West stared towards the city, that distant grey line beyond the fields. 'Soon.' He chewed at his lip, already raw from his constant worrying. 'Very soon. Mustn't let fly half-drawn. When a little more of the foot comes up…'

Brint was frowning off to the south. 'Sir, is that…' West followed his pointing finger. Over on the left wing, where Poulder had been gathering his division, the cavalry were already moving smartly forward.

West stared as the riders gathered pace. 'What the…'

Two full regiments of heavy horse broke into a majestic gallop. Thousands of them, streaming forwards across the open farmland, surging round the trees and the scattered farmhouses, throwing up a wake of dusty earth. West could hear the hammering of their hooves now, like distant thunder, could almost feel the vibration of it through his boots. The sun glinted on raised sword and lance, on shield and full armour. Banners streamed and snapped in the wind. It was quite the display of martial grandeur. A scene from a lurid storybook with a muscular hero in which meaningless words like honour and righteousness were often repeated.

'Shit,' growled West through gritted teeth, feeling the familiar pulsing coming up behind his eyes. General Poulder had been itching to mount one of his fabled cavalry charges all across the North and back. There the harsh terrain, or the harsh weather, or the harsh circumstances had all prevented it. Now, with the perfect conditions, it seemed he had been unable to resist the opportunity.

Jalenhorm slowly shook his head. 'Bloody Poulder.'

West gave a snarl of frustration, raised up his eye-glass to dash it on the ground. He managed to stop himself at the last moment, forced in a heavy breath, and slapped the thing angrily closed. He could not afford to indulge himself today. 'Well, that's it then, isn't it? Order the charge, all across the line!'

'Sound the charge!' roared Pike. 'The charge!'

The sharp bugle call rang out, blaringly loud on the chill morning air, doing nothing to ease West's throbbing headache. He stuck one muddy boot in his stirrup and dragged himself reluctantly up into his saddle, already sore from riding all night. 'I suppose we must follow General Poulder to glory. At a less honourable distance, though, perhaps. Someone still needs to co-ordinate this shambles.' The sounds of answering bugles further down the line floated up to them, and on the right Kroy's horsemen began to trot forwards.

'Major Jalenhorm, order the foot forward in support as soon as they come up.' West worked his mouth. 'Piecemeal if need be.'

'Of course, Lord Marshal.' The big man was already turning his horse to give the orders.

'War,' muttered West. 'A noble business.'

'Sir?' asked Pike.

'Nothing.'