When they reached the heights, Pied paused. The front stretched along the plateau that comprised the Prekkendorran for more than two miles east and west through a series of broad flats segmented by twisting passes and ravines. At present, and for much of the past twenty years, the Free-born had occupied a pair of high bluffs bracketing a deep, wide pass that angled north all the way to the other side of the plateau before turning down through the foothills beyond. Elves occupied the smaller bluff on the west; a mix of Bordermen, Dwarves, and Trolls, the larger one on the east. By placing archers and slingmen on either side of the gap, where it narrowed, they were able to ward against penetration. The Federation’s only choice was to come at the allies from the front or sides and to do so from a highly vulnerable position.

The Federation had penetrated deep into the flats early on in the war, but once the allies had found the bluffs on which to set their defenses, the attack had stalled. Because the Federation was the invading force, the allies could afford to sit back and wait. It was the invader who must come to them, and by now they had constructed defenses of stone and timber that were believed to be sufficiently strong that it would cost the lives of thousands of men to achieve a breakthrough. It was generally agreed by both sides that another way must be found, and as yet it had not.

Pied studied the Federation lines, situated on the flats not half a mile away. A mass of dark figures crowded behind fortifications similar to their own. In the two months he had been on the front, they had not emerged from behind those walls. The most excitement he had experienced was the result of a pair of rather haphazard airship attacks on the Dwarf lines a mile farther down the front, which had been quickly driven back.

Were there more Federation soldiers at those walls than there had been a week ago? A mottled stain of black-and-silver uniforms spread away behind those fortifications for better than a mile, clusters of men settled about cooking fires and stacks of weapons. There was no drilling or training in evidence, no suggestion of an impending attack. Everything looked as it always looked.

But that didn’t mean it was.

He shook his head. He didn’t like anything he was seeing on either side of the front. He had been a soldier all his life, and he had learned to trust his instincts. They were screaming at him, telling him that the possibility of disaster was enormous and close at hand.

“Drum, I can’t let him do this,” he said quietly.