Sacred Bands and elite squadrons aren't what the mercenaries' guild is about. Field them at your peril.

Survival has its own etiquette.

Makes you wonder if the gods are always right.

Everyone prepares for battle in his own way.

You get what you expect. Expect to heal. Expect victory.

"Mercy is not in favor in my heavens today," says Vashanka, unforgiving and combative, folding vast arms and spearing Harmony with lightning that crackles from his gaze.

Very little in science fiction can transcend the gimmickry of a technical conceit, yet without that conceit at its heart a book is not truly science fiction. Furthermore, so little emerging thought and technology is employed by sf writers today that the genre is lagging far behind reality both in the cosmology area and the technology area: sf is no longer a place to experiment, but is now very derivative.