'Disposition?' he asked.
'Wide advance, sir,' the scout replied confidently. His accent marked him as a man of the mountains, despite the absence of any identifying badge. He was twice the age of Lahk's aide, and obviously experienced, if the scar on his face was anything to go by. 'Divisions o' Knights o' the Temples and penitents, with Chalat and the Cardinal Paladins in the centre, Dark Monks on the left flank and the rest o' the penitents on the right – penitents're in tight division blocks, though Suzerain Torl don't look like he 'eard the order quite right and chose to stay loose.'
'Damn Chetse don't know anything about cavalry,' Vesna muttered. 'It's a wonder he's got them moving at all.'
The scout wisely chose not to comment, but continued, 'The Siul legions are clearing ahead; enemy's got archers and light cavalry stationed at each bridge. They'll have engaged by now.'
'What state are the rivers in?'
'Look high to me, sir – the ground's soft, so I'd say there's been a fair amount of rain. Can still be crossed, but only slowly. I'd not want to be the one trying to outflank the enemy.'
Lahk turned to Isak. 'My Lord, we should have the Tirah cavalry standing ready as rearguard – if the enemy does have reserves hidden behind Byora's walls, we need to move now to ensure they're not exposed.'
Isak sighed and looked up at the sky. It's promising rain, and if it does, it'll be even harder going. The more bogged-down the clerics get, the more likely it is we'll engage and I'll end up face to face with Lord Styrax.
'Give the order,' he said to the general. 'It's going to be a long, hard day.'
Dawn turned into morning with a sullen reluctance. Isak had a clear view of the battlefield from atop a small rise. In the east was the massive bulk of Blackfang, and in front was Byora. He had a fine view of the two levels which rose up from behind the main wall of the city. The quarter's unnaturally tall towers were dwarfed by the great black cliffs behind.
He couldn't see Akell; it was hidden by a sloping spur of rock that jutted out from the main bulk of Blackfang. Pretty obvious the Circle City isn't really one continuous city, he thought to himself. Outside the Byora city wall was a wide skirt of buildings that looked like shanties, getting progressively larger and nicer the further they were from the wall. Larger detached houses and farms dotted the land all the way to Ismess.
To the west were the mist-covered fens that spoiled the view from the Duchess of Byora's Ruby Tower. They looked closer to the city than Isak remembered. Even in his childhood when he was running wild, Isak had kept away from the fens: they were treacherous at the best of times. The wagon-brat might not have been welcome on the streets of Burn or Wheel, but all the same he'd never wandered far from the city.
The waterlands were gateways to Death's realm, like ponds and lakes: still waters attracted all sorts of malign spirits and creatures, quite apart from whatever might come through those gateways. The fens were studded with copses of bent and twisted marsh-alder and silvery ghost willows, and they looked forbidding even in high summer. Isak had heard more stories of the Coldhand Folk, will o' the wisps, Finntrail and the like in Byora than anywhere else outside of Tirah. The hunting could be good in the fens, and the willows from which the medicinal bark was harvested were plentiful, but no one disputed the very real dangers either entailed.
'Shall I send the engineers now, my Lord?' said a voice from Isak's knee, making him jump a little. He looked down to see Quartermaster-General Kervar standing beside Isak's horse, looking out over the battlefield.
'The bridges? Aye, it's time.'
After he'd carried out Isak's order, Kervar pulled his own mount away from Toramin, Isak's massive charger. Bored of standing still, Toramin had decided to investigate the horse next to him, and that was making Kervar's beast decidedly nervous.
Isak gave the reins a tug to quieten the fiery stallion and looked up. He didn't need to see the Poacher's Moon, hidden by heavy clouds, to know it was approaching mid-morning. There was a stiff southwesterly breeze running across the plain, which would be enough to blunt the effect of the enemy's strafing attacks.
Isak had studied the record books in Tirah Palace during the depths of winter, and he had discovered that the Farlan heavy cavalry was always the last weapon to be used in any battle. Most Farlan victories were because the horse-archers were not only excellent marksmen – although that was part of it – but they were so much more manoeuvrable than their enemies. The classic Farlan tactic was to send the heavy cavalry in after the enemy had been weakened by the others which, Isak suspected, allowed them to sleep late and enjoy a leisurely breakfast while the commoners did most of the work.
'Chalat is taking his time, I'm glad to see,' Vesna said, breaking the contemplative silence. They had an almost unrestricted view of the battlefield, all the way to the ancient boundary wall three miles away. The Menin were dug in behind that wall.
'At least he's not lost all his senses,' agreed Lahk. 'He's giving the skirmishers a chance to make a mistake before he fords that second river.'
Isak managed a weak smile. The palace records had left one clear impression in his mind as he read them: most battles were lost because of one of three factors: poor communication, bad luck or stupidity.
Chalat's men were roughly halfway between Isak, at the rear of his own men, and the Menin. It had taken them several hours to cross a mile of ground and the first river. The bridges across the second river had been destroyed by the retreating Menin, who now loitered just out of range, ready to take out anyone who got within bowshot. The problem was simple: how to get across the river without losing hundreds of men.
'I'm bored,' Isak announced. He pointed to the horsemen arrayed ahead of him. 'Sound the advance,' he ordered, gesturing towards Byora. The main gate lay between the rivers.
On the left flank were three divisions of the Palace Guard's heavy cavalry, with the College of Magic regiment nestled between them. The colourful centre consisted of various suzerains and their hurscals, a number of other noblemen, all in heavy armour, and two full legions of light cavalry. Next to them were two thousand more light cavalry in loose formation. The reserve troops, the last division of Ghosts and the remaining two cavalry legions, were on the far right.
General Lahk inclined his head. 'Bugler, sound slow advance,' he called, and behind him a set of three long notes sounded. The call was quickly taken up and Isak's army, looking like a great bloated beast heaving itself forward, began to advance.
Isak caught Count Vesna giving him a pointed look and he frowned for a moment, wondering what he'd forgotten. Then he got it and in a loud voice said, 'Gentlemen, your helms.' As he settled Siulents over his own head Isak caught a glimpse of Vesna touching his fingers to his left wrist. Even our heroes need a lucky charm, he thought with a sigh. All I've got is a contingency plan that scares the shit out of me.
In the distance he could just make out the black dot of Lord Styrax's enormous army standard. As though in response to his darkening mood he felt a tug at his mind from the Crystal Skull fused to his cuirass. The Reapers were stirring: they smelled death on the air. Up above him, clouds gathered, as though summoned by his call.
'Good to have you back, sir.'
Amber looked up, his eyes widening. 'Gods! What have I told you about taking your helm off, Deebek?'
The ageing sergeant grinned, showing an irregular set of broken teeth. 'I weren't t'do it, sir. Said it pissed you off when I did that.'
'Exactly,' Amber agreed, thumping the man heavily on his armoured shoulder. Standing around Sergeant Deebek was his squad, all young men he didn't know, and all wearing expressions of relieved anxiety.