He did not answer, for we were already riding out of the estate. I had no grasp of the time, only that it was now late afternoon and the thrust of the battle had raged away to the southeast. The land was a sweep of trees, fields, and pasture. No doubt this bucolic landscape made a restful scene on ordinary days. Now it crawled with soldiers and was strewn with bodies, discarded weapons, and lost hats and tassels. Camjiata was right: Alone, I had no chance of finding Drake or Vai among so many tens of thousands.

Because the general had rolled up the Coalition’s western flank, Lord Marius had fixed his efforts to the east in an attempt to keep open the Liyonum Road for the Romans as they marched up from the south. Even without the spyglass, it was easy to tell from a distance where cold mages were still fighting to kill the general’s guns. Smoke would billow in clouds that hid whole sections of the field from view, then patches would clear with startling urgency as artillery and rifles ceased firing for a space. A wind was really picking up out of the east, and black clouds had piled up as if about to break down over the city.

Rory had his head down, hands over his ears. The noise just never let up.

“There they go!” said Camjiata, holding the spyglass to his eye.

Tents in the Coalition’s encampment caught fire. A battle by magic chased through the field, fire rising, then dying, rising and dying and finally rising again, as in a game being played like cat and mouse. Fire mages were flushing out cold mages and tracking them down. Was Drake directing them? Was that where he was? A gray sleet moved in over the city but just before it reached the camp it died in a violent updraft of air. The encampment began to burn in earnest.

Meanwhile artillery was being shifted to the south and east. We followed it to a ridge, where the command unit halted. The hillside sloped down to a stream beyond which ran the Liyonum Road. The general intended to bombard the Romans as they marched in column along the road, thinking to rescue their allies.

A soot-stained messenger came pounding up. He wore the badge of the Iberian Lion Guard. “Dispatch from Marshal Aualos, General.” He held up a folded paper.

Camjiata did not lower the spyglass, which was fixed on the burning encampment. Figures fled in all directions, many of whom surely were not soldiers. People will die regardless.

“Read it to me,” he said.

“My lord Keita, we have cut off Lord Marius so he cannot reach the city gates. The Parisi prince is dead on the field. We have taken thousands prisoner. The citizens of Lutetia have barricaded the gates to their city. Of cold mages we have captured twenty-eight alive.”