“You will fight them!” He spread his arms and turned a slow circle so that none could miss the determination in his face. “You’ll all fight them! Otherwise we’ll be left with nothing. A sacrifice must be made.”

“But our own kind.” Gavamor spat into the dirt. “These are our friends. Even our family.”

“They chose their path. Or do you propose we fight with Viktor Akadra, as Josiri wanted? The man who slew our beloved Phoenix? Who now defiles her memory just as he surely does her daughter? If we want to be free of the Council, this is the only way. If I’m wrong, then you need only strike me down. Another can make the choice.”

Crovan let his arms drop. His gaze fell on Gavamor and on Drenn. On their lieutenants and his. All looked away.

“That’s what I thought. Gather everyone you can. Everything changes, come the dawn.”

Despite his earlier words, Viktor felt no great hope for the coming dawn. He’d no fear of the battle itself, save that which only fools lacked once beneath its shadow.

Nor did the disparity in troops alone cause him concern, for he’d many times achieved more with far less. But as he gazed around the campfire at the captains under his command, he felt the unevenness of the coming battle more than ever. Too many old faces, and too many young ones. Some in familiar uniform, others in little more than rags.

Some he knew. Tavor Lavirn of the Knights of Essamere. A competent commander by reputation, but Viktor would have given anything to have Roslava Orova at his side – or Kasamor Kiradin, returned from death to crack a joke and make light of the slaughter to come.

Lieutenant Dregar, who’d rescued a half-company from being trapped inside Kreska. And Revekah Halvor, of course. Her eyes had lost little hostility, but she’d not yet tried to stick a knife in his craw, so there was that.

Others, Viktor recognised from reputation alone. Jesver Merrik, the Terror of Kellin Valley. A fair price to be claimed for his head alone, and more for his men. Captain Kalla Masnar, who until two days earlier had served as military reeve at the inland port at Ardva. She’d brought near on two hundred blades with her – a motley mix of sailors, pavissionaires and tail-coated marines. An adventure-seeker, or a loyal soldier? Viktor supposed he’d find out.

But still, there were too many he didn’t recognise at all – the Thrakkian twins among them. And too many who were prone to argument more than action.

“Raven’s Eyes!” bellowed Kurkas. “Will you close your bloody mouths and listen?”

The din ebbed, though slower than Viktor would have liked.

“Thank you, captain.”

“A pleasure, sir.”

Viktor waited a moment before pressing on. His shadow, never at its most diffident when presented with conflict, coiled eagerly about his heart, longing to be set free.