The captain spread his hands. “That, and I need to explore a few theories. It might be better to test them now than when we reach the enemy’s main body. I’d like you to coordinate efforts with Captain Demos and make sure he has someone who can advise him on how he and his crew can best work in tandem with our Knights.”

Marcus saluted. “Of course, sir.”

“Thank you,” the captain said. “Demos is on the aft deck, I believe.”

Marcus checked his weapon and armor as he marched down the length of the ship to Demos, an old soldier’s habit long since become something very near a reflex action. As he walked, he watched the ships of the fleet gliding gracefully around the Slive and proceeding to the east. He went up several short, steep stairs to ascend from the deck to the raised afterdeck, and noticed his legs shaking with fatigue. The tunneling had taken a great deal more out of him, physically, than he had anticipated. The realization seemed to spark a general revolt of his limbs, with muscles and joints each voicing distinct and unique complaints.

Marcus gritted his teeth and exchanged nods with Demos and the bosun.

“First Spear,” Demos drawled. As usual, the sword-slender captain of the Slive was dressed in plain, well-made clothing, all of it in black. He wore a long dueling blade at his side, its handle plain and worn. “You all right?”

Marcus grunted. “Starting to think that maybe I’m getting too old for all this running around.”

“Maybe you should retire,” Demos said.

“Soon as the work is done.”

“Work’s never done,” Demos said.

“Hngh. Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch an arrow in the eye.”

Demos’s bland face barely showed a shadow of a smile. “That’s the spirit.” He turned his eyes to the sky and pursed his lips. “Octavian was right.”

Marcus squinted up to see that the scattered line of vordknights were gathering into a more cohesive swarm. “How many?”

“Ninety, maybe a hundred,” Demos said.

Marcus drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword. “And how many on your crew?”

“Twenty-seven,” he replied calmly. “And me. And you. And the Princeps. And Antillar. Plus young Antillus and his flyboys overhead. Enough.”

“Assuming the enemy isn’t bringing something new to the fight.”

Demos showed his teeth. “Don’t go all giddy on me.”

“If the world were a giddy place, it wouldn’t need men like me,” Marcus said.

Demos nodded. “Me, either.” He squinted speculatively. “Wonder if Octavian’s going to stretch his muscles.”

“As far as I know, his talents are still rather limited.”