“By the nose,” Lysander said. “You mean the dogs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Chase ’em,” Miscowsky said. “The trail will divide somewhere about here, where you’ll be just about at dark. You’ll want to follow on after dark. Don’t. Instead, make camp, but not on the main trail, off here somewhere, like maybe you’re going to follow the wrong branch. Keep a good watch, and I mean good, sir.”
“You expect them to attack us? In the dark?” Lysander asked.
“Be more likely if you was to camp in the obvious place,” Miscowsky said. “But they might try and hit you anyway. And they’ll sure as hell send out scout parties to look you over. What they’ll want is to get you chasing them out there in the canyons and woods in the dark. I don’t suppose I have to tell you, don’t do it?”
“I see. And then?”
Miscowsky shook his head. “Then comes the fun part,” he said, but his grim look denied the words.
* * *
The dogs barked in glee, then milled in confusion, casting along two diverging trails. Lysander cursed loudly. “Bring us up level, Delman,” he said to the driver.
The Cataphract quivered and flowed forward with an oilbath smoothness; there were grinding sounds as the tungsten cleats of the treads met an occasional piece of pumice rock.
“Six horses that way, sir.” Sergeant Salcion pointed to the left, southwest over a small hillock. “The rest went straight west.”
Lydia Halleck squinted into the vanishing sun. “West over that ridge is the beginning of canyon country,” she said.
Miguel had been quartering the ground while the others spoke, occasionally stopping and going to one knee to part the grass gently with his hands; it was over a meter high here, new green shoots mingling with winter’s pale gold straw.
“Here,” he said, indicating a spot of bare wet reddish earth between two tufts. “This horse is shod by the Three Hills farrier; the others have machine-made shoes.” He looked up at Lysander. “Ours are hand-hammered from bar stock,” he explained.
“It’s nearly dark,” Lysander said.
“We’re gaining on them!” Lydia said. “Come on!”
“Right,” Hartunian said. “Mount up!”
“No, I think we make camp,” Lysander said. “Cancel that order.” An hour ago I’d have been right with them. There’s so damned much I don’t know, and it can get my people killed. He looked at his map. The trail divided almost precisely where Miscowsky had said it would.
Lysander pointed southwest. “We’ll camp on that hill. Full perimeter. Get set up while there’s still daylight.”
“But we can catch them!” Lydia shouted. “No, you can stay if you’re scared of the dark, but some of us aren’t! Who’s with me?”
Peter Owensford had been talking quietly with the girl’s father. Halleck said, “Not enough, Lydia. Not enough.”
“But—” She stood defiantly. “Miguel—”
The vaquero looked to the rancher.
“You’ll stay here, and that’s an order,” Lysander said. “Owensford!”
“Sir!”
“See that they stay and camp is made.”
“Sir.”
“Damned cowards,” Lydia said. “I never thought I would have to say that about a Prince of Sparta. Coward.”
* * *
The hilltop was largely dirt, with some boulders, which they used as part of the fortifications Owensford insisted on. Foxholes, trenches, ramparts; tanks hull down in earth bunkers, truck revetted. The work wasn’t finished until well after dark. Finally Owensford was satisfied. “Larraby, you’ll take first perimeter patrol.”
“Sir.”
“Highness, Mr. and Miss Halleck, there’ll be hot tea in the command bunker. Care to join me?”
The command post was more trench than bunker. Owensford’s orderly handed out mugs of tea and left them.
“This is crazy,” Lydia said. “We could have caught up to them—”
“Very likely,” Owensford said carefully. “At least they certainly hoped we would.”
“They—” Lydia’s eyes widened. “Oh.” She turned to Lysander. “Highness—I’m sorry, really, I didn’t—”
“It’s all right,” Lysander said.
“Better than all right,” Owensford said. “I just hope they were listening.”
“Real earful,” Halleck said. He put his arm around his daughter. “Somebody had to protest,” he said. “Knew you would, and it came more natural if you didn’t know.”
“I should have guessed.” She blushed. For just a moment, embarrassment overcame her frantic concern for her twin. Embarrassment, and something else, fear of a loss greater even than her brother.
“I didn’t,” Lysander said. “It took General Owensford to show me. And that sergeant. Mis—”
“Miscowsky,” Owensford said. “Havenite. Grew up thinking like a bandit.” He glanced at his watch. “Another couple of hours, if they’re coming.”
“Coming. You expect them to attack us here, then?” Lydia asked.
“Ma’am—”
“I’m Lydia, General Owensford,” the girl said quietly.
“Lydia. You put it stronger than we would. We don’t exactly expect an attack, but if they have the strength we think they do, it’s one of their options. We need to be prepared, that’s all. My guess is they won’t. We built a fortified camp in a place they didn’t expect, and one thing we’ve learned about the Helots, they don’t do much on the spur of the moment. They like complicated plans, and they won’t have time to make one up. Hartunian will see to the watch. I think what we should do is try to get some sleep.”
“That won’t be easy,” Lydia said.
“For any of us,” Lysander said. “Good tea. Now I think I’ll take General Owensford’s advice.”
It was dark outside. Two hours until moonrise. Lysander paused to let his eyes adjust, and heard steps behind him.
“Not much chance for my boy, is there?” Halleck asked.
“I don’t know,” Lysander said.
“Probably dead already.”
“Maybe not,” Lysander said. “Miscowsky thinks they’ll use him as bait.”
“For what? For you,” Halleck said. “God damn—Highness—Oh God damn it. Well, we can’t let them do that.”
* * *
“Prince.”
Lysander woke from a pleasant dream. Dawn light, hardly bright enough for shadows. “Right, Harv.”
“General Owensford’s respects, he’s in the command bunker with coffee,” Harv said.
“Right.” Lysander pulled himself out of the bedroll and pulled on his boots. Owensford and Lydia Halleck were seated close together in the command bunker. Lysander wondered if she’d been there all night. He got his coffee and sat across from them.
“Good morning,” Owensford said. “There are over a hundred of them. With heavy weapons. Big mortars. Rocket launchers. Maybe more. Well dug in, too.”
“Christ.”
“I’d have walked right into that,” Lydia said. “Worse, I’d have taken you—”
“The point is, it didn’t happen,” Owensford said. “Anyway, now we know what we’re facing, the news gets better.”
“Such as?”
“They have three live prisoners. The bad news is they know how many we are, and they didn’t run away,” Owensford said.
“How do we know all this?” Lysander asked.
Owensford grinned. “They’re not the only ones who can sneak around in the dark.”
“Miscowsky.”
“Followed their scouts back, of course. This is an eyeball report.”
“That is good news. All right, what next?”
Owensford looked pointedly at Lydia Halleck. She stood. “Whatever happens, thanks, Highness,” she said. “And—thank you, Peter, for explaining things.”
“Wish I had more hope for you,” Owensford said.
“Yeah.” She climbed out of the bunker, leaving Lysander and Owensford alone.
“You asked what’s next,” Owensford said. “I can make a suggestion.”
“Make it.”
“Order me to handle the situation, then get the hell out of here.”
Lysander frowned. “I can’t do that—”
“With all respect, Highness, you should do that. There’s a lot at stake here—”
“Damned right—”
“A lot more than Senator Halleck’s grandson,” Owensford said. “Look, this situation is all fucked up. We’re out here in the middle of nowhere. We have one ace in the hole, but otherwise we’re outnumbered and outgunned. If we bring up reinforcements they’ll kill their hostages and run for it into the badlands. If we go straight in they’ll likely cream us. The whole deal is tailor made for a defeat, and the biggest disaster of all will be that the Prince Royal was in charge and fucked it up! Bluntly, Highness, losing that kid will be bad enough, but it’ll be a lot worse if it makes you look incompetent. Which, by the way, I’m pretty sure was one object of this exercise in the first place.”
“How the hell could they have known I’d be here? For long enough that they brought in all that stuff?” Lysander demanded. “Damn it, I didn’t know myself I was coming until last week!”
“Yes, sir, but your favorite regiment was here long enough,” Owensford said. “The original objective would have been giving the Prince Royals a bloody nose. For that matter, it was predictable you’d visit when the Battalion was upgraded to Regiment. Then they heard when you were coming, and that made it all the better.”
“And I took the bait,” Lysander said. “I see. But damn it, Peter, I can’t just abandon that boy! His grandfather is one of my father’s oldest friends! Even if he wasn’t—they’re my people! This, this ranch, this is what Sparta is for! I can’t let them take risks I won’t take—”