Rory was pacing back and forth along the length of one of the fallen pines like a caged lion at the prowl. A crow sat on a branch, watching him. I hurried over and chased it off. He offered me an uncorked bottle from which he had been drinking.

I took a swig of a harsh sack, winced, and handed the bottle back to him. “This is awful.”

Had he been in cat shape, his ears would have been flattened to his head. “This is awful! This isn’t hunting. You creatures ought to settle your arguments in a better way. Couldn’t one general challenge another for the right to stand with the pride? Who can possibly eat all that torn meat? If it were even tasty, which man-flesh is decidedly not!”

“How do you know what man-flesh tastes like?”

He stiffened, and for an instant I was sure he was going to snarl at me.

“Rory! Answer me!”

He took a step toward me, so threatening I raised my cane. Catching himself, he took a step back, but by the way his lips gapped to show a hint of teeth, I could see he was on the edge of biting or perhaps of telling me the truth. And I was suddenly very sure that I did not want to know the answer after all.

Artillery fire boomed over us. I ducked instinctively. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“There! Look!” a staff officer shouted to be heard above the deafening rattle and shot.

I ran back to the command group just in time to see yet another cavalry charge from out of the Coalition lines. Smoke rose from the guns in billows. The churn of ground between the two armies was speckled with fallen men, injured horses, and the detritus of lost weaponry. This time, as Coalition cavalry closed with the Iberians, fire broke out in the trampled grass around them. One rider in the middle ranks collapsed as if shot. A second rider toppled from his horse. As more men fell and horses tumbled, the cavalry sheared off and raced back toward their lines. A storm of bullets rained after their retreating backs.

The fire mages had gotten their range.

Yet even in the face of these devastating casualties, still another Coalition troop galloped down toward the artillery. Riders and horses fell before the barrage, but this time where fire broke out it was quenched. The artillery went dead. With shouts, the Coalition troops closed. Grass fires sparked up and died. Men fought hand to hand, swords and bayonets flashing.

A young officer wearing the white sash of the Kena’ani Sacred Band rode up on a lathered horse, pushing in front of another messenger. “General! Captain Barca sends his compliments and this message: The first outriders of the Roman column have been engaged about five miles south.”