pool, as ready to die for his mistress as the most hardened soldier.
Keyoke arose and turned his gaze over the bustling activity, the servants huddled over the smothered campfires, the warriors on guard at the barricades; there was no laxity in discipline. These soldiers resisted the novice's tendency to look toward the light; they needed no reminder to know their survival depended upon unspoiled night vision.
Keyoke sighed imperceptibly, knowing nothing was left to be done but to make rounds and give encouragement to men who knew their lives were measured now in hours.
Keyoke swallowed needra steak whose juices held no savour. To the cook who took his empty plate he said, 'Be my spokesman to the servants; should the Minwanabi break past our front barricade, and our last soldiers lie dying, use the shields to scoop up the burning brands and hurl them into the silk. Then throw yourselves at the Minwanabi, that they must kill you with swords and grant you honourable deaths.'
The cook bowed his head in abject gratitude. 'You honour us, Force Commander.'
Keyoke returned a smile. 'You will honour your Lady and your house by carrying out your orders. In this you must be like warriors.'
The old man, whose name Keyoke couldn't recall, said, 'We shall not fail Lady Mara's trust, Force Commander.'
Keyoke had given orders that one man in every three should move to the rear of the narrow canyon and eat a quick meal. The second company had finished eating, and now the third took their places near the campfire. Strike Leader Dakhati held back as Keyoke left the cook fire. In barely suppressed uneasiness, the younger officer fingered the unblooded crest of his officer's plume. 'What are your tactics, Force Commander?'
Keyoke glanced one last time around the gully that already smelled like carrion, now rendered grey, black, and flickering orange by the blaze of shielded fires. Since nothing more could be done, he answered with clipped deliberation.
霉We wait. Then we fight.'
With a wariness learned during his years as a bandit leader, First Strike Leader Lujan scanned the perimeter. The moonlight shone down much too brightly, and the flatlands along the river road were open, not at all to his liking for a pitched fight. But level ground gave him the advantage of seeing an enemy's approach, and he had at his .command every soldier that could be spared from Mara's estate. It would take a major assault by at least three full companies of warriors to break through the circled wagons. And the Minwanabi would need to send no fewer than five hundred men to be certain of victory. Nonetheless, Lujan suffered an uneasy stomach and an urge to pace. Again he reviewed his defences, studying the archers atop the wagons, and found nothing amiss as cooks cleaned up after the evening meal.
His foreboding did not lessen, but only increased, for battle was long overdue.
The Minwanabi should have struck by now. At first light tomorrow his caravan would roll toward the gates of Sulan-Qu The report from Arakasi's spy said a major attack was a certainty. And to Lujan's practised military mind, the most likely site for ambush had been a forested bend in the road passed uneventfully the previous afternoon That left a night attack, for it was inconceivable the Minwanabi would try to seize the caravan inside the city.
Again Lujan surveyed the road. His instincts screamed that something was wrong. For lack of anything better to do save sleep, he walked the perimeter, and as he had done only minutes before, he spoke a quiet word with guards who were growing edgy from his repeated surveillance. His worry was hampering the vigilance of the sentries, Lujan knew.
The Strike Leader passed through the narrow corridor between the backs of his guards and the rows of leatherlashed wagons shielding the central fires, the needra pickets, and the men who slept in shifts. The wagons were laden with thyza bags under their linen coverings; for appearance's sake, two bolts of silk showed beneath one bulging, mix-tied corner. The cloth glistened by moonlight, smooth as water and opulently perfect in quality.
Lujan fingered his sword. He repeatedly reviewed what he knew and couldn't escape the same conclusion: the delayed attack made no sense. After sunrise, the enemy would be forced to wait until the caravan left the gates on the south road to Jamar. Ambush then would be complicated by the possibility that the cargo might be loaded onto barges and sent downriver by