'Actually, no.' But I know a man who says he can find a way through anything, even a river of shit. 'Brother Longfoot!' he called out as he hobbled towards the steps. 'I have a proposition for you!'

The Day of Judgement

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Lord Marshal West stood in the shadow of an abandoned barn, up on a rise above the fertile plains of Midderland, his eye-glass clutched tightly in one gloved hand. There was still a trace of morning mist clinging to the flat autumn fields—patchworks of brown, green, yellow, stabbed with trees, slashed with bare hedgerows. In the distance West could see the outermost walls of Adua, a stern grey line pimpled with towers. Behind, in a lighter grey, the vague shapes of buildings jutted skywards. Above them loomed the towering ghost of the House of the Maker, stark and unrepentant. All in all, it was a grim homecoming.

There was not so much as a breath of wind. The crisp air was strangely still. Just as if there was no war, no rival armies drawing up, no bloody battles scheduled to begin. West swept his eye-glass back and forth, but he could scarcely see any hint of the Gurkish. Perhaps he imagined a tiny fence, down there before the walls, perhaps the outlines of pin-prick spears, but at this distance, in this light, he could be sure of nothing.

'They must be expecting us. They must be.'

'Maybe they're sleeping late,' said Jalenhorm, ever the optimist.

Pike was more direct. 'What difference if they are?'

'Not much,' West admitted. King Jezal's orders had been specific. The city was infested with Gurkish troops and the defences were close to complete collapse. There was no time for clever stratagems, for careful approaches, for probing the enemy for weak spots. Prince Ladisla, ironically, would probably have been as good a commander for this particular situation as anyone else. For once, circumstances called for a magnificent charge, followed closely by death or glory. The only thing under West's control was the timing.

Brint pulled up his horse nearby, sending a shower of grit into the cold air. He swung down from the saddle and gave a smart salute. 'General Kroy's cavalry is in position on the right wing, Lord Marshal, and ready to charge at your order.'

'Thank you, Captain. His foot?'

'Perhaps halfway to deploying. Some companies are still spread out down the roads.'

'Still?'

'Muddy-going, sir.'

'Huh.' Armies left mud behind them like a slug left a trail. 'What about Poulder?'

'A similar position, as far as I can tell,' said Brint. 'No messages?'

Jalenhorm shook his head. 'General Poulder has not been forthcoming this morning.'