Much of it, loath though he was to admit it, was due to Aracus Altorus. Somehow, he managed to be everywhere on the field; conferring with the Lord of the Rivenlost, with the Pelmaran Regents, with Duke Bornin of Seahold, with whoever commanded the knights of Vedasia and the company of Dwarfs. He was tireless. Everywhere Speros looked, there he was; a red-gold needle, stitching the army together with the thread of his will.

It was an orderly withdrawal. Companies of infantry—Midlanders, Dwarfs, Free Fishermen, Arduan archers, Pelmarans—marched stolidly, trampling the plains grass. The mounted companies—the Borderguard of Curonan, the Vedasian knights, the Host of the Rivenlost—rode at a sedate jog.

Speros rode with them, watched by his minders, the Ellyl Peldras and the Arduan woman Fianna. He was glad to be astride Ghost, whose snapping teeth kept the others at bay. He thought more than once of turning her head and fieeing, giving her free rein across the plains. No mount here could catch her, unless it was Malthus’. But if he did, it would give Haomane’s Allies cause to break their bargain.

So he went with them, casting glances over his shoulder as he rode.

His heart rose when he first caught sight of Darkhaven’s army, worming its way down the Defile. It was vast. Rank upon rank of Fjel, marching in twos. High above them, Tordenstem sentries perched on the peaks, roaring out the signal for all clear.

The vanguard reached the plains and spread out, aligning themselves to reform in precise configurations and making ready to accommodate others, who kept coming and coming. Aye, and there were the Staccians; a crack troop of five hundred, all mounted on the horses of Darkhaven, taking the left flank. There was Lord Vorax coming from the supply-train at the rear to take his place at their head, gilded armor flaming in the morning light.

And there—there was General Tanaros, astride his black mount, still and dark and ominous. He did not need to ride herd on a divided force. He sat tall in the saddle, bareheaded, giving orders and watching them obeyed with alacrity.

Speros grinned.

“Something pleases you, Midlander?” Blaise Caveros swerved near him.

“How not?” Speros spread his arms. “It is a fine day for a battle!”

Blaise eyed him grimly. “Haomane willing, you shall have one.”

At a distance of some half a league, Haomane’s Allies turned and made their stand. Speros, mere baggage, was relegated to the rearguard. Ghost was taken from him and picketed once more by wary handlers. It frustrated him, for he could see little but an sea of armor-clad backsides as the troops moved into formation.