But in the way of tailors, some of the lacing points were in the wrong places for his new golden armour, and the solar was suddenly full of men and women. The grand review was less than an hour away, and Gabriel stood in his shirt and braes, drinking fennel tea and being besotted with his wife while she and Kaitlin and Gropf and her new maid Beatrice sat working eyelets through layers of linen and scarlet wool and velvet.

Master Julius brought him a stack of messages. The room was emptier than usual; most of his officers were out on the field of Arles, moving troops. Michael came and stood reading over his shoulder.

Master Julius was grinning from ear to ear.

Michael and Gabriel whooped together. “Master Smythe is alive,” the emperor said. “It is confirmed.”

Blanche looked up. “The queen will be so pleased,” she said.

Gabriel nodded. “MacGilly, fetch me Magister Mortirmir.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” MacGilly said, and he went out.

“I need more red silk twist,” Blanche said.

Beatrice rose, but Kaitlin waved her off. “I’ll go; I’m up,” she said, and she pecked Michael and continued, looking in on her sleeping child and stopping at the window with a gasp. Then she came back with a bone thread winder full of scarlet silk thread.

“You must look out the window,” she said.

Gabriel continued reading.

“Aneas took Lake-on-the-Mountain right under Orley’s nose,” he said exultantly. “Nice work, useless little brother.” He nodded at Michael. “He was our mother’s favourite after . . .” He paused. “Never mind. Ash will be weakened now, and distracted.”

He read through another, and another, his expression changing. “I am . . . concerned about Lissen Carak,” he said. “The Odine are moving and the royal army is not yet in place. Even Alcaeus is moving; he’s taking the rest of the Morean reserves toward Middleburg as of yesterday.”

“All the eggs in one basket,” Michael said.

“What can the Odine accomplish without bodies?” Blanche asked.

Gabriel thought a moment. “I don’t know anything,” he said.

“You really need to look out of this window,” Kaitlin said.

Gabriel walked to the window, a cup in his hand, and looked out over the plain of Arles.

There, laid before him like a child’s collection of toy soldiers, was the army. The army. Almost fifty thousand men and women, a sizable proportion of them mounted; a vast wagon train, grain carts, water carts, knights, archers, light cavalry . . .

They filled the plain.

Michael came and stood by his shoulder. “The company had a good recruiting day,” he said with a smile.

“Fifty thousand,” Gabriel said. “Holy . . . Lord.”

The Wild—Bill Redmede

Bill Redmede stood looking at the morning mist rising over an autumn valley filled with beaver swamp and scrubby spruce trees that appeared dark and gothic against the golden brilliance of the foliage on the ridges above.