Temple? Probably not. Was it worth the price? That’s the real question. What are we doing here? What am I doing? From what I’ve seen I’d rather live in Imperial society than my own—

But Imperial society has no use for me or any of us, women and men alike. Haven does. This mission is important to Haven, and I’m important to the mission, and that ought to be enough. It’s more than I ever dreamed of. Except that now my part of the job is done …

MacKinnie found a goblet of wine and gave it to her. It was strong, heady stuff, and she knew she shouldn’t drink all of it, but the festive mood of the streets was hard to resist, and she drank more than half. Nathan took a beaker of ale from one of his off-duty troopers. “Thanks, Hiaro,” he said. “What’ll you do now that the war’s over?”

“I don’t know, Colonel.” The little pikeman stood tall, and Stark’s merciless drillfield exercises showed in his muscles. Mary remembered when she’d first seen him: when Hiaro had joined MacKinnie’s army he was an emaciated ghost living on Temple charity, sleeping in a gutter and waiting to die. “My farm is burned, my wife and children are dead … the lord of my fields wants us to return to the land, and it seems I must do so for I am not tall enough to join the new Temple guards.”

MacKinnie drank and turned away but the fugleman pursued him. “Colonel — Trader — sir, it is rumored that you will march west with an army. There are many like me who would go with you. Some talk of remaining together and seeking employment as soldiers for another city, but we would rather go with you.”

“Thanks, Hiaro. I’ll remember,” MacKinnie said.

What is there about him that wins loyalty? Mary wondered. Not just Hiaro. Hal Stark. The other guardsmen. It’s like a tangible force. I can feel it, too, but I suppose that could be something else, something more physical. Heaven knows he’s attractive enough. And sometimes he looks at me — She drank the rest of the goblet. Someone stepped out of the crowd to fill it again.

They wandered through the brightly lit streets. Wind chimes with a Temple replica as centerpiece tinkled in every doorway. They rounded a corner, and she slipped on the rough cobblestones. MacKinnie caught her, and she leaned against him for a moment. She felt his warmth, and she didn’t want to move away. Gently he set her back on her feet, but she thought he took his time doing it, as if the physical contact wasn’t unpleasant for him.

“The pikemen could do all right as mercenaries,” Stark commented. “They can beat anything on this planet exceptin’ heavy cavalry, and with the right battle plan they might even do that. No leaders, though, so they’ll probably hire out to some idiot who’ll waste them. Nobody on this end of Makassar appreciates good infantry. Be a pity what’s goin’ to happen to them lads after all the training we gave them …”