“May I continue?” hissed Rigrat, riddled with impatience.

“Of course, my boy, take your time.”

“The day after tomorrow, at dawn, you will lead the Thousand Swords across the lower ford—”

“Lead? From the front, do you mean?”

“Where else would a commander lead from?”

Cosca exchanged a baffled glance with Andiche. “Anywhere else. Have you ever been at the front of a battle? The chances of being killed there really are very high.”

“Extremely high,” said Victus.

Rigrat ground his teeth. “Lead from what position pleases you, but the Thousand Swords will cross the lower ford, supported by our allies from Etrisani and Cesale. Duke Rogont will have no choice but to engage you with all his power, hoping to crush your forces while you are still crossing the river. Once he is committed, our Talinese regulars will break from hiding and cross the upper ford. We will take the enemy in the flank, and—” He snapped his baton into his waiting palm with a smart crack.

“You’ll hit them with a stick?”

Rigrat was not amused. Cosca had to wonder whether he ever had been. “With steel, sir, with steel! We will rout them utterly and put them to flight, and thus put an end to the troublesome League of Eight!”

There was a long pause. Cosca frowned at Andiche, and Andiche frowned back. Sesaria and Victus shook their heads at one another. Rigrat tapped his baton impatiently against his leg. Prince Foscar cleared his throat once more, nervously pushed his chin forwards. “Your opinion, General Cosca?”

“Hmm.” Cosca gloomily shook his head, eyeing the sparkling river with the weightiest of frowns. “Hmm. Hmm. Hmmmm.”

“Hmmm.” Victus tapped his pursed lips with one finger.

“Humph.” Andiche puffed out his cheeks.

“Hrrrrrm.” Sesaria’s unconvinced voice throbbed at a deeper pitch.

Cosca removed his hat, scratched his head and placed it back with a flick at the feather. “Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm—”

“Are we to take it that you disapprove?” asked Foscar.

“I somehow let slip my misgivings? Then I cannot in good conscience suppress them. I am not convinced that the Thousand Swords are well suited to the task you have assigned.”

“Not convinced,” said Andiche.

“Not well suited,” said Victus.

Sesaria was a silent mountain of reluctance.

“Have you not been well paid for your services?” demanded Rigrat.

Cosca chuckled. “Of course, and the Thousand Swords will fight, you may depend on that!”

“They will fight, every man!” asserted Andiche.

“Like devils!” added Victus.

“But it is how they are to be made to fight best that concerns me as their captain general. They have lost two leaders in a brief space.” He hung his head as if he regretted the fact, and had in no way benefited hugely himself.

“Murcatto, then Faithful.” Sesaria sighed as if he had not been one of the prime agents in the changes of command.

“They have been relegated to support duties.”

“Scouting,” lamented Andiche.

“Clearing the flanks,” growled Victus.

“Their morale is at a terribly low ebb. They have been paid, but money is never the best motivation for a man to risk his life.” Especially a mercenary, it needed hardly to be said. “To throw them into a pitched mêlée against a stubborn and desperate enemy, toe to toe… I’m not saying they might break, but… well…” Cosca winced, scratching slowly at his neck. “They might break.”