They fell back rather than press forward, Rama's judgment overruling every instinct that wanted to chase the fleeing network deeper into ground that clearly favored whoever had built it. A dozen soldiers and one merchant were not enough to hold an unmapped warren of tunnels against however many more drilled fighters waited below, and Darma's death had already told them more than another hour of fighting was likely to buy.
"We know the direction now," Rama said, helping Pramono get the last of the wounded up the final stairway and out into the cool night air above the ruined shrine. Crickets had started up in the dark grass, loud after the silence of the tunnels. "East, toward whoever this Tumenggung is. That's worth more than another dead man's silence would have been."
