The Legion command staff had been briefed on Tavi’s intention the day before. They hadn’t liked it then. Today, though, they simply saluted. Good. Varg’s part in the opening skirmish of the battle (itself but a skirmish for what was to come), had convinced them of the Cane’s ability.

“Tribune Antillus!” Tavi called.

After several signals were exchanged, Crassus came cruising down to the ground and landed beside Tavi’s horse. They exchanged salutes, and Tavi said, “I’ll be moving forward with the Prime and the Battlecrows. I want you and the Pisces hovering over my shoulders.”

“Aye, sir,” Crassus said. “We’ll be there.”

“On your way,” Tavi said.

Crassus took off, and there was nothing left but for Tavi to break down a defensive structure prepared for decades if not centuries to resist precisely what he was about to attempt. He glanced over his shoulder, at Fidelias. Valiar Marcus would have been waiting stolidly, his expression hard and sober. Though his features hadn’t changed whatsoever, Tavi could feel the differences in the man, the more flexible, somehow leonine nature of him. To any casual observer, Fidelias would have appeared exactly like Valiar Marcus. But Tavi could sense that the man was aware, somehow, of his fear.

His perfectly reasonable fear. His very well-advised fear. His quite mature and wise fear, even.

Shut up and get to work, he thought firmly.

Acteon, the long-legged black stallion Tavi rode, tossed his head and shook his mane. The horse had been his, and in the care of the First Aleran Legion, since shortly after he had been forced to take command—a gift from Hashat, the Marat clan-head of the Horse. The Marat stallion had greater agility and endurance than any Aleran horse Tavi had ever seen, but he wasn’t a supernatural beast.

He wouldn’t save Tavi from anything he didn’t handle himself.

“Standard-bearer,” Tavi said quietly. “Let’s go.”

Hoofbeats came up beside him, and Tavi looked aside at the dappled grey mare Kitai rode. His eyes went up to her rider, and he smiled faintly at Kitai, who was wearing her Legion-issue mail. It didn’t offer the same protection as the heavier steel plates of his own lorica, but though she was more than strong enough to wear the heavier armor, she disdained it, preferring the greater flexibility of the mail.

“I suppose you’re going to ignore me if I tell you to wait here,” he said.