Gabriel followed them forward, his body burning gold so that now, in bright sunlight, he gave off light. He paused to watch No Head cutting up another corpse. One of the not-bogglins.

“Need Mortirmir to be sure,” No Head said. “Looks to me like this beastie’s been bred to host the worm.”

Gabriel frowned.

The company went forward over the last of the phalanx, and there was a moment of vicious hand to hand, a cloud of dust, and the line buckled, knotted, and moved on, righting itself. The flanks were still pressing in.

The company had taken losses. There were fifty men and women down; knots of magisters tried to save those taken by worms even as they tried to fight their mates.

Gabriel winced that it had become routine to his people.

The banners pressed forward, and the fighting slackened. Ser Milus began to consider ordering his people to mount, but he rode over to Gabriel.

“Boys and girls are tired,” he said. “And what do you think o’ that?” he asked, pointing at a dust cloud at the gate.

“I’m putting the company into reserve,” Gabriel said. He waved to one of the imperial messengers and snapped orders.

Michael rode along the left of the army, watching the Etruscans form from their columns and then link their lines, the whole as they began a great turning action toward the now visible gate pylons, a little more than a mile away. Sauce gave orders as effortlessly as Gabriel.

“You are having too much fun,” Michael said.

“Yep,” she answered. “I thought I wanted to be a knight. Turns out I wanted to be a great captain.

He had nothing to add, so he watched.

A messenger cantered up. “Lord Michael?” she asked. “The emperor asks for the casa to take the center of the line. And for you to attend him.”

Michael looked left, along the line; then he turned and rode toward the center. The whole of the imperial army was moving forward, the wings closing as they had practiced, the center pressing ahead slowly. Michael rode to Bad Tom.

“Gabriel wants us in the center,” Michael said.

“Aye,” Tom said. “Already heard. Watch this.”

Even as Michael watched, the casa began to mount the horses brought forward by pages and servants, and suddenly they were four lines of mounted men and women, their armour glittering in the brilliant sun.

Behind them the Mamluks came forward, closer and closer.

The casa began to file off from the left of sections. As they filed off, mounted, they passed to the left of sixty-man sections of Mamluks, who passed through them, moving forward, so that in the twinkling of an eye, the casa was in the second line.

Payam saluted with his long, curved sword. “Odine,” he said. “I can smell them.”

“This is it,” Michael said.

Tom nodded, as did Payam.

The center halted.

The wings continued to move in, overcoming knots of resistance. The Beronese chivalry charged, annihilated a mob of not-bogglins, and rallied.