Hadrian mounted a brown-and-white gelding that Bently held for him. He watched as Esrahaddon mounted a smaller black mare by hooking the stub of his wrist around the horn. Once in the saddle, the wizard wrapped the reins around his stubs.

“It’s strange. I keep forgetting you don’t have hands,” Hadrian commented.

“I don’t,” the wizard replied coldly.

Overhead, heavy clouds swirled as boys ran about the camp spreading the order to form up. Horses trotted, kicking up clods of earth. Carts rolled, leaving deep ruts. Half-dressed men darted from tents, slipping in the slick mud. They carried swords over their shoulders, dragged shields, and struggled to fasten helms. Hadrian and Esrahaddon rode through the hive of soggy activity to the top of the ridge, where they could see the lay of the land for miles. The city to the north, with its wooden spires and drab walls, stood as a ghostly shadow. To the south lay the forest, and between them a vast plain stretched westward. What had once been farmland was now a muddy soup. The field was shaped like a basin, and at its lowest point a shallow pond had formed. It reflected the light of the dreary gray sky like a steel mirror. On the far side, the hazy encampment of the imperial army was just visible through a thick curtain of rain. Hadrian stared but could make out only faint, shadowy shapes. Nothing indicated they knew what was about to happen. Below them on the east side of the slope, hidden from imperial view, the Nationalist army assembled into ranks.

“What is it?” Esrahaddon asked.

Hadrian realized he was grimacing. “They aren’t very good soldiers,” he replied, watching the men wander about, creating misshapen lines. They stood listless, shoulders slumped, heads down.

Esrahaddon shrugged. “There are a few good ones. We pulled in some mercenaries and a handful of deserters from the Imperialists. That Renquist you were so taken with, he was a sergeant in the imperial forces. Joined us because he heard nobility didn’t matter in the Nationalist army. We got a few of those, but mostly they’re farmers, merchants, or men who lost their homes or families.”

Hadrian glanced across the field. “Lord Dermont has trained foot soldiers, archers, and knights—men who devoted their whole lives to warfare and trained since an early age.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. I’m the one who has to lead this ugly rabble. I’m the one who must go down there and face those lances and arrows.”

“I’m going with you,” he said. “That’s why you don’t need to worry about it.”

Bently and three other young men carrying colored flags rode up beside them. “Captains report ready, sir.”