The Sword yanked his mount around. V'thell, the Gold commander, bowed as well, saying, ‘A privilege to meet with you upon the field.’ The older High Fist merely inclined his head, his mouth sour and tight. The young commander Ullen's reaction was the only one which gave Shimmer pause; he studied them for a time, an expression in his eyes that one might hold when seeing for the last time something rare or precious. She watched him go, wondering just what he had intended by such a regard. Was he saying goodbye to his own life? Or was there more here than she was aware of? These unknowns troubled her.

Skinner mounted. ‘We will deploy across the south. We must keep the Kanese force bottled up.’

‘Agreed,’ Shimmer said.

He turned to her, gathering his reins. ‘And I am in no rush. I hope to extend this into the night.’

‘I understand.’ Yes. The night. The men exposed, pinned down in the open field. The dread of Ryllandaras's return may alone win the battle for them. ‘Cowl, the Veils and the mages?’

‘Will all be unleashed. I mean to inflict the lesson here, Shimmer, that none should oppose us.’

‘What d'you think they're saying, Sarge?’ Kibb asked, his gaze shaded to the south.

They're steppin on each other's bloated ideas of their own self-importance and now we're all gonna die because of it! That's what they're talkin’ about!

‘Nothin’ important, Kibb. Just a formality.’ A formality before we all get buried by the Guard. Still, Nait had a hard time putting aside what he witnessed last night. Those two old veterans actually blocking Ryllandaras! How'd they do that? How could anyone? It was like the old stories of the clash of champions from before Dassem's fall. Like he'd heard some of the Talians saying they saw at Heng. Then the beast moving so fast – they only brushed it with their munitions – and it was gone like a ferret down a hole. How could anything that big move that quick? Because he's a damned Ascendant, that's why, Nait my boy. And those two stopped him cold for a time, think about that! It occurred to him that the survival potential of his own skin – and that of his squad – might go way up the closer he managed to get to those two. Something to keep in mind out there on the field. In the meantime, though, he had to select a corporal. He'd rather not – no need to give someone the actual authority to sniff at all your commands and dispute all your plans… but he had to select someone to take over when Hood finally managed to pin him down long enough to squash him. Not that he'd care after that anyway! He'd be holding tight with both hands to Hood's Gate then.

Other than Kibb on watch his squad was all splayed out, snoring. Let ‘em sleep a little longer – they'd earned it. None of the new recruits, that was plain. Not Martin or Tranter. Calling them saboteurs was like calling a shovel a jeweller's pick. No, have to be one of the regulars. May, he supposed. She was smart. Too smart, truth be told. He didn't like the way she watched him. Saw right through him, she did. So how was he gonna shut her up? Make her part of the hierarchy, that's how! Shame she was no Hands with her hair all hacked short, the old scars on her nose and chin, all bones and angles she was. Yes, he didn't think he'd be like to meet another like Hands; she'd been the one for him. What a Hood-damned fool he'd been! This May, though: a hard life, he supposed, before she'd joined. Beat on all her life growin’ up by her da probably. He'd seen it before.

He stood, groaning and stretching, and kicked May's sandalled foot. The slight woman sprang up into a fighter's crouch, a belt-knife in her hand. More than just beat on by her da, most likely. He waved for her to follow him. She picked up her padded gambeson and weapons to follow.

‘Finally worked up the guts to run off?’ she said as they crossed the encampment.

‘Kept us all alive so far,’ he answered from the side of his mouth.

‘Well, I haven't decided whether we'd all be better off with or without you, frankly.’

‘Well, you're corporal, so you are officially now part of the problem.’

‘Thank you so much.’

They came to a crowd of officers and noncoms – a general briefing for Braven Tooth's command, now 7th Battalion. Nait pushed his way into the circle. He searched for familiar faces – saw Least and Lim Tal, and Heuk with two very nervous-looking old gaffers he presumed to be the sum total of the company's mage cadre. Poor bastards – soon to be smeared by the Guard Avowed.

Braven Tooth, his hair a black and curly tangle standing in all directions, was talking: ‘So, a new kind a battle so a new strategy. Truth is, it's an old strategy – one we used to use when confronting mage-heavy enemies. Been a while since we faced such so it must seem new to everyone here.’ He cracked his hairy knuckles, scanned their faces. ‘Main order of battle is this: no concentrations of forces! Any big mass is an invitation to the mages. Stay broke up in small units, companies and squads ideally. Circle yourselves, watch all directions. Keep any eye on the flow of the field – move towards any strong resistance to blunt it – but don't bunch up! Wait your turn!’

‘What's to stop them from overwhelming, encircling?’ one officer asked.

‘Because we'll be moving within the screen of our own skirmishers try in’ to do the exact same thing to them, only we'll succeed! That's why, right? OK. Now, the Guard veterans will be doing the same – moving in small units, their “Blades”. The new recruits they'll probably have form line and flanking phalanx. OK?’

‘What about the Kanese in the south? They helpin'?’ asked another officer Nait didn't know. In fact Nait knew none of them, only his own, Tinsmith, who was keepin’ quiet and not asking any damn-fool questions that Braven Tooth would be getting to answering anyway, in good time.

‘Right, the Kanese,’ said Braven Tooth with a look that said the same thing Nait was thinking. ‘If we can be said to have an objective – that's it. We want that bridge! There's twenty thousand Kanese infantry on the other side just wettin’ themselves to prove how loyal they are to the Empress. We want to let them through and the Guard wants to stop us. Simple as that. All right? OK.’ The commander adjusted the soft leather shirt that served as an armour under-layer, crossed his arms tucking his hands up under his armpits. ‘Dismissed! Except for you saboteur sergeants. Want a word with you.’

Nait waited for the crowd to thin. Lieutenants and captains passing gave him a nod of approval – some a shake of their heads – in acknowledgement of last night's action. Apparently, word going around was that he'd snuck out with his men to try to ambush Ryllandaras. Come on! How could anyone be so stupid?

Not that he was gonna disabuse them.

Least passed, cuffed his shoulder in a gesture of consolation; Nait was surprised and touched – he didn't think his past behaviour warranted anything like that. It must have been damned ugly in that phalanx.

Braven Tooth cast a gimlet eye over the slouching, grimed, disreputable assortment left behind. Nait knew none of them. One greasy fellow was slumped under a dirt-smeared wool cloak; a fat Dal Hon wore a rusted iron pot helmet and a shirt of rent mail that was nothing more than a ragged patchwork of wire, leather ties and cloth knots. The last was a swarthy, skinny woman who had the look of a constipated stork.

‘Introductions, I suppose,’ Braven Tooth rumbled. He waved to the fellow in the cloak, ‘Gant,’ the Dal Hon, ‘Bowl,’ the woman, ‘Urfa. This here's Sergeant Jumpy.’

‘So you're the guy,’ Urfa said, studying him like he was something she'd found growing inside a damp felt boot.

‘The guy who what?’

‘Stupid enough to go after Ryllandaras.’