“Have them ready in one. Each of you form up your men on the east slope, out of their sight. Three regiments of infantry in duel lines, senior commanders located at the center, left, and right flanks in that order. And I want light cavalry to swing to the south and await the call of the trumpet to sweep their flank. I want one contingent of cavalry—the smallest—that I’ll command and hold in reserve to the north, near the city. At the waving of the blue pennant, begin crossing the field as quietly as possible. When you see the green flag, relay the signal and charge. We move in one hour. Dismissed!”

The captains saluted and ran back out into the rain. The sergeant handed over Hadrian’s weapons and started to slip out quietly.

“Wait a moment.” Hadrian halted him. “What’s your name?”

The sergeant spun. “I was just following orders when I chained you up. I didn’t know—”

“You’ve just been promoted to adjutant general,” Hadrian told him. “What’s your name?”

The ex-sergeant blinked. “Bently … sir.”

“Bently, from now on you stick next to me and see that my orders are carried out, understand? Now, I’ll need fast riders to work as messengers—three should do—and signal flags, a blue and a green one, as big as possible. Mount them on tall sticks and make certain all the captains have identical ones. Oh, and I need a horse!”

“Make that two,” the wizard said.

“Make that three,” Hadrian added. “You’ll need one too, Bently.”

The soldier opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded and stepped out into the rain.

“An hour,” Hadrian muttered as he strapped on his weapons.

“You don’t think Arista can hold out that long?”

“I was supposed to take control of this army yesterday. If only I had more time … I could have … I just hope it’s not too late.”

“If anyone can save Ratibor, it’s you,” the wizard told him.

“I know all about being the guardian to the heir,” Hadrian replied.

“I had a feeling Royce would tell you.”

Hadrian picked up the large spadone sword and looped the baldric over his head. He reached up and drew it out, testing the position of the sheath.

“I remember that weapon.” The wizard pointed to the blade. “That’s Jerish’s sword.” He frowned, then added, “What have you done to it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Jerish loved that thing—had a special cloth he kept in his gauntlet that he used to polish it—something of an obsession, really. That blade was like a mirror.”

“It’s seen nine hundred years of use,” Hadrian told him, and put it away.

“You look nothing like Jerish,” Esrahaddon said, then paused when he saw the look on Hadrian’s face. “What is it?”

“The heir is dead—you know that, don’t you? Died right here in Ratibor forty years ago.”