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“I suppose I should thank you.”

She handed him his lightsaber and flashed him a knowing smile. “But you probably won’t. You’re too surly.”

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. Nice lightsaber, by the way. Too bad its color is so unfortunate.”

She moved away, back toward the nearest group of Raining Leaves Witches, and Ben hung his weapon from the hook at his belt.

He forced himself to turn his thoughts from Vestara. She was a problem, and likely a danger, but not the most pressing one.

Despite the fact that the Raining Leaves and Broken Columns had driven their attackers off again, despite the fact that three rancors lay dead or unconscious at the foot of the hill, the attack still constituted a loss for the clan members. Another dozen of them were dead, and more were injured. Morale was slipping, and the fact that Nightsisters had actually shown themselves, demonstrating that they would participate directly in the attack, was contributing to the clan members’ gradual loss of faith. Ben moved to join the conference of Kaminne, Tasander, and their subchiefs; Dyon was also there. Ben sat on a flat rock at the edge of that gathering.

Tasander looked worried, more uncertain than before. “I’m open to ideas. I’ve led the Broken Columns through a lot of engagements, but nothing like this. Rancors, Nightsisters—I don’t have any tactical experience with this sort of thing.”

Kaminne didn’t look any happier than he did. “Nor do I. Nobody does.”

Ben frowned as something occurred to him. “Not true. I have.”

Kaminne brightened. “This is like Jedi fighting you have done?”

“No, not Jedi fighting. Space navy battles.”

Tasander gave him a curious look. “How’s that again?”

Ben made a sweeping gesture that took in the entire hilltop. “Think of this emplacement as a Star Destroyer. Or a Hapan Battle Dragon, if you prefer.” He pointed at a couple of Broken Columns warriors, holding blaster rifles, outside the subchiefs’ gathering. “Those guys, they’re your long-range guns.” He pointed next at warriors with bows and blaster pistols. “Turbolaser batteries.” He gestured at the nearest group of Witches. “Ion cannons and other specialized ranged weapons systems like proton torpedoes.” He pointed at a cluster of Broken Columns men with spears and sharpened stakes. “Finally, your shields. And then the rancors coming against us are attacking starfighters.”

Tasander. “All right. But in the wise words of my father: So what?”

“We’re losing because our weapons and shield systems aren’t coordinated. Let’s say you get a group of Raining Leaves spearwomen on the left and one of Broken Columns spearmen on the right. A rancor pops up where the two groups join. It attacks, and they withdraw in slightly different directions, opening up a hole. Your shields no longer overlap, no longer reinforce each other. The rancor wades in, grabs and kills two or three people.”

“I get it.” Dyon nodded. “And your archers and blaster warriors. They’re spreading their fire across all the targets at once. Hitting everywhere equally.”

“Which is fine against human opponents.” Kaminne, too, was clearly caught up in rethinking their tactics. “Not so good against rancors.”

Tasander stood and looked across the hilltop, at all the disparate groups of warriors and Witches. “I think I have it. Kaminne, you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

“Then let me reorganize things, and back my play.”

Five minutes later, Tasander addressed the entire gathering of Raining Leaves and Broken Columns. He spoke loudly enough for those amassed before him to hear, but not so loudly that his words would carry clearly to the forest floor. “As before, we’ll be in four units. The main unit, here, will be half our total strength, and the other three units, where they were before, one-third the remaining strength.

“The spearmen and spearwomen are designated Shield. You’ll set up back from the crest. In front will be those with sharpened sturdy poles, and you’ll brace them against the ground. You are immobile.