The heat of the Holy Sun was rising. Soon it would be near unbearably hot.

This wagon was at the front, the most comfortable place in the column. The troops marching behind would be eating the dust they raised.

Zamara raised his hand. Terves bellowed the order to march. The marines moved off, followed by a company of the Governor’s men, who looked considerably more nervous than the seafarers. They were more of a city watch than a company of hard-bitten fighting men, and they did not at all like leaving the comforts of Maial for the uncertainty and hardship of the colony’s interior.

Anders could not blame them for that. He was not looking forward to this journey himself. He liked Maial and the life he could have there when he had gold, but, now, of course, he needed more. He had Count Balthazar to thank for that.

A crowd of onlookers waited by the open gate of the city. Most of them were friends and family of the departing watchmen, waving, wiping back tears, shouting encouragement, jokes, and abuse. Children cried. Women darted out of the crowd for a last kiss. For a moment, Anders felt a surge of nostalgia and envy.

Nostalgia for the memory of every hurried departure he had ever made. Envy for the lives that some of these men were leaving behind. There was no one here to see him off. He longed for a familiar face.

Gregor was gone. Sarge was gone, and Kipper and Donal and Spud. All of his old comrades were dead, and he was heading back to the place that had killed them. He fought down a shudder. Perhaps his death awaited him there. Perhaps he had simply fought his way back to Maial for one last long party before stumbling back to his grave.

Oh well. If it had been his last party, it had been a good one. We showed them all what a good time was, didn’t we, Gregor?

He glanced around at the soldiers. The Governor’s guards ignored him. They were not sure of his status. He might be a prisoner. He might be a guide. Some of them probably knew his face from the days when he and the lads had drunk and brawled their way through the red light districts of Maial.

The marines simply did not care. They were a group unto themselves, sharing links forged in battles across oceans and continents. They looked at their sergeant and Admiral with the respect due to men who had led them through countless battles and brought them home safe.